ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING OF FRANCE	(KING:)

DUKE OF FLORENCE	(DUKE:)

BERTRAM	Count of Rousillon.

LAFEU	an old lord.

PAROLLES	a follower of Bertram.


Steward	|
	|  servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
Clown	|


	A Page. (Page:)

COUNTESS OF
ROUSILLON	mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)

HELENA	a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

	An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)

DIANA	daughter to the Widow.


VIOLENTA	|
	|  neighbours and friends to the Widow.
MARIANA	|


	Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(Fourth Lord:)
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Gentleman:)



SCENE	Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE I	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,
	and LAFEU, all in black]

COUNTESS	In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

BERTRAM	And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death
	anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to
	whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

LAFEU	You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,
	sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times
	good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
	worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather
	than lack it where there is such abundance.

COUNTESS	What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

LAFEU	He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
	practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
	finds no other advantage in the process but only the
	losing of hope by time.

COUNTESS	This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
	'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
	almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
	far, would have made nature immortal, and death
	should have play for lack of work. Would, for the
	king's sake, he were living! I think it would be
	the death of the king's disease.

LAFEU	How called you the man you speak of, madam?

COUNTESS	He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
	his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

LAFEU	He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very
	lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he
	was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge
	could be set up against mortality.

BERTRAM	What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?

LAFEU	A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM	I heard not of it before.

LAFEU	I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
	the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

COUNTESS	His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
	overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
	her education promises; her dispositions she
	inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
	an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
	commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
	traitors too; in her they are the better for their
	simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

LAFEU	Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

COUNTESS	'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
	in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
	her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
	livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
	go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
	a sorrow than have it.

HELENA	I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.

LAFEU	Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
	excessive grief the enemy to the living.

COUNTESS	If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
	makes it soon mortal.

BERTRAM	Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

LAFEU	How understand we that?

COUNTESS	Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
	In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
	Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
	Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
	Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
	Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
	Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,
	But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
	That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
	Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
	'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
	Advise him.

LAFEU	          He cannot want the best
	That shall attend his love.

COUNTESS	Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

	[Exit]

BERTRAM	[To HELENA]  The best wishes that can be forged in
	your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable
	to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.

LAFEU	Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of
	your father.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

HELENA	O, were that all! I think not on my father;
	And these great tears grace his remembrance more
	Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
	I have forgot him: my imagination
	Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
	I am undone: there is no living, none,
	If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
	That I should love a bright particular star
	And think to wed it, he is so above me:
	In his bright radiance and collateral light
	Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
	The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
	The hind that would be mated by the lion
	Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague,
	To see him every hour; to sit and draw
	His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
	In our heart's table; heart too capable
	Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
	But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
	Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?

	[Enter PAROLLES]

	[Aside]

	One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
	And yet I know him a notorious liar,
	Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
	Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,
	That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
	Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
	Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

PAROLLES	Save you, fair queen!

HELENA	And you, monarch!

PAROLLES	No.

HELENA	And no.

PAROLLES	Are you meditating on virginity?

HELENA	Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me
	ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how
	may we barricado it against him?

PAROLLES	Keep him out.

HELENA	But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
	in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some
	warlike resistance.

PAROLLES	There is none: man, sitting down before you, will
	undermine you and blow you up.

HELENA	Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
	blowers up! Is there no military policy, how
	virgins might blow up men?

PAROLLES	Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be
	blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with
	the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It
	is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to
	preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
	increase and there was never virgin got till
	virginity was first lost. That you were made of is
	metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost
	may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is
	ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!

HELENA	I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

PAROLLES	There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the
	rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,
	is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible
	disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin:
	virginity murders itself and should be buried in
	highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
	offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,
	much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
	paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.
	Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of
	self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
	canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose
	by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
	itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
	principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!

HELENA	How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?

PAROLLES	Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it
	likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
	lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't
	while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request.
	Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out
	of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just
	like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not
	now. Your date is better in your pie and your
	porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,
	your old virginity, is like one of our French
	withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
	'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
	marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?

HELENA	Not my virginity yet [         ]
	There shall your master have a thousand loves,
	A mother and a mistress and a friend,
	A phoenix, captain and an enemy,
	A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
	A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
	His humble ambition, proud humility,
	His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
	His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
	Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
	That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he--
	I know not what he shall. God send him well!
	The court's a learning place, and he is one--

PAROLLES	What one, i' faith?

HELENA	That I wish well. 'Tis pity--

PAROLLES	What's pity?

HELENA	That wishing well had not a body in't,
	Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
	Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
	Might with effects of them follow our friends,
	And show what we alone must think, which never
	Return us thanks.

	[Enter Page]

Page	Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I
	will think of thee at court.

HELENA	Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.

PAROLLES	Under Mars, I.

HELENA	I especially think, under Mars.

PAROLLES	Why under Mars?

HELENA	The wars have so kept you under that you must needs
	be born under Mars.

PAROLLES	When he was predominant.

HELENA	When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

PAROLLES	Why think you so?

HELENA	You go so much backward when you fight.

PAROLLES	That's for advantage.

HELENA	So is running away, when fear proposes the safety;
	but the composition that your valour and fear makes
	in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

PAROLLES	I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
	acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the
	which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize
	thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's
	counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon
	thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and
	thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When
	thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast
	none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband,
	and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell.

	[Exit]

HELENA	Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
	Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
	Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
	Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
	What power is it which mounts my love so high,
	That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
	The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
	To join like likes and kiss like native things.
	Impossible be strange attempts to those
	That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose
	What hath been cannot be: who ever strove
	So show her merit, that did miss her love?
	The king's disease--my project may deceive me,
	But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE II	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France,
	with letters, and divers Attendants]

KING	The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears;
	Have fought with equal fortune and continue
	A braving war.

First Lord	                  So 'tis reported, sir.

KING	Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it
	A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
	With caution that the Florentine will move us
	For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
	Prejudicates the business and would seem
	To have us make denial.

First Lord	His love and wisdom,
	Approved so to your majesty, may plead
	For amplest credence.

KING	He hath arm'd our answer,
	And Florence is denied before he comes:
	Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
	The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
	To stand on either part.

Second Lord	It well may serve
	A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
	For breathing and exploit.

KING	What's he comes here?

	[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

First Lord	It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
	Young Bertram.

KING	                  Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
	Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
	Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts
	Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

BERTRAM	My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

KING	I would I had that corporal soundness now,
	As when thy father and myself in friendship
	First tried our soldiership! He did look far
	Into the service of the time and was
	Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
	But on us both did haggish age steal on
	And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
	To talk of your good father. In his youth
	He had the wit which I can well observe
	To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
	Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
	Ere they can hide their levity in honour;
	So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
	Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
	His equal had awaked them, and his honour,
	Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
	Exception bid him speak, and at this time
	His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
	He used as creatures of another place
	And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
	Making them proud of his humility,
	In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
	Might be a copy to these younger times;
	Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
	But goers backward.

BERTRAM	His good remembrance, sir,
	Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
	So in approof lives not his epitaph
	As in your royal speech.

KING	Would I were with him! He would always say--
	Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
	He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
	To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'--
	This his good melancholy oft began,
	On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
	When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he,
	'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
	Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
	All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
	Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
	Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;
	I after him do after him wish too,
	Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
	I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
	To give some labourers room.

Second Lord	You are loved, sir:
	They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

KING	I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,
	Since the physician at your father's died?
	He was much famed.

BERTRAM	                  Some six months since, my lord.

KING	If he were living, I would try him yet.
	Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out
	With several applications; nature and sickness
	Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
	My son's no dearer.

BERTRAM	Thank your majesty.

	[Exeunt. Flourish]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]

COUNTESS	I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?

Steward	Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I
	wish might be found in the calendar of my past
	endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make
	foul the clearness of our deservings, when of
	ourselves we publish them.

COUNTESS	What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
	the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
	believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
	you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
	enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clown	'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

COUNTESS	Well, sir.

Clown	No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
	many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
	your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
	the woman and I will do as we may.

COUNTESS	Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clown	I do beg your good will in this case.

COUNTESS	In what case?

Clown	In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no
	heritage: and I think I shall never have the
	blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for
	they say barnes are blessings.

COUNTESS	Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown	My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
	by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

COUNTESS	Is this all your worship's reason?

Clown	Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
	are.

COUNTESS	May the world know them?

Clown	I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
	all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
	that I may repent.

COUNTESS	Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clown	I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
	friends for my wife's sake.

COUNTESS	Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown	You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
	knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
	He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
	leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
	drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
	of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
	and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
	flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
	my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
	be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
	for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
	Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
	religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
	horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

COUNTESS	Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clown	A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
	way:
	For I the ballad will repeat,
	Which men full true shall find;
	Your marriage comes by destiny,
	Your cuckoo sings by kind.

COUNTESS	Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.

Steward	May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
	you: of her I am to speak.

COUNTESS	Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
	Helen, I mean.

Clown	     Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
	Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
	Fond done, done fond,
	Was this King Priam's joy?
	With that she sighed as she stood,
	With that she sighed as she stood,
	And gave this sentence then;
	Among nine bad if one be good,
	Among nine bad if one be good,
	There's yet one good in ten.

COUNTESS	What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clown	One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
	o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
	the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
	if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
	might have a good woman born but one every blazing
	star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
	well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
	one.

COUNTESS	You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

Clown	That man should be at woman's command, and yet no
	hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
	will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
	humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
	going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

	[Exit]

COUNTESS	Well, now.

Steward	I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

COUNTESS	Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
	she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
	make title to as much love as she finds: there is
	more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
	her than she'll demand.

Steward	Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
	she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
	to herself her own words to her own ears; she
	thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
	stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
	Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
	such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
	god, that would not extend his might, only where
	qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
	would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
	rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
	This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
	sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
	held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;
	sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
	you something to know it.

COUNTESS	You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
	yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
	before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
	I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
	leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
	for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

	[Exit Steward]

	[Enter HELENA]

	Even so it was with me when I was young:
	If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
	Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
	Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
	It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
	Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
	By our remembrances of days foregone,
	Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
	Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.

HELENA	What is your pleasure, madam?

COUNTESS	You know, Helen,
	I am a mother to you.

HELENA	Mine honourable mistress.

COUNTESS	Nay, a mother:
	Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
	Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
	That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
	And put you in the catalogue of those
	That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
	Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
	A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
	You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
	Yet I express to you a mother's care:
	God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
	To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
	That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
	The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
	Why? that you are my daughter?

HELENA	That I am not.

COUNTESS	I say, I am your mother.

HELENA	Pardon, madam;
	The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
	I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
	No note upon my parents, his all noble:
	My master, my dear lord he is; and I
	His servant live, and will his vassal die:
	He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS	Nor I your mother?

HELENA	You are my mother, madam; would you were,--
	So that my lord your son were not my brother,--
	Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
	I care no more for than I do for heaven,
	So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
	But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

COUNTESS	Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
	God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
	So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
	My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
	The mystery of your loneliness, and find
	Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
	You love my son; invention is ashamed,
	Against the proclamation of thy passion,
	To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
	But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
	Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
	See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
	That in their kind they speak it: only sin
	And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
	That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
	If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
	If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
	As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
	Tell me truly.

HELENA	                  Good madam, pardon me!

COUNTESS	Do you love my son?

HELENA	Your pardon, noble mistress!

COUNTESS	Love you my son?

HELENA	                  Do not you love him, madam?

COUNTESS	Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
	Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
	The state of your affection; for your passions
	Have to the full appeach'd.

HELENA	Then, I confess,
	Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
	That before you, and next unto high heaven,
	I love your son.
	My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
	Be not offended; for it hurts not him
	That he is loved of me: I follow him not
	By any token of presumptuous suit;
	Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
	Yet never know how that desert should be.
	I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
	Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
	I still pour in the waters of my love
	And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
	Religious in mine error, I adore
	The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
	But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
	Let not your hate encounter with my love
	For loving where you do: but if yourself,
	Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
	Did ever in so true a flame of liking
	Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
	Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity
	To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
	But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
	That seeks not to find that her search implies,
	But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

COUNTESS	Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
	To go to Paris?

HELENA	                  Madam, I had.

COUNTESS	Wherefore? tell true.

HELENA	I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
	You know my father left me some prescriptions
	Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
	And manifest experience had collected
	For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
	In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
	As notes whose faculties inclusive were
	More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
	There is a remedy, approved, set down,
	To cure the desperate languishings whereof
	The king is render'd lost.

COUNTESS	This was your motive
	For Paris, was it? speak.

HELENA	My lord your son made me to think of this;
	Else Paris and the medicine and the king
	Had from the conversation of my thoughts
	Haply been absent then.

COUNTESS	But think you, Helen,
	If you should tender your supposed aid,
	He would receive it? he and his physicians
	Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
	They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
	A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
	Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
	The danger to itself?

HELENA	There's something in't,
	More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
	Of his profession, that his good receipt
	Shall for my legacy be sanctified
	By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour
	But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
	The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
	By such a day and hour.

COUNTESS	Dost thou believe't?

HELENA	Ay, madam, knowingly.

COUNTESS	Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
	Means and attendants and my loving greetings
	To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
	And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
	Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
	What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE I	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended
	with divers young Lords taking leave for the
	Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES]

KING	Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles
	Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:
	Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all
	The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,
	And is enough for both.

First Lord	'Tis our hope, sir,
	After well enter'd soldiers, to return
	And find your grace in health.

KING	No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
	Will not confess he owes the malady
	That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
	Whether I live or die, be you the sons
	Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,--
	Those bated that inherit but the fall
	Of the last monarchy,--see that you come
	Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
	The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
	That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

Second Lord	Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

KING	Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:
	They say, our French lack language to deny,
	If they demand: beware of being captives,
	Before you serve.

Both	                  Our hearts receive your warnings.

KING	Farewell. Come hither to me.

	[Exit, attended]

First Lord	O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

PAROLLES	'Tis not his fault, the spark.

Second Lord	O, 'tis brave wars!

PAROLLES	Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

BERTRAM	I am commanded here, and kept a coil with
	'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.'

PAROLLES	An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely.

BERTRAM	I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
	Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
	Till honour be bought up and no sword worn
	But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.

First Lord	There's honour in the theft.

PAROLLES	Commit it, count.

Second Lord	I am your accessary; and so, farewell.

BERTRAM	I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

First Lord	Farewell, captain.

Second Lord	Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES	Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good
	sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall
	find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain
	Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here
	on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword
	entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his
	reports for me.

First Lord	We shall, noble captain.

	[Exeunt Lords]

PAROLLES	Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do?

BERTRAM	Stay: the king.

	[Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire]

PAROLLES	[To BERTRAM]  Use a more spacious ceremony to the
	noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the
	list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to
	them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the
	time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and
	move under the influence of the most received star;
	and though the devil lead the measure, such are to
	be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BERTRAM	And I will do so.

PAROLLES	Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES]

	[Enter LAFEU]

LAFEU	[Kneeling]  Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings.

KING	I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU	Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon.
	I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy,
	And that at my bidding you could so stand up.

KING	I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
	And ask'd thee mercy for't.

LAFEU	Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus;
	Will you be cured of your infirmity?

KING	No.

LAFEU	O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
	Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if
	My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine
	That's able to breathe life into a stone,
	Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
	With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,
	Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
	To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand,
	And write to her a love-line.

KING	What 'her' is this?

LAFEU	Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived,
	If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour,
	If seriously I may convey my thoughts
	In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
	With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,
	Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more
	Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her
	For that is her demand, and know her business?
	That done, laugh well at me.

KING	Now, good Lafeu,
	Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
	May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
	By wondering how thou took'st it.

LAFEU	Nay, I'll fit you,
	And not be all day neither.

	[Exit]

KING	Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

	[Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA]

LAFEU	Nay, come your ways.

KING	This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU	Nay, come your ways:
	This is his majesty; say your mind to him:
	A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
	His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,
	That dare leave two together; fare you well.

	[Exit]

KING	Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

HELENA	Ay, my good lord.
	Gerard de Narbon was my father;
	In what he did profess, well found.

KING	I knew him.

HELENA	The rather will I spare my praises towards him:
	Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
	Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.
	Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,
	And of his old experience the oily darling,
	He bade me store up, as a triple eye,
	Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so;
	And hearing your high majesty is touch'd
	With that malignant cause wherein the honour
	Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
	I come to tender it and my appliance
	With all bound humbleness.

KING	We thank you, maiden;
	But may not be so credulous of cure,
	When our most learned doctors leave us and
	The congregated college have concluded
	That labouring art can never ransom nature
	From her inaidible estate; I say we must not
	So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
	To prostitute our past-cure malady
	To empirics, or to dissever so
	Our great self and our credit, to esteem
	A senseless help when help past sense we deem.

HELENA	My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
	I will no more enforce mine office on you.
	Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
	A modest one, to bear me back a again.

KING	I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
	Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give
	As one near death to those that wish him live:
	But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,
	I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

HELENA	What I can do can do no hurt to try,
	Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.
	He that of greatest works is finisher
	Oft does them by the weakest minister:
	So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
	When judges have been babes; great floods have flown
	From simple sources, and great seas have dried
	When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
	Oft expectation fails and most oft there
	Where most it promises, and oft it hits
	Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

KING	I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;
	Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:
	Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

HELENA	Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
	It is not so with Him that all things knows
	As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
	But most it is presumption in us when
	The help of heaven we count the act of men.
	Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
	Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
	I am not an impostor that proclaim
	Myself against the level of mine aim;
	But know I think and think I know most sure
	My art is not past power nor you past cure.

KING	Are thou so confident? within what space
	Hopest thou my cure?

HELENA	The great'st grace lending grace
	Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
	Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,
	Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
	Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,
	Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
	Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
	What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
	Health shall live free and sickness freely die.

KING	Upon thy certainty and confidence
	What darest thou venture?

HELENA	Tax of impudence,
	A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame
	Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name
	Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended
	With vilest torture let my life be ended.

KING	Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak
	His powerful sound within an organ weak:
	And what impossibility would slay
	In common sense, sense saves another way.
	Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
	Worth name of life in thee hath estimate,
	Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
	That happiness and prime can happy call:
	Thou this to hazard needs must intimate
	Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
	Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
	That ministers thine own death if I die.

HELENA	If I break time, or flinch in property
	Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,
	And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee;
	But, if I help, what do you promise me?

KING	Make thy demand.

HELENA	                  But will you make it even?

KING	Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.

HELENA	Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand
	What husband in thy power I will command:
	Exempted be from me the arrogance
	To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
	My low and humble name to propagate
	With any branch or image of thy state;
	But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
	Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

KING	Here is my hand; the premises observed,
	Thy will by my performance shall be served:
	So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
	Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely.
	More should I question thee, and more I must,
	Though more to know could not be more to trust,
	From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest
	Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
	Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed
	As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE II	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS	Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
	your breeding.

Clown	I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I
	know my business is but to the court.

COUNTESS	To the court! why, what place make you special,
	when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clown	Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he
	may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make
	a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing,
	has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed
	such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the
	court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all
	men.

COUNTESS	Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
	questions.

Clown	It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,
	the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn
	buttock, or any buttock.

COUNTESS	Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clown	As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
	as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's
	rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove
	Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his
	hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen
	to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the
	friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

COUNTESS	Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
	questions?

Clown	From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
	will fit any question.

COUNTESS	It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
	must fit all demands.

Clown	But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
	should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that
	belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall
	do you no harm to learn.

COUNTESS	To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
	question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
	pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clown	O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,
	more, a hundred of them.

COUNTESS	Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

Clown	O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.

COUNTESS	I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.

Clown	O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

COUNTESS	You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

Clown	O Lord, sir! spare not me.

COUNTESS	Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
	'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very
	sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well
	to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

Clown	I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,
	sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

COUNTESS	I play the noble housewife with the time
	To entertain't so merrily with a fool.

Clown	O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again.

COUNTESS	An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
	And urge her to a present answer back:
	Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
	This is not much.

Clown	Not much commendation to them.

COUNTESS	Not much employment for you: you understand me?

Clown	Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

COUNTESS	Haste you again.

	[Exeunt severally]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE III	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

LAFEU	They say miracles are past; and we have our
	philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,
	things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that
	we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves
	into seeming knowledge, when we should submit
	ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES	Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath
	shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM	And so 'tis.

LAFEU	To be relinquish'd of the artists,--

PAROLLES	So I say.

LAFEU	Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES	So I say.

LAFEU	Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES	Right; so I say.

LAFEU	That gave him out incurable,--

PAROLLES	Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

LAFEU	Not to be helped,--

PAROLLES	Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a--

LAFEU	Uncertain life, and sure death.

PAROLLES	Just, you say well; so would I have said.

LAFEU	I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

PAROLLES	It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you
	shall read it in--what do you call there?

LAFEU	A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor.

PAROLLES	That's it; I would have said the very same.

LAFEU	Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,
	I speak in respect--

PAROLLES	Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
	brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most
	facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--

LAFEU	Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES	Ay, so I say.

LAFEU	In a most weak--

	[pausing]

	and debile minister, great power, great
	transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a
	further use to be made than alone the recovery of
	the king, as to be--

	[pausing]

	generally thankful.

PAROLLES	I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king.

	[Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and
	PAROLLES retire]

LAFEU	Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the
	better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's
	able to lead her a coranto.

PAROLLES	Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU	'Fore God, I think so.

KING	Go, call before me all the lords in court.
	Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
	And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
	Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
	The confirmation of my promised gift,
	Which but attends thy naming.

	[Enter three or four Lords]

	Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
	Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
	O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
	I have to use: thy frank election make;
	Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

HELENA	To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
	Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!

LAFEU	I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture,
	My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
	And writ as little beard.

KING	Peruse them well:
	Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA	Gentlemen,
	Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.

All	We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA	I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest,
	That I protest I simply am a maid.
	Please it your majesty, I have done already:
	The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
	'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused,
	Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
	We'll ne'er come there again.'

KING	Make choice; and, see,
	Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

HELENA	Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,
	And to imperial Love, that god most high,
	Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?

First Lord	And grant it.

HELENA	                  Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

LAFEU	I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace
	for my life.

HELENA	The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
	Before I speak, too threateningly replies:
	Love make your fortunes twenty times above
	Her that so wishes and her humble love!

Second Lord	No better, if you please.

HELENA	My wish receive,
	Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.

LAFEU	Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine,
	I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the
	Turk, to make eunuchs of.

HELENA	Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
	I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
	Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
	Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAFEU	These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her:
	sure, they are bastards to the English; the French
	ne'er got 'em.

HELENA	You are too young, too happy, and too good,
	To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord	Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU	There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk
	wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth
	of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HELENA	[To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; but I give
	Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
	Into your guiding power. This is the man.

KING	Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife.

BERTRAM	My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,
	In such a business give me leave to use
	The help of mine own eyes.

KING	Know'st thou not, Bertram,
	What she has done for me?

BERTRAM	Yes, my good lord;
	But never hope to know why I should marry her.

KING	Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed.

BERTRAM	But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
	Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
	She had her breeding at my father's charge.
	A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain
	Rather corrupt me ever!

KING	'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
	I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
	Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
	Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
	In differences so mighty. If she be
	All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
	A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
	Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
	From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
	The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
	Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,
	It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
	Is good without a name. Vileness is so:
	The property by what it is should go,
	Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
	In these to nature she's immediate heir,
	And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
	Which challenges itself as honour's born
	And is not like the sire: honours thrive,
	When rather from our acts we them derive
	Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave
	Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave
	A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
	Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
	Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
	If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
	I can create the rest: virtue and she
	Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.

BERTRAM	I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

KING	Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA	That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad:
	Let the rest go.

KING	My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
	I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
	Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
	That dost in vile misprision shackle up
	My love and her desert; that canst not dream,
	We, poising us in her defective scale,
	Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
	It is in us to plant thine honour where
	We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt:
	Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
	Believe not thy disdain, but presently
	Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
	Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
	Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
	Into the staggers and the careless lapse
	Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate
	Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice,
	Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.

BERTRAM	Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
	My fancy to your eyes: when I consider
	What great creation and what dole of honour
	Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late
	Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
	The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
	Is as 'twere born so.

KING	Take her by the hand,
	And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise
	A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
	A balance more replete.

BERTRAM	I take her hand.

KING	Good fortune and the favour of the king
	Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
	Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
	And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
	Shall more attend upon the coming space,
	Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,
	Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

	[Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

LAFEU	[Advancing]  Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you.

PAROLLES	Your pleasure, sir?

LAFEU	Your lord and master did well to make his
	recantation.

PAROLLES	Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU	Ay; is it not a language I speak?

PAROLLES	A most harsh one, and not to be understood without
	bloody succeeding. My master!

LAFEU	Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES	To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

LAFEU	To what is count's man: count's master is of
	another style.

PAROLLES	You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

LAFEU	I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which
	title age cannot bring thee.

PAROLLES	What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

LAFEU	I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty
	wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy
	travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the
	bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from
	believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I
	have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care
	not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and
	that thou't scarce worth.

PAROLLES	Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,--

LAFEU	Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou
	hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee
	for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee
	well: thy casement I need not open, for I look
	through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES	My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

LAFEU	Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

PAROLLES	I have not, my lord, deserved it.

LAFEU	Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not
	bate thee a scruple.

PAROLLES	Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU	Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at
	a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound
	in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is
	to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold
	my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge,
	that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES	My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU	I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor
	doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by
	thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off
	me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must
	be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
	I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with
	any convenience, an he were double and double a
	lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I
	would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

	[Re-enter LAFEU]

LAFEU	Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news
	for you: you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES	I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make
	some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good
	lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU	Who? God?

PAROLLES	Ay, sir.

LAFEU	The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou
	garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of
	sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set
	thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine
	honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat
	thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and
	every man should beat thee: I think thou wast
	created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES	This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU	Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a
	kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and
	no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords
	and honourable personages than the commission of your
	birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not
	worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;
	let it be concealed awhile.

	[Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM	Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES	What's the matter, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM	Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
	I will not bed her.

PAROLLES	What, what, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM	O my Parolles, they have married me!
	I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES	France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
	The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

BERTRAM	There's letters from my mother: what the import is,
	I know not yet.

PAROLLES	Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
	He wears his honour in a box unseen,
	That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
	Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
	Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
	Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions
	France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;
	Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM	It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,
	Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
	And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
	That which I durst not speak; his present gift
	Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
	Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife
	To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES	Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM	Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
	I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
	I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES	Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
	A young man married is a man that's marr'd:
	Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
	The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE IV	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter HELENA and Clown]

HELENA	My mother greets me kindly; is she well?

Clown	She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's
	very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be
	given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the
	world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA	If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's
	not very well?

Clown	Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

HELENA	What two things?

Clown	One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her
	quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence
	God send her quickly!

	[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES	Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA	I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own
	good fortunes.

PAROLLES	You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them
	on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clown	So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,
	I would she did as you say.

PAROLLES	Why, I say nothing.

Clown	Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's
	tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say
	nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have
	nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which
	is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES	Away! thou'rt a knave.

Clown	You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a
	knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had
	been truth, sir.

PAROLLES	Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

Clown	Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you
	taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;
	and much fool may you find in you, even to the
	world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES	A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
	Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
	A very serious business calls on him.
	The great prerogative and rite of love,
	Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
	But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
	Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,
	Which they distil now in the curbed time,
	To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
	And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA	What's his will else?

PAROLLES	That you will take your instant leave o' the king
	And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
	Strengthen'd with what apology you think
	May make it probable need.

HELENA	What more commands he?

PAROLLES	That, having this obtain'd, you presently
	Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA	In every thing I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES	I shall report it so.

HELENA	I pray you.

	[Exit PAROLLES]

	Come, sirrah.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE V	Paris. The KING's palace.


	[Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM]

LAFEU	But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier.

BERTRAM	Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

LAFEU	You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM	And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU	Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM	I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
	knowledge and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU	I have then sinned against his experience and
	transgressed against his valour; and my state that
	way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my
	heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make
	us friends; I will pursue the amity.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES	[To BERTRAM]  These things shall be done, sir.

LAFEU	Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

PAROLLES	Sir?

LAFEU	O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good
	workman, a very good tailor.

BERTRAM	[Aside to PAROLLES]  Is she gone to the king?

PAROLLES	She is.

BERTRAM	Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES	As you'll have her.

BERTRAM	I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
	Given order for our horses; and to-night,
	When I should take possession of the bride,
	End ere I do begin.

LAFEU	A good traveller is something at the latter end of a
	dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a
	known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should
	be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.

BERTRAM	Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

PAROLLES	I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's
	displeasure.

LAFEU	You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs
	and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and
	out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer
	question for your residence.

BERTRAM	It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU	And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's
	prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this
	of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the
	soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in
	matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them
	tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur:
	I have spoken better of you than you have or will to
	deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	An idle lord. I swear.

BERTRAM	I think so.

PAROLLES	Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM	Yes, I do know him well, and common speech
	Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

	[Enter HELENA]

HELENA	I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
	Spoke with the king and have procured his leave
	For present parting; only he desires
	Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM	I shall obey his will.
	You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
	Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
	The ministration and required office
	On my particular. Prepared I was not
	For such a business; therefore am I found
	So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you
	That presently you take our way for home;
	And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,
	For my respects are better than they seem
	And my appointments have in them a need
	Greater than shows itself at the first view
	To you that know them not. This to my mother:

	[Giving a letter]

	'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
	I leave you to your wisdom.

HELENA	Sir, I can nothing say,
	But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM	Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA	And ever shall
	With true observance seek to eke out that
	Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
	To equal my great fortune.

BERTRAM	Let that go:
	My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.

HELENA	Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM	Well, what would you say?

HELENA	I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
	Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;
	But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
	What law does vouch mine own.

BERTRAM	What would you have?

HELENA	Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.
	I would not tell you what I would, my lord:
	Faith yes;
	Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

BERTRAM	I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HELENA	I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

BERTRAM	Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.

	[Exit HELENA]

	Go thou toward home; where I will never come
	Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
	Away, and for our flight.

PAROLLES	Bravely, coragio!

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE I	Florence. The DUKE's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended;
	the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers.

DUKE	So that from point to point now have you heard
	The fundamental reasons of this war,
	Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
	And more thirsts after.

First Lord	Holy seems the quarrel
	Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
	On the opposer.

DUKE	Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
	Would in so just a business shut his bosom
	Against our borrowing prayers.

Second Lord	Good my lord,
	The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
	But like a common and an outward man,
	That the great figure of a council frames
	By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
	Say what I think of it, since I have found
	Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
	As often as I guess'd.

DUKE	Be it his pleasure.

First Lord	But I am sure the younger of our nature,
	That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
	Come here for physic.

DUKE	Welcome shall they be;
	And all the honours that can fly from us
	Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
	When better fall, for your avails they fell:
	To-morrow to the field.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE II	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS	It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
	that he comes not along with her.

Clown	By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
	melancholy man.

COUNTESS	By what observance, I pray you?

Clown	Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
	ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
	teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
	melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

COUNTESS	Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

	[Opening a letter]

Clown	I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
	old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
	like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
	the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
	love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

COUNTESS	What have we here?

Clown	E'en that you have there.

	[Exit]

COUNTESS	[Reads]  I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
	recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
	her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
	eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
	before the report come. If there be breadth enough
	in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
	to you.	Your unfortunate son,
			     BERTRAM.
	This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
	To fly the favours of so good a king;
	To pluck his indignation on thy head
	By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
	For the contempt of empire.

	[Re-enter Clown]

Clown	O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
	soldiers and my young lady!

COUNTESS	What is the matter?

Clown	Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
	comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I
	thought he would.

COUNTESS	Why should he be killed?

Clown	So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:
	the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of
	men, though it be the getting of children. Here
	they come will tell you more: for my part, I only
	hear your son was run away.

	[Exit]

	[Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	Save you, good madam.

HELENA	Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

Second Gentleman	Do not say so.

COUNTESS	Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
	I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
	That the first face of neither, on the start,
	Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

Second Gentleman	Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
	We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
	And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
	Thither we bend again.

HELENA	Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.

	[Reads]

	When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
	never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
	of thy body that I am father to, then call me
	husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'
	This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNTESS	Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gentleman	Ay, madam;
	And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

COUNTESS	I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
	If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
	Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
	But I do wash his name out of my blood,
	And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

Second Gentleman	Ay, madam.

COUNTESS	         And to be a soldier?

Second Gentleman	Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,
	The duke will lay upon him all the honour
	That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS	Return you thither?

First Gentleman	Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

HELENA	[Reads]  Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
	'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS	                  Find you that there?

HELENA	Ay, madam.

First Gentleman	'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
	heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS	Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
	There's nothing here that is too good for him
	But only she; and she deserves a lord
	That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
	And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

First Gentleman	A servant only, and a gentleman
	Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS	Parolles, was it not?

First Gentleman	Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS	A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
	My son corrupts a well-derived nature
	With his inducement.

First Gentleman	Indeed, good lady,
	The fellow has a deal of that too much,
	Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS	You're welcome, gentlemen.
	I will entreat you, when you see my son,
	To tell him that his sword can never win
	The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
	Written to bear along.

Second Gentleman	We serve you, madam,
	In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS	Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
	Will you draw near!

	[Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen]

HELENA	'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
	Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
	Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
	Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
	That chase thee from thy country and expose
	Those tender limbs of thine to the event
	Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
	That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
	Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
	Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
	That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
	Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
	That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
	Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
	Whoever charges on his forward breast,
	I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
	And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
	His death was so effected: better 'twere
	I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
	With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
	That all the miseries which nature owes
	Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
	Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
	As oft it loses all: I will be gone;
	My being here it is that holds thee hence:
	Shall I stay here to do't?  no, no, although
	The air of paradise did fan the house
	And angels officed all: I will be gone,
	That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
	To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
	For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE III	Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM,
	PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets]

DUKE	The general of our horse thou art; and we,
	Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
	Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM	Sir, it is
	A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
	We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
	To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE	Then go thou forth;
	And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
	As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM	This very day,
	Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
	Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
	A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE IV	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS and Steward]

COUNTESS	Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
	Might you not know she would do as she has done,
	By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Steward	[Reads]

	I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
	Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
	That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
	With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
	Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
	My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:
	Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
	His name with zealous fervor sanctify:
	His taken labours bid him me forgive;
	I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
	From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
	Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:
	He is too good and fair for death and me:
	Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

COUNTESS	Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
	Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
	As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,
	I could have well diverted her intents,
	Which thus she hath prevented.

Steward	Pardon me, madam:
	If I had given you this at over-night,
	She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
	Pursuit would be but vain.

COUNTESS	What angel shall
	Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
	Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
	And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
	Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
	To this unworthy husband of his wife;
	Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
	That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
	Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
	Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
	When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
	He will return; and hope I may that she,
	Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
	Led hither by pure love: which of them both
	Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
	To make distinction: provide this messenger:
	My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
	Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE V	Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off.


	[Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA,
	and MARIANA, with other Citizens]

Widow	Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we
	shall lose all the sight.

DIANA	They say the French count has done most honourable service.

Widow	It is reported that he has taken their greatest
	commander; and that with his own hand he slew the
	duke's brother.

	[Tucket]

	We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary
	way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA	Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with
	the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this
	French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and
	no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Widow	I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited
	by a gentleman his companion.

MARIANA	I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a
	filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the
	young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises,
	enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
	lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid
	hath been seduced by them; and the misery is,
	example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of
	maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession,
	but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten
	them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but
	I hope your own grace will keep you where you are,
	though there were no further danger known but the
	modesty which is so lost.

DIANA	You shall not need to fear me.

Widow	I hope so.

	[Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim]

	Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at
	my house; thither they send one another: I'll
	question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

HELENA	To Saint Jaques le Grand.
	Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Widow	At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

HELENA	Is this the way?

Widow	Ay, marry, is't.

	[A march afar]

	Hark you! they come this way.
	If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
	But till the troops come by,
	I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;
	The rather, for I think I know your hostess
	As ample as myself.

HELENA	Is it yourself?

Widow	If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELENA	I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Widow	You came, I think, from France?

HELENA	I did so.

Widow	Here you shall see a countryman of yours
	That has done worthy service.

HELENA	His name, I pray you.

DIANA	The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

HELENA	But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:
	His face I know not.

DIANA	Whatsome'er he is,
	He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
	As 'tis reported, for the king had married him
	Against his liking: think you it is so?

HELENA	Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady.

DIANA	There is a gentleman that serves the count
	Reports but coarsely of her.

HELENA	What's his name?

DIANA	Monsieur Parolles.

HELENA	                  O, I believe with him,
	In argument of praise, or to the worth
	Of the great count himself, she is too mean
	To have her name repeated: all her deserving
	Is a reserved honesty, and that
	I have not heard examined.

DIANA	Alas, poor lady!
	'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
	Of a detesting lord.

Widow	I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is,
	Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
	A shrewd turn, if she pleased.

HELENA	How do you mean?
	May be the amorous count solicits her
	In the unlawful purpose.

Widow	He does indeed;
	And brokes with all that can in such a suit
	Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
	But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard
	In honestest defence.

MARIANA	The gods forbid else!

Widow	So, now they come:

	[Drum and Colours]

	[Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army]

	That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
	That, Escalus.

HELENA	                  Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA	He;
	That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow.
	I would he loved his wife: if he were honester
	He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman?

HELENA	I like him well.

DIANA	'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave
	That leads him to these places: were I his lady,
	I would Poison that vile rascal.

HELENA	Which is he?

DIANA	That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy?

HELENA	Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.

PAROLLES	Lose our drum! well.

MARIANA	He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us.

Widow	Marry, hang you!

MARIANA	And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

	[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army]

Widow	The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
	Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
	There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
	Already at my house.

HELENA	I humbly thank you:
	Please it this matron and this gentle maid
	To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking
	Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
	I will bestow some precepts of this virgin
	Worthy the note.

BOTH	                  We'll take your offer kindly.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VI	Camp before Florence.


	[Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords]

Second Lord	Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his
	way.

First Lord	If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no
	more in your respect.

Second Lord	On my life, my lord, a bubble.

BERTRAM	Do you think I am so far deceived in him?

Second Lord	Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,
	without any malice, but to speak of him as my
	kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and
	endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner
	of no one good quality worthy your lordship's
	entertainment.

First Lord	It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in
	his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some
	great and trusty business in a main danger fail you.

BERTRAM	I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

First Lord	None better than to let him fetch off his drum,
	which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

Second Lord	I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
	surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he
	knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink
	him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he
	is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when
	we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship
	present at his examination: if he do not, for the
	promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of
	base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the
	intelligence in his power against you, and that with
	the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never
	trust my judgment in any thing.

First Lord	O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum;
	he says he has a stratagem for't: when your
	lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to
	what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be
	melted, if you give him not John Drum's
	entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed.
	Here he comes.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

Second Lord	[Aside to BERTRAM]  O, for the love of laughter,
	hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch
	off his drum in any hand.

BERTRAM	How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your
	disposition.

First Lord	A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.

PAROLLES	'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost!
	There was excellent command,--to charge in with our
	horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers!

First Lord	That was not to be blamed in the command of the
	service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar
	himself could not have prevented, if he had been
	there to command.

BERTRAM	Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some
	dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is
	not to be recovered.

PAROLLES	It might have been recovered.

BERTRAM	It might; but it is not now.

PAROLLES	It is to be recovered: but that the merit of
	service is seldom attributed to the true and exact
	performer, I would have that drum or another, or
	'hic jacet.'

BERTRAM	Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you
	think your mystery in stratagem can bring this
	instrument of honour again into his native quarter,
	be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will
	grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you
	speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it.
	and extend to you what further becomes his
	greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your
	worthiness.

PAROLLES	By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

BERTRAM	But you must not now slumber in it.

PAROLLES	I'll about it this evening: and I will presently
	pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my
	certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation;
	and by midnight look to hear further from me.

BERTRAM	May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it?

PAROLLES	I know not what the success will be, my lord; but
	the attempt I vow.

BERTRAM	I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of
	thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

PAROLLES	I love not many words.

	[Exit]

Second Lord	No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a
	strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems
	to undertake this business, which he knows is not to
	be done; damns himself to do and dares better be
	damned than to do't?

First Lord	You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it
	is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and
	for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but
	when you find him out, you have him ever after.

BERTRAM	Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of
	this that so seriously he does address himself unto?

Second Lord	None in the world; but return with an invention and
	clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we
	have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall
	to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect.

First Lord	We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case
	him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu:
	when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a
	sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this
	very night.

Second Lord	I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught.

BERTRAM	Your brother he shall go along with me.

Second Lord	As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

	[Exit]

BERTRAM	Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
	The lass I spoke of.

First Lord	But you say she's honest.

BERTRAM	That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once
	And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
	By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind,
	Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
	And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature:
	Will you go see her?

First Lord	With all my heart, my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VII	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter HELENA and Widow]

HELENA	If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
	I know not how I shall assure you further,
	But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

Widow	Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
	Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
	And would not put my reputation now
	In any staining act.

HELENA	Nor would I wish you.
	First, give me trust, the count he is my husband,
	And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
	Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,
	By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
	Err in bestowing it.

Widow	I should believe you:
	For you have show'd me that which well approves
	You're great in fortune.

HELENA	Take this purse of gold,
	And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
	Which I will over-pay and pay again
	When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter,
	Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
	Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent,
	As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
	Now his important blood will nought deny
	That she'll demand: a ring the county wears,
	That downward hath succeeded in his house
	From son to son, some four or five descents
	Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds
	In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
	To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
	Howe'er repented after.

Widow	Now I see
	The bottom of your purpose.

HELENA	You see it lawful, then: it is no more,
	But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
	Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
	In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
	Herself most chastely absent: after this,
	To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
	To what is passed already.

Widow	I have yielded:
	Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
	That time and place with this deceit so lawful
	May prove coherent. Every night he comes
	With musics of all sorts and songs composed
	To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us
	To chide him from our eaves; for he persists
	As if his life lay on't.

HELENA	Why then to-night
	Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
	Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed
	And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
	Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
	But let's about it.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE I	Without the Florentine camp.


	[Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other
	Soldiers in ambush]

Second Lord	He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.
	When you sally upon him, speak what terrible
	language you will: though you understand it not
	yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to
	understand him, unless some one among us whom we
	must produce for an interpreter.

First Soldier	Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

Second Lord	Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice?

First Soldier	No, sir, I warrant you.

Second Lord	But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again?

First Soldier	E'en such as you speak to me.

Second Lord	He must think us some band of strangers i' the
	adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of
	all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every
	one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we
	speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to
	know straight our purpose: choughs' language,
	gabble enough, and good enough. As for you,
	interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch,
	ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep,
	and then to return and swear the lies he forges.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES	Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be
	time enough to go home. What shall I say I have
	done? It must be a very plausive invention that
	carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces
	have of late knocked too often at my door. I find
	my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the
	fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not
	daring the reports of my tongue.

Second Lord	This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue
	was guilty of.

PAROLLES	What the devil should move me to undertake the
	recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the
	impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I
	must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in
	exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they
	will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great
	ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the
	instance? Tongue, I must put you into a
	butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of
	Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils.

Second Lord	Is it possible he should know what he is, and be
	that he is?

PAROLLES	I would the cutting of my garments would serve the
	turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

Second Lord	We cannot afford you so.

PAROLLES	Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in
	stratagem.

Second Lord	'Twould not do.

PAROLLES	Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped.

Second Lord	Hardly serve.

PAROLLES	Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel.

Second Lord	How deep?

PAROLLES	Thirty fathom.

Second Lord	Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed.

PAROLLES	I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear
	I recovered it.

Second Lord	You shall hear one anon.

PAROLLES	A drum now of the enemy's,--

	[Alarum within]

Second Lord	Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All	Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo.

PAROLLES	O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes.

	[They seize and blindfold him]

First Soldier	Boskos thromuldo boskos.

PAROLLES	I know you are the Muskos' regiment:
	And I shall lose my life for want of language;
	If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
	Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll
	Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.

First Soldier	Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak
	thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy
	faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.

PAROLLES	O!

First Soldier	O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche.

Second Lord	Oscorbidulchos volivorco.

First Soldier	The general is content to spare thee yet;
	And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
	To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform
	Something to save thy life.

PAROLLES	O, let me live!
	And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
	Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that
	Which you will wonder at.

First Soldier	But wilt thou faithfully?

PAROLLES	If I do not, damn me.

First Soldier	Acordo linta.
	Come on; thou art granted space.

	[Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within]

Second Lord	Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother,
	We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
	Till we do hear from them.

Second Soldier	Captain, I will.

Second Lord	A' will betray us all unto ourselves:
	Inform on that.

Second Soldier	                  So I will, sir.

Second Lord	Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE II	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter BERTRAM and DIANA]

BERTRAM	They told me that your name was Fontibell.

DIANA	No, my good lord, Diana.

BERTRAM	Titled goddess;
	And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
	In your fine frame hath love no quality?
	If quick fire of youth light not your mind,
	You are no maiden, but a monument:
	When you are dead, you should be such a one
	As you are now, for you are cold and stem;
	And now you should be as your mother was
	When your sweet self was got.

DIANA	She then was honest.

BERTRAM	So should you be.

DIANA	No:
	My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
	As you owe to your wife.

BERTRAM	No more o' that;
	I prithee, do not strive against my vows:
	I was compell'd to her; but I love thee
	By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
	Do thee all rights of service.

DIANA	Ay, so you serve us
	Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
	You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves
	And mock us with our bareness.

BERTRAM	How have I sworn!

DIANA	'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
	But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
	What is not holy, that we swear not by,
	But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
	If I should swear by God's great attributes,
	I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
	When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
	To swear by him whom I protest to love,
	That I will work against him: therefore your oaths
	Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd,
	At least in my opinion.

BERTRAM	Change it, change it;
	Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy;
	And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts
	That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
	But give thyself unto my sick desires,
	Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever
	My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA	I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
	That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM	I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power
	To give it from me.

DIANA	Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM	It is an honour 'longing to our house,
	Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
	Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world
	In me to lose.

DIANA	                  Mine honour's such a ring:
	My chastity's the jewel of our house,
	Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
	Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world
	In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom
	Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
	Against your vain assault.

BERTRAM	Here, take my ring:
	My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,
	And I'll be bid by thee.

DIANA	When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window:
	I'll order take my mother shall not hear.
	Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
	When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
	Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
	My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
	When back again this ring shall be deliver'd:
	And on your finger in the night I'll put
	Another ring, that what in time proceeds
	May token to the future our past deeds.
	Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won
	A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

BERTRAM	A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

	[Exit]

DIANA	For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
	You may so in the end.
	My mother told me just how he would woo,
	As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men
	Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me
	When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
	When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
	Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
	Only in this disguise I think't no sin
	To cozen him that would unjustly win.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE III	The Florentine camp.


	[Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers]

First Lord	You have not given him his mother's letter?

Second Lord	I have delivered it an hour since: there is
	something in't that stings his nature; for on the
	reading it he changed almost into another man.

First Lord	He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking
	off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

Second Lord	Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
	displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his
	bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a
	thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

First Lord	When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the
	grave of it.

Second Lord	He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in
	Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he
	fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath
	given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself
	made in the unchaste composition.

First Lord	Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves,
	what things are we!

Second Lord	Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course
	of all treasons, we still see them reveal
	themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends,
	so he that in this action contrives against his own
	nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

First Lord	Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of
	our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his
	company to-night?

Second Lord	Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

First Lord	That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see
	his company anatomized, that he might take a measure
	of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had
	set this counterfeit.

Second Lord	We will not meddle with him till he come; for his
	presence must be the whip of the other.

First Lord	In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

Second Lord	I hear there is an overture of peace.

First Lord	Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

Second Lord	What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel
	higher, or return again into France?

First Lord	I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether
	of his council.

Second Lord	Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal
	of his act.

First Lord	Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his
	house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques
	le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere
	sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the
	tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her
	grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and
	now she sings in heaven.

Second Lord	How is this justified?

First Lord	The stronger part of it by her own letters, which
	makes her story true, even to the point of her
	death: her death itself, which could not be her
	office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by
	the rector of the place.

Second Lord	Hath the count all this intelligence?

First Lord	Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
	point, so to the full arming of the verity.

Second Lord	I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.

First Lord	How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!

Second Lord	And how mightily some other times we drown our gain
	in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath
	here acquired for him shall at home be encountered
	with a shame as ample.

First Lord	The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and
	ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our
	faults whipped them not; and our crimes would
	despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	How now! where's your master?

Servant	He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath
	taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next
	morning for France. The duke hath offered him
	letters of commendations to the king.

Second Lord	They shall be no more than needful there, if they
	were more than they can commend.

First Lord	They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness.
	Here's his lordship now.

	[Enter BERTRAM]

	How now, my lord! is't not after midnight?

BERTRAM	I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a
	month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success:
	I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his
	nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my
	lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy;
	and between these main parcels of dispatch effected
	many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but
	that I have not ended yet.

Second Lord	If the business be of any difficulty, and this
	morning your departure hence, it requires haste of
	your lordship.

BERTRAM	I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to
	hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this
	dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come,
	bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived
	me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

Second Lord	Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night,
	poor gallant knave.

BERTRAM	No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping
	his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

Second Lord	I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry
	him. But to answer you as you would be understood;
	he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he
	hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes
	to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to
	this very instant disaster of his setting i' the
	stocks: and what think you he hath confessed?

BERTRAM	Nothing of me, has a'?

Second Lord	His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his
	face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you
	are, you must have the patience to hear it.

	[Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier]

BERTRAM	A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of
	me: hush, hush!

First Lord	Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa

First Soldier	He calls for the tortures: what will you say
	without 'em?

PAROLLES	I will confess what I know without constraint: if
	ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.

First Soldier	Bosko chimurcho.

First Lord	Boblibindo chicurmurco.

First Soldier	You are a merciful general. Our general bids you
	answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.

PAROLLES	And truly, as I hope to live.

First Soldier	[Reads]  'First demand of him how many horse the
	duke is strong.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES	Five or six thousand; but very weak and
	unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and
	the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation
	and credit and as I hope to live.

First Soldier	Shall I set down your answer so?

PAROLLES	Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will.

BERTRAM	All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!

First Lord	You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur
	Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own
	phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the
	knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of
	his dagger.

Second Lord	I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword
	clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him
	by wearing his apparel neatly.

First Soldier	Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES	Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say
	true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth.

First Lord	He's very near the truth in this.

BERTRAM	But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he
	delivers it.

PAROLLES	Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

First Soldier	Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES	I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the
	rogues are marvellous poor.

First Soldier	[Reads]  'Demand of him, of what strength they are
	a-foot.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES	By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present
	hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a
	hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so
	many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick,
	and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own
	company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and
	fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and
	sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand
	poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off
	their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.

BERTRAM	What shall be done to him?

First Lord	Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my
	condition, and what credit I have with the duke.

First Soldier	Well, that's set down.

	[Reads]

	'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain
	be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is
	with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and
	expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not
	possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to
	corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what
	do you know of it?

PAROLLES	I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of
	the inter'gatories: demand them singly.

First Soldier	Do you know this Captain Dumain?

PAROLLES	I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris,
	from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's
	fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not
	say him nay.

BERTRAM	Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know
	his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.

First Soldier	Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?

PAROLLES	Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

First Lord	Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your
	lordship anon.

First Soldier	What is his reputation with the duke?

PAROLLES	The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer
	of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him
	out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket.

First Soldier	Marry, we'll search.

PAROLLES	In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there,
	or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters
	in my tent.

First Soldier	Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you?

PAROLLES	I do not know if it be it or no.

BERTRAM	Our interpreter does it well.

First Lord	Excellently.

First Soldier	[Reads]  'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'--

PAROLLES	That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an
	advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
	Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count
	Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very
	ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.

First Soldier	Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

PAROLLES	My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the
	behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be
	a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to
	virginity and devours up all the fry it finds.

BERTRAM	Damnable both-sides rogue!

First Soldier	[Reads]  'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
	After he scores, he never pays the score:
	Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;
	He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before;
	And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
	Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
	For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
	Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
	Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear,
			  PAROLLES.'

BERTRAM	He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme
	in's forehead.

Second Lord	This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
	linguist and the armipotent soldier.

BERTRAM	I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now
	he's a cat to me.

First Soldier	I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be
	fain to hang you.

PAROLLES	My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to
	die; but that, my offences being many, I would
	repent out the remainder of nature: let me live,
	sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live.

First Soldier	We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;
	therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you
	have answered to his reputation with the duke and to
	his valour: what is his honesty?

PAROLLES	He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for
	rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he
	professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he
	is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with
	such volubility, that you would think truth were a
	fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will
	be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little
	harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they
	know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but
	little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has
	every thing that an honest man should not have; what
	an honest man should have, he has nothing.

First Lord	I begin to love him for this.

BERTRAM	For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon
	him for me, he's more and more a cat.

First Soldier	What say you to his expertness in war?

PAROLLES	Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English
	tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of
	his soldiership I know not; except, in that country
	he had the honour to be the officer at a place there
	called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of
	files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of
	this I am not certain.

First Lord	He hath out-villained villany so far, that the
	rarity redeems him.

BERTRAM	A pox on him, he's a cat still.

First Soldier	His qualities being at this poor price, I need not
	to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

PAROLLES	Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple
	of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the
	entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
	succession for it perpetually.

First Soldier	What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?

Second Lord	Why does be ask him of me?

First Soldier	What's he?

PAROLLES	E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so
	great as the first in goodness, but greater a great
	deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward,
	yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is:
	in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming
	on he has the cramp.

First Soldier	If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray
	the Florentine?

PAROLLES	Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.

First Soldier	I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.

PAROLLES	[Aside]  I'll no more drumming; a plague of all
	drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to
	beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy
	the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who
	would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?

First Soldier	There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the
	general says, you that have so traitorously
	discovered the secrets of your army and made such
	pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can
	serve the world for no honest use; therefore you
	must die. Come, headsman, off with his head.

PAROLLES	O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!

First Lord	That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends.

	[Unblinding him]

	So, look about you: know you any here?

BERTRAM	Good morrow, noble captain.

Second Lord	God bless you, Captain Parolles.

First Lord	God save you, noble captain.

Second Lord	Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu?
	I am for France.

First Lord	Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet
	you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon?
	an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you:
	but fare you well.

	[Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords]

First Soldier	You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that
	has a knot on't yet

PAROLLES	Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

First Soldier	If you could find out a country where but women were
	that had received so much shame, you might begin an
	impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France
	too: we shall speak of you there.

	[Exit with Soldiers]

PAROLLES	Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
	'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;
	But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
	As captain shall: simply the thing I am
	Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
	Let him fear this, for it will come to pass
	that every braggart shall be found an ass.
	Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live
	Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive!
	There's place and means for every man alive.
	I'll after them.

	[Exit]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Florence. The Widow's house.


	[Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA]

HELENA	That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you,
	One of the greatest in the Christian world
	Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful,
	Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
	Time was, I did him a desired office,
	Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
	Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
	And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd
	His grace is at Marseilles; to which place
	We have convenient convoy. You must know
	I am supposed dead: the army breaking,
	My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
	And by the leave of my good lord the king,
	We'll be before our welcome.

Widow	Gentle madam,
	You never had a servant to whose trust
	Your business was more welcome.

HELENA	Nor you, mistress,
	Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour
	To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven
	Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
	As it hath fated her to be my motive
	And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!
	That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
	When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
	Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play
	With what it loathes for that which is away.
	But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
	Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
	Something in my behalf.

DIANA	Let death and honesty
	Go with your impositions, I am yours
	Upon your will to suffer.

HELENA	Yet, I pray you:
	But with the word the time will bring on summer,
	When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,
	And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
	Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us:
	All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown;
	Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE V	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown]

LAFEU	No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
	fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have
	made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in
	his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at
	this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced
	by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.

COUNTESS	I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
	most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had
	praise for creating. If she had partaken of my
	flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
	could not have owed her a more rooted love.

LAFEU	'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a
	thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

Clown	Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the
	salad, or rather, the herb of grace.

LAFEU	They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs.

Clown	I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much
	skill in grass.

LAFEU	Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool?

Clown	A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.

LAFEU	Your distinction?

Clown	I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service.

LAFEU	So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

Clown	And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service.

LAFEU	I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool.

Clown	At your service.

LAFEU	No, no, no.

Clown	Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as
	great a prince as you are.

LAFEU	Who's that? a Frenchman?

Clown	Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy
	is more hotter in France than there.

LAFEU	What prince is that?

Clown	The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of
	darkness; alias, the devil.

LAFEU	Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this
	to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of;
	serve him still.

Clown	I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a
	great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a
	good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the
	world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for
	the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be
	too little for pomp to enter: some that humble
	themselves may; but the many will be too chill and
	tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that
	leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

LAFEU	Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I
	tell thee so before, because I would not fall out
	with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well
	looked to, without any tricks.

Clown	If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be
	jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature.

	[Exit]

LAFEU	A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

COUNTESS	So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
	sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,
	which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,
	indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

LAFEU	I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to
	tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and
	that my lord your son was upon his return home, I
	moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of
	my daughter; which, in the minority of them both,
	his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did
	first propose: his highness hath promised me to do
	it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath
	conceived against your son, there is no fitter
	matter. How does your ladyship like it?

COUNTESS	With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
	happily effected.

LAFEU	His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able
	body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here
	to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such
	intelligence hath seldom failed.

COUNTESS	It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I
	die. I have letters that my son will be here
	to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain
	with me till they meet together.

LAFEU	Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might
	safely be admitted.

COUNTESS	You need but plead your honourable privilege.

LAFEU	Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I
	thank my God it holds yet.

	[Re-enter Clown]

Clown	O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of
	velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't
	or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of
	velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a
	half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

LAFEU	A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery
	of honour; so belike is that.

Clown	But it is your carbonadoed face.

LAFEU	Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk
	with the young noble soldier.

Clown	Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine
	hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head
	and nod at every man.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V


SCENE I	Marseilles. A street.


	[Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two
	Attendants]

HELENA	But this exceeding posting day and night
	Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it:
	But since you have made the days and nights as one,
	To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
	Be bold you do so grow in my requital
	As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;

	[Enter a Gentleman]

	This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
	If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.

Gentleman	And you.

HELENA	Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

Gentleman	I have been sometimes there.

HELENA	I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
	From the report that goes upon your goodness;
	An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
	Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
	The use of your own virtues, for the which
	I shall continue thankful.

Gentleman	What's your will?

HELENA	That it will please you
	To give this poor petition to the king,
	And aid me with that store of power you have
	To come into his presence.

Gentleman	The king's not here.

HELENA	Not here, sir!

Gentleman	Not, indeed:
	He hence removed last night and with more haste
	Than is his use.

Widow	                  Lord, how we lose our pains!

HELENA	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet,
	Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.
	I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

Gentleman	Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
	Whither I am going.

HELENA	I do beseech you, sir,
	Since you are like to see the king before me,
	Commend the paper to his gracious hand,
	Which I presume shall render you no blame
	But rather make you thank your pains for it.
	I will come after you with what good speed
	Our means will make us means.

Gentleman	This I'll do for you.

HELENA	And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
	Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again.
	Go, go, provide.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE II	Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace.


	[Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following]

PAROLLES	Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this
	letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to
	you, when I have held familiarity with fresher
	clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's
	mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong
	displeasure.

Clown	Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it
	smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will
	henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.
	Prithee, allow the wind.

PAROLLES	Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake
	but by a metaphor.

Clown	Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my
	nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get
	thee further.

PAROLLES	Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clown	Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's
	close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he
	comes himself.

	[Enter LAFEU]

	Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
	cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the
	unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he
	says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the
	carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,
	ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his
	distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to
	your lordship.

	[Exit]

PAROLLES	My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly
	scratched.

LAFEU	And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to
	pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the
	knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who
	of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves
	thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for
	you: let the justices make you and fortune friends:
	I am for other business.

PAROLLES	I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

LAFEU	You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't;
	save your word.

PAROLLES	My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

LAFEU	You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion!
	give me your hand. How does your drum?

PAROLLES	O my good lord, you were the first that found me!

LAFEU	Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

PAROLLES	It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace,
	for you did bring me out.

LAFEU	Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once
	both the office of God and the devil? One brings
	thee in grace and the other brings thee out.

	[Trumpets sound]

	The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah,
	inquire further after me; I had talk of you last
	night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall
	eat; go to, follow.

PAROLLES	I praise God for you.

	[Exeunt]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE III	Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two
	French Lords, with Attendants]

KING	We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
	Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
	As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
	Her estimation home.

COUNTESS	'Tis past, my liege;
	And I beseech your majesty to make it
	Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
	When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
	O'erbears it and burns on.

KING	My honour'd lady,
	I have forgiven and forgotten all;
	Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
	And watch'd the time to shoot.

LAFEU	This I must say,
	But first I beg my pardon, the young lord
	Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady
	Offence of mighty note; but to himself
	The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
	Whose beauty did astonish the survey
	Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
	Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve
	Humbly call'd mistress.

KING	Praising what is lost
	Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
	We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
	All repetition: let him not ask our pardon;
	The nature of his great offence is dead,
	And deeper than oblivion we do bury
	The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
	A stranger, no offender; and inform him
	So 'tis our will he should.

Gentleman	I shall, my liege.

	[Exit]

KING	What says he to your daughter? have you spoke?

LAFEU	All that he is hath reference to your highness.

KING	Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
	That set him high in fame.

	[Enter BERTRAM]

LAFEU	He looks well on't.

KING	I am not a day of season,
	For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
	In me at once: but to the brightest beams
	Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;
	The time is fair again.

BERTRAM	My high-repented blames,
	Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

KING	All is whole;
	Not one word more of the consumed time.
	Let's take the instant by the forward top;
	For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
	The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
	Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
	The daughter of this lord?

BERTRAM	Admiringly, my liege, at first
	I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
	Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue
	Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
	Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
	Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
	Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;
	Extended or contracted all proportions
	To a most hideous object: thence it came
	That she whom all men praised and whom myself,
	Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
	The dust that did offend it.

KING	Well excused:
	That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
	From the great compt: but love that comes too late,
	Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
	To the great sender turns a sour offence,
	Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
	Make trivial price of serious things we have,
	Not knowing them until we know their grave:
	Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
	Destroy our friends and after weep their dust
	Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
	While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon.
	Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
	Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
	The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
	To see our widower's second marriage-day.

COUNTESS	Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
	Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

LAFEU	Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
	Must be digested, give a favour from you
	To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
	That she may quickly come.

	[BERTRAM gives a ring]

		     By my old beard,
	And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
	Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,
	The last that e'er I took her at court,
	I saw upon her finger.

BERTRAM	Hers it was not.

KING	Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,
	While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
	This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
	I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
	Necessitied to help, that by this token
	I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave
	her
	Of what should stead her most?

BERTRAM	My gracious sovereign,
	Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
	The ring was never hers.

COUNTESS	Son, on my life,
	I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
	At her life's rate.

LAFEU	I am sure I saw her wear it.

BERTRAM	You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it:
	In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
	Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
	Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
	I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed
	To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully
	I could not answer in that course of honour
	As she had made the overture, she ceased
	In heavy satisfaction and would never
	Receive the ring again.

KING	Plutus himself,
	That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
	Hath not in nature's mystery more science
	Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
	Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
	That you are well acquainted with yourself,
	Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
	You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety
	That she would never put it from her finger,
	Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
	Where you have never come, or sent it us
	Upon her great disaster.

BERTRAM	She never saw it.

KING	Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
	And makest conjectural fears to come into me
	Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
	That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;--
	And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,
	And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
	Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
	More than to see this ring. Take him away.

	[Guards seize BERTRAM]

	My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
	Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
	Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him!
	We'll sift this matter further.

BERTRAM	If you shall prove
	This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
	Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
	Where yet she never was.

	[Exit, guarded]

KING	I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

	[Enter a Gentleman]

Gentleman	Gracious sovereign,
	Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
	Here's a petition from a Florentine,
	Who hath for four or five removes come short
	To tender it herself. I undertook it,
	Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
	Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know
	Is here attending: her business looks in her
	With an importing visage; and she told me,
	In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
	Your highness with herself.

KING	[Reads]  Upon his many protestations to marry me
	when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won
	me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows
	are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He
	stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow
	him to his country for justice: grant it me, O
	king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer
	flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
		                  DIANA CAPILET.

LAFEU	I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for
	this: I'll none of him.

KING	The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu,
	To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
	Go speedily and bring again the count.
	I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
	Was foully snatch'd.

COUNTESS	Now, justice on the doers!

	[Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded]

KING	I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you,
	And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
	Yet you desire to marry.

	[Enter Widow and DIANA]

		   What woman's that?

DIANA	I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
	Derived from the ancient Capilet:
	My suit, as I do understand, you know,
	And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Widow	I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
	Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
	And both shall cease, without your remedy.

KING	Come hither, count; do you know these women?

BERTRAM	My lord, I neither can nor will deny
	But that I know them: do they charge me further?

DIANA	Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

BERTRAM	She's none of mine, my lord.

DIANA	If you shall marry,
	You give away this hand, and that is mine;
	You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
	You give away myself, which is known mine;
	For I by vow am so embodied yours,
	That she which marries you must marry me,
	Either both or none.

LAFEU	Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you
	are no husband for her.

BERTRAM	My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
	Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness
	Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
	Than for to think that I would sink it here.

KING	Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
	Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour
	Than in my thought it lies.

DIANA	Good my lord,
	Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
	He had not my virginity.

KING	What say'st thou to her?

BERTRAM	She's impudent, my lord,
	And was a common gamester to the camp.

DIANA	He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
	He might have bought me at a common price:
	Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
	Whose high respect and rich validity
	Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
	He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
	If I be one.

COUNTESS	                  He blushes, and 'tis it:
	Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
	Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
	Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
	That ring's a thousand proofs.

KING	Methought you said
	You saw one here in court could witness it.

DIANA	I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
	So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles.

LAFEU	I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

KING	Find him, and bring him hither.

	[Exit an Attendant]

BERTRAM	What of him?
	He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
	With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd;
	Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
	Am I or that or this for what he'll utter,
	That will speak any thing?

KING	She hath that ring of yours.

BERTRAM	I think she has: certain it is I liked her,
	And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth:
	She knew her distance and did angle for me,
	Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
	As all impediments in fancy's course
	Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
	Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,
	Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;
	And I had that which any inferior might
	At market-price have bought.

DIANA	I must be patient:
	You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife,
	May justly diet me. I pray you yet;
	Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband;
	Send for your ring, I will return it home,
	And give me mine again.

BERTRAM	I have it not.

KING	What ring was yours, I pray you?

DIANA	Sir, much like
	The same upon your finger.

KING	Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

DIANA	And this was it I gave him, being abed.

KING	The story then goes false, you threw it him
	Out of a casement.

DIANA	                  I have spoke the truth.

	[Enter PAROLLES]

BERTRAM	My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

KING	You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you.
	Is this the man you speak of?

DIANA	Ay, my lord.

KING	Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
	Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
	Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off,
	By him and by this woman here what know you?

PAROLLES	So please your majesty, my master hath been an
	honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him,
	which gentlemen have.

KING	Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?

PAROLLES	Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?

KING	How, I pray you?

PAROLLES	He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.

KING	How is that?

PAROLLES	He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

KING	As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an
	equivocal companion is this!

PAROLLES	I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.

LAFEU	He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.

DIANA	Do you know he promised me marriage?

PAROLLES	Faith, I know more than I'll speak.

KING	But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?

PAROLLES	Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them,
	as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for
	indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and
	of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I
	was in that credit with them at that time that I
	knew of their going to bed, and of other motions,
	as promising her marriage, and things which would
	derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not
	speak what I know.

KING	Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say
	they are married: but thou art too fine in thy
	evidence; therefore stand aside.
	This ring, you say, was yours?

DIANA	Ay, my good lord.

KING	Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?

DIANA	It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

KING	Who lent it you?

DIANA	                  It was not lent me neither.

KING	Where did you find it, then?

DIANA	I found it not.

KING	If it were yours by none of all these ways,
	How could you give it him?

DIANA	I never gave it him.

LAFEU	This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off
	and on at pleasure.

KING	This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife.

DIANA	It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.

KING	Take her away; I do not like her now;
	To prison with her: and away with him.
	Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
	Thou diest within this hour.

DIANA	I'll never tell you.

KING	Take her away.

DIANA	                  I'll put in bail, my liege.

KING	I think thee now some common customer.

DIANA	By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.

KING	Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?

DIANA	Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty:
	He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't;
	I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
	Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
	I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.

KING	She does abuse our ears: to prison with her.

DIANA	Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir:

	[Exit Widow]

	The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
	And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
	Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,
	Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
	He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
	And at that time he got his wife with child:
	Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:
	So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick:
	And now behold the meaning.

	[Re-enter Widow, with HELENA]

KING	Is there no exorcist
	Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
	Is't real that I see?

HELENA	No, my good lord;
	'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
	The name and not the thing.

BERTRAM	Both, both. O, pardon!

HELENA	O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
	I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring;
	And, look you, here's your letter; this it says:
	'When from my finger you can get this ring
	And are by me with child,' &c. This is done:
	Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

BERTRAM	If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
	I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

HELENA	If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
	Deadly divorce step between me and you!
	O my dear mother, do I see you living?

LAFEU	Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon:

	[To PAROLLES]

	Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so,
	I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee:
	Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

KING	Let us from point to point this story know,
	To make the even truth in pleasure flow.

	[To DIANA]

	If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
	Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
	For I can guess that by thy honest aid
	Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
	Of that and all the progress, more or less,
	Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
	All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
	The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

	[Flourish]




	ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

	EPILOGUE


KING	The king's a beggar, now the play is done:
	All is well ended, if this suit be won,
	That you express content; which we will pay,
	With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
	Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
	Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

	[Exeunt]
	AS YOU LIKE IT


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE SENIOR	living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK	his brother, an usurper of his dominions.


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


LE BEAU	a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES	wrestler to Frederick.


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


ADAM	|
	|  servants to Oliver.
DENNIS	|


TOUCHSTONE	a clown.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	a vicar.


CORIN	|
	|  shepherds.
SILVIUS	|


WILLIAM	a country fellow in love with Audrey.

	A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND	daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA	daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE	a shepherdess.

AUDREY	a country wench.

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


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




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE I	Orchard of Oliver's house.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

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

ADAM	Yonder comes my master, your brother.

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

	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Now, sir! what make you here?

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

OLIVER	What mar you then, sir?

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

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

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

OLIVER	Know you where your are, sir?

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

OLIVER	Know you before whom, sir?

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

OLIVER	What, boy!

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

OLIVER	Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

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

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

OLIVER	Let me go, I say.

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

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

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

OLIVER	Get you with him, you old dog.

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

	[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]

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

	[Enter DENNIS]

DENNIS	Calls your worship?

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

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

OLIVER	Call him in.

	[Exit DENNIS]

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

	[Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES	Good morrow to your worship.

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

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

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

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

OLIVER	Where will the old duke live?

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

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

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

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

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

OLIVER	Farewell, good Charles.

	[Exit CHARLES]

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

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE II	Lawn before the Duke's palace.


	[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	What shall be our sport, then?

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

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

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

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

	[Enter TOUCHSTONE]

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

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

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

TOUCHSTONE	Mistress, you must come away to your father.

CELIA	Were you made the messenger?

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

ROSALIND	Where learned you that oath, fool?

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

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

ROSALIND	Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

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

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

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

CELIA	Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

TOUCHSTONE	One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

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

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

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

ROSALIND	With his mouth full of news.

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

ROSALIND	Then shall we be news-crammed.

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

	[Enter LE BEAU]

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

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

CELIA	Sport! of what colour?

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

ROSALIND	As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE	Or as the Destinies decree.

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

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

ROSALIND	Thou losest thy old smell.

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

ROSALIND	You tell us the manner of the wrestling.

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

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

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

CELIA	I could match this beginning with an old tale.

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

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

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

ROSALIND	Alas!

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

LE BEAU	Why, this that I speak of.

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

CELIA	Or I, I promise thee.

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

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	Is yonder the man?

LE BEAU	Even he, madam.

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

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

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

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

CELIA	Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

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

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

ORLANDO	I attend them with all respect and duty.

ROSALIND	Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

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

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

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

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

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

CELIA	And mine, to eke out hers.

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

CELIA	Your heart's desires be with you!

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

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

DUKE FREDERICK	You shall try but one fall.

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

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

ROSALIND	Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

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

	[They wrestle]

ROSALIND	O excellent young man!

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

	[Shout. CHARLES is thrown]

DUKE FREDERICK	No more, no more.

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

DUKE FREDERICK	How dost thou, Charles?

LE BEAU	He cannot speak, my lord.

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

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

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

	[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	Gentleman,

	[Giving him a chain from her neck]

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

CELIA	                  Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

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

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

CELIA	Will you go, coz?

ROSALIND	Have with you. Fare you well.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

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

	[Re-enter LE BEAU]

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

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

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

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

	[Exit LE BEAU]

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

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in the palace.


	[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

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

ROSALIND	Not one to throw at a dog.

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

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

CELIA	But is all this for your father?

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

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

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

CELIA	Hem them away.

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

CELIA	Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

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

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

ROSALIND	The duke my father loved his father dearly.

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

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

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

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

CELIA	With his eyes full of anger.

	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

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

ROSALIND	Me, uncle?

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

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

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

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

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

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

CELIA	Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]

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

ROSALIND	I have more cause.

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

ROSALIND	That he hath not.

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

ROSALIND	Why, whither shall we go?

CELIA	To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE I	The Forest of Arden.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DUKE SENIOR	And did you leave him in this contemplation?

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

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

First Lord	I'll bring you to him straight.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE II	A room in the palace.


	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE III	Before OLIVER'S house.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]

ORLANDO	Who's there?

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

ORLANDO	Why, what's the matter?

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

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

ADAM	No matter whither, so you come not here.

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE IV	The Forest of Arden.


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

ROSALIND	O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	Well, this is the forest of Arden.

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

ROSALIND	Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

	[Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]

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

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

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

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

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

CORIN	Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

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

	[Exit]

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

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

ROSALIND	Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

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

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

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

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

TOUCHSTONE	Holla, you clown!

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

CORIN	Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE	Your betters, sir.

CORIN	                  Else are they very wretched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE V	The Forest.


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

JAQUES	More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

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

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

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

AMIENS	What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

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

AMIENS	More at your request than to please myself.

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

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

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

	[All together here]

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

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

AMIENS	And I'll sing it.

JAQUES	Thus it goes:--

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

AMIENS	What's that 'ducdame'?

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

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

	[Exeunt severally]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VI	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VII	The forest.


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

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

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

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

	[Enter JAQUES]

First Lord	He saves my labour by his own approach.

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

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

DUKE SENIOR	What fool is this?

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

DUKE SENIOR	Thou shalt have one.

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

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

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

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

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

	[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]

ORLANDO	Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES	Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO	Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES	Of what kind should this cock come of?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exit]

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

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

	[Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]

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

ORLANDO	I thank you most for him.

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

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
	As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
	Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
	
	SONG.
AMIENS	Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
	Thou art not so unkind
	As man's ingratitude;
	Thy tooth is not so keen,
	Because thou art not seen,
	Although thy breath be rude.
	Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
	Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
	Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
	This life is most jolly.
	Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
	That dost not bite so nigh
	As benefits forgot:
	Though thou the waters warp,
	Thy sting is not so sharp
	As friend remember'd not.
	Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE I	A room in the palace.


	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

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

	[Exit]

	[Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

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

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

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

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

CORIN	No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE	Then thou art damned.

CORIN	Nay, I hope.

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

CORIN	For not being at court? Your reason.

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

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

TOUCHSTONE	Instance, briefly; come, instance.

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

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

CORIN	Besides, our hands are hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

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

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

ROSALIND	Out, fool!

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

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

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

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

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

	[Enter CELIA, with a writing]

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

CELIA	[Reads]

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA	Didst thou hear these verses?

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

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

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

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

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

CELIA	Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND	Is it a man?

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

ROSALIND	I prithee, who?

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

ROSALIND	Nay, but who is it?

CELIA	Is it possible?

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

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

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

CELIA	So you may put a man in your belly.

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

CELIA	Nay, he hath but a little beard.

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

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

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

CELIA	I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

ROSALIND	Orlando?

CELIA	Orlando.

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

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

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

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

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

CELIA	Give me audience, good madam.

ROSALIND	Proceed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO	I do desire we may be better strangers.

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

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

JAQUES	Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO	Yes, just.

JAQUES	I do not like her name.

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

JAQUES	What stature is she of?

ORLANDO	Just as high as my heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JAQUES	There I shall see mine own figure.

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

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

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

	[Exit JAQUES]

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

ORLANDO	Very well: what would you?

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

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO	I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

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

ORLANDO	Who ambles Time withal?

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

ORLANDO	Who doth he gallop withal?

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

ORLANDO	Who stays it still withal?

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

ORLANDO	Where dwell you, pretty youth?

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

ORLANDO	Are you native of this place?

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

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO	I prithee, recount some of them.

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

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

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

ORLANDO	What were his marks?

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

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO	Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

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

ORLANDO	Did you ever cure any so?

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

ORLANDO	I would not be cured, youth.

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

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

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

ORLANDO	With all my heart, good youth.

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]

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

AUDREY	Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AUDREY	Would you not have me honest?

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

JAQUES	[Aside]  A material fool!

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

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

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

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

JAQUES	[Aside]  I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY	Well, the gods give us joy!

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

	[Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]

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

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

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

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

JAQUES	[Advancing]

	Proceed, proceed	I'll give her.

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

JAQUES	Will you be married, motley?

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE IV	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND	Never talk to me; I will weep.

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

ROSALIND	But have I not cause to weep?

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

ROSALIND	His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	Do you think so?

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

ROSALIND	Not true in love?

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

ROSALIND	You have heard him swear downright he was.

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

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

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

	[Enter CORIN]

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

CELIA	Well, and what of him?

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE V	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

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

	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]

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

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

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

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

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

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

PHEBE	For no ill will I bear you.

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

	[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]

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

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe,--

PHEBE	                  Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, pity me.

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

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

PHEBE	Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

SILVIUS	I would have you.

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

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

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

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

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

SILVIUS	Phebe, with all my heart.

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE I	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]

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

ROSALIND	They say you are a melancholy fellow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

JAQUES	Yes, I have gained my experience.

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

	[Enter ORLANDO]

ORLANDO	Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

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

	[Exit]

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

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

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

ORLANDO	Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

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

ORLANDO	Of a snail?

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

ORLANDO	What's that?

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

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

ROSALIND	And I am your Rosalind.

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

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

ORLANDO	I would kiss before I spoke.

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

ORLANDO	How if the kiss be denied?

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

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

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

ORLANDO	What, of my suit?

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

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

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

ORLANDO	Then in mine own person I die.

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

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

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

ORLANDO	Then love me, Rosalind.

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

ORLANDO	And wilt thou have me?

ROSALIND	Ay, and twenty such.

ORLANDO	What sayest thou?

ROSALIND	Are you not good?

ORLANDO	I hope so.

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

ORLANDO	Pray thee, marry us.

CELIA	I cannot say the words.

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

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

ORLANDO	I will.

ROSALIND	Ay, but when?

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

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

ORLANDO	I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

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

ORLANDO	So do all thoughts; they are winged.

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

ORLANDO	For ever and a day.

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

ORLANDO	But will my Rosalind do so?

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

ORLANDO	O, but she is wise.

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

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

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

ORLANDO	And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

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

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO	Ay, sweet Rosalind.

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

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

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

	[Exit ORLANDO]

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

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

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

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

CELIA	And I'll sleep.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]

JAQUES	Which is he that killed the deer?

A Lord	Sir, it was I.

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

Forester	Yes, sir.

JAQUES	Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
	make noise enough.
	
	SONG.
Forester	What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
	His leather skin and horns to wear.
	Then sing him home;

	[The rest shall bear this burden]

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

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

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

	[Enter SILVIUS]

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

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

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

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

SILVIUS	Sure, it is hers.

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

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

ROSALIND	She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

	[Reads]

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

SILVIUS	Call you this railing?

ROSALIND	[Reads]

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

SILVIUS	Call you this chiding?

CELIA	Alas, poor shepherd!

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

	[Exit SILVIUS]

	[Enter OLIVER]

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

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	I am: what must we understand by this?

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

CELIA	I pray you, tell it.

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

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

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

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

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

CELIA	Are you his brother?

ROSALIND	Wast you he rescued?

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

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

ROSALIND	But, for the bloody napkin?

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

	[ROSALIND swoons]

CELIA	Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER	Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

CELIA	There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

OLIVER	Look, he recovers.

ROSALIND	I would I were at home.

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND	Counterfeit, I assure you.

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE I	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

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

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

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

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

	[Enter WILLIAM]

WILLIAM	Good even, Audrey.

AUDREY	God ye good even, William.

WILLIAM	And good even to you, sir.

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

WILLIAM	Five and twenty, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	A ripe age. Is thy name William?

WILLIAM	William, sir.

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

WILLIAM	Ay, sir, I thank God.

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

WILLIAM	Faith, sir, so so.

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

WILLIAM	Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

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

WILLIAM	I do, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

WILLIAM	No, sir.

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

WILLIAM	Which he, sir?

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

AUDREY	Do, good William.

WILLIAM	God rest you merry, sir.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CORIN]

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]

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

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

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

	[Enter ROSALIND]

ROSALIND	God save you, brother.

OLIVER	And you, fair sister.

	[Exit]

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

ORLANDO	It is my arm.

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

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

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

ORLANDO	Ay, and greater wonders than that.

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

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

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

ORLANDO	I can live no longer by thinking.

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

ORLANDO	Speakest thou in sober meanings?

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

	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

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

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

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

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

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

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

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

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

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

PHEBE	And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And so am I for no woman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[To SILVIUS]

	I will help you, if I can:

	[To PHEBE]

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

	[To PHEBE]

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

	[To ORLANDO]

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

	[To SILVIUS]

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

	[To ORLANDO]

	As you love Rosalind, meet:

	[To SILVIUS]

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

SILVIUS	I'll not fail, if I live.

PHEBE	Nor I.

ORLANDO	Nor I.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE III	The forest.


	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

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

	[Enter two Pages]

First Page	Well met, honest gentleman.

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

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

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

Second Page	I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
	gipsies on a horse.
	
	SONG.
	It was a lover and his lass,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	That o'er the green corn-field did pass
	In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
	When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
	Sweet lovers love the spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE IV	The forest.


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

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

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

	[Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PHEBE	So is the bargain.

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

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

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

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

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

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

	[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

TOUCHSTONE	Salutation and greeting to you all!

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

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

JAQUES	And how was that ta'en up?

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

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

DUKE SENIOR	I like him very well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	[Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]

	[Still Music]

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

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

	[To ORLANDO]

	To you I give myself, for I am yours.

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

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

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

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

HYMEN	        Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
	'Tis I must make conclusion
	Of these most strange events:
	Here's eight that must take hands
	To join in Hymen's bands,
	If truth holds true contents.
	You and you no cross shall part:
	You and you are heart in heart
	You to his love must accord,
	Or have a woman to your lord:
	You and you are sure together,
	As the winter to foul weather.
	Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
	Feed yourselves with questioning;
	That reason wonder may diminish,
	How thus we met, and these things finish.
	
	SONG.
	Wedding is great Juno's crown:
	O blessed bond of board and bed!
	'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
	High wedlock then be honoured:
	Honour, high honour and renown,
	To Hymen, god of every town!

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

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

	[Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]

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

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

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

JAQUES DE BOYS	He hath.

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

	[To DUKE SENIOR]

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

	[To ORLANDO]

	You to a love that your true faith doth merit:

	[To OLIVER]

	You to your land and love and great allies:

	[To SILVIUS]

	You to a long and well-deserved bed:

	[To TOUCHSTONE]

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

DUKE SENIOR	Stay, Jaques, stay.

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

	[Exit]

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

	[A dance]




	AS YOU LIKE IT

	EPILOGUE


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

	[Exeunt]
	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SOLINUS	Duke of Ephesus. (DUKE SOLINUS:)

AEGEON	a merchant of Syracuse.


ANTIPHOLUS	|
OF EPHESUS	|
	|  twin brothers, and sons to AEgeon and AEmilia.
ANTIPHOLUS	|
OF SYRACUSE	|


DROMIO OF EPHESUS	|
	|  twin brothers, and attendants on the two Antipholuses.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	|


BALTHAZAR	a merchant

ANGELO	a goldsmith.

First Merchant	friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.

Second Merchant	to whom Angelo is a debtor.

PINCH	a schoolmaster.

AEMILIA	wife to AEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus.

ADRIANA	wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.

LUCIANA	her sister.

LUCE	servant to Adriana.

	A Courtezan.

	Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants
	(Gaoler:)
	(Officer:)
	(Servant:)

SCENE	Ephesus.




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT I



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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT II



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]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


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.

ANGELO	I'll meet you at that place some hour hence.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT III



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse]

LUCIANA	And may it be that you have quite forgot
	A husband's office? shall, Antipholus.
	Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
	Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?
	If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
	Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness:
	Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
	Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:
	Let not my sister read it in your eye;
	Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
	Look sweet, be fair, become disloyalty;
	Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;
	Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
	Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
	Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?
	What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
	'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed
	And let her read it in thy looks at board:
	Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
	Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
	Alas, poor women! make us but believe,
	Being compact of credit, that you love us;
	Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;
	We in your motion turn and you may move us.
	Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
	Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife:
	'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,
	When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Sweet mistress--what your name is else, I know not,
	Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,--
	Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
	Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine.
	Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
	Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,
	Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
	The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
	Against my soul's pure truth why labour you
	To make it wander in an unknown field?
	Are you a god? would you create me new?
	Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
	But if that I am I, then well I know
	Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
	Nor to her bed no homage do I owe
	Far more, far more to you do I decline.
	O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
	To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears:
	Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote:
	Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
	And as a bed I'll take them and there lie,
	And in that glorious supposition think
	He gains by death that hath such means to die:
	Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!

LUCIANA	What, are you mad, that you do reason so?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.

LUCIANA	It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.

LUCIANA	Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.


LUCIANA	Why call you me love? call my sister so.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thy sister's sister.


LUCIANA	That's my sister.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	No;
	It is thyself, mine own self's better part,
	Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,
	My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's aim,
	My sole earth's heaven and my heaven's claim.

LUCIANA	All this my sister is, or else should be.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee.
	Thee will I love and with thee lead my life:
	Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife.
	Give me thy hand.

LUCIANA	                  O, soft, air! hold you still:
	I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

	[Exit]

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'st thou so fast?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man?
	am I myself?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I am an ass, I am a woman's man and besides myself.

ANTIPHOLUS	What woman's man? and how besides thyself? besides thyself?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one
	that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What claim lays she to thee?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry sir, such claim as you would lay to your
	horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I
	being a beast, she would have me; but that she,
	being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What is she?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may
	not speak of without he say 'Sir-reverence.' I have
	but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a
	wondrous fat marriage.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench and all grease;
	and I know not what use to put her to but to make a
	lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I
	warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a
	Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday,
	she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What complexion is she of?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing half so
	clean kept: for why, she sweats; a man may go over
	shoes in the grime of it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	That's a fault that water will mend.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What's her name?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that's
	an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from
	hip to hip.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Then she bears some breadth?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip:
	she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out
	countries in her.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	In what part of her body stands Ireland?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, in her buttocks: I found it out by the bogs.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where Scotland?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of the hand.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where France?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war
	against her heir.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where England?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no
	whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin,
	by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where Spain?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where America, the Indies?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Oh, sir, upon her nose all o'er embellished with
	rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich
	aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole
	armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this
	drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me
	Dromio; swore I was assured to her; told me what
	privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my
	shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my
	left arm, that I amazed ran from her as a witch:
	And, I think, if my breast had not been made of
	faith and my heart of steel,
	She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and made
	me turn i' the wheel.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Go hie thee presently, post to the road:
	An if the wind blow any way from shore,
	I will not harbour in this town to-night:
	If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
	Where I will walk till thou return to me.
	If every one knows us and we know none,
	'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	As from a bear a man would run for life,
	So fly I from her that would be my wife.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	There's none but witches do inhabit here;
	And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
	She that doth call me husband, even my soul
	Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,
	Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
	Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
	Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
	But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
	I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

	[Enter ANGELO with the chain]

ANGELO	Master Antipholus,--

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Ay, that's my name.

ANGELO	I know it well, sir, lo, here is the chain.
	I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine:
	The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What is your will that I shall do with this?

ANGELO	What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

ANGELO	Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.
	Go home with it and please your wife withal;
	And soon at supper-time I'll visit you
	And then receive my money for the chain.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
	For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.

ANGELO	You are a merry man, sir: fare you well.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What I should think of this, I cannot tell:
	But this I think, there's no man is so vain
	That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
	I see a man here needs not live by shifts,
	When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
	I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay
	If any ship put out, then straight away.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE I	A public place.


	[Enter Second Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer]

Second Merchant	You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
	And since I have not much importuned you;
	Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
	To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage:
	Therefore make present satisfaction,
	Or I'll attach you by this officer.

ANGELO	Even just the sum that I do owe to you
	Is growing to me by Antipholus,
	And in the instant that I met with you
	He had of me a chain: at five o'clock
	I shall receive the money for the same.
	Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
	I will discharge my bond and thank you too.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and DROMIO of Ephesus
	from the courtezan's]

Officer	That labour may you save: see where he comes.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou
	And buy a rope's end: that will I bestow
	Among my wife and her confederates,
	For locking me out of my doors by day.
	But, soft! I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone;
	Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I buy a thousand pound a year: I buy a rope.

	[Exit]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	A man is well holp up that trusts to you:
	I promised your presence and the chain;
	But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
	Belike you thought our love would last too long,
	If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.

ANGELO	Saving your merry humour, here's the note
	How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
	The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion.
	Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
	Than I stand debted to this gentleman:
	I pray you, see him presently discharged,
	For he is bound to sea and stays but for it.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I am not furnish'd with the present money;
	Besides, I have some business in the town.
	Good signior, take the stranger to my house
	And with you take the chain and bid my wife
	Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof:
	Perchance I will be there as soon as you.

ANGELO	Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.

ANGELO	Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
	Or else you may return without your money.

ANGELO	Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain:
	Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
	And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Good Lord! you use this dalliance to excuse
	Your breach of promise to the Porpentine.
	I should have chid you for not bringing it,
	But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

Second Merchant	The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.

ANGELO	You hear how he importunes me;--the chain!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Why, give it to my wife and fetch your money.

ANGELO	Come, come, you know I gave it you even now.
	Either send the chain or send me by some token.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Fie, now you run this humour out of breath,
	where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

Second Merchant	My business cannot brook this dalliance.
	Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no:
	If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I answer you! what should I answer you?

ANGELO	The money that you owe me for the chain.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I owe you none till I receive the chain.

ANGELO	You know I gave it you half an hour since.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You gave me none: you wrong me much to say so.

ANGELO	You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
	Consider how it stands upon my credit.

Second Merchant	Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

Officer	I do; and charge you in the duke's name to obey me.

ANGELO	This touches me in reputation.
	Either consent to pay this sum for me
	Or I attach you by this officer.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Consent to pay thee that I never had!
	Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.

ANGELO	Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer,
	I would not spare my brother in this case,
	If he should scorn me so apparently.

Officer	I do arrest you, sir: you hear the suit.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I do obey thee till I give thee bail.
	But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
	As all the metal in your shop will answer.

ANGELO	Sir, sir, I will have law in Ephesus,
	To your notorious shame; I doubt it not.

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, from the bay]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum
	That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
	And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,
	I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
	The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitae.
	The ship is in her trim; the merry wind
	Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all
	But for their owner, master, and yourself.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	How now! a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep,
	What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope;
	And told thee to what purpose and what end.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	You sent me for a rope's end as soon:
	You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I will debate this matter at more leisure
	And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
	To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:
	Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
	That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,
	There is a purse of ducats; let her send it:
	Tell her I am arrested in the street
	And that shall bail me; hie thee, slave, be gone!
	On, officer, to prison till it come.

	[Exeunt Second Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and
	Antipholus of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	To Adriana! that is where we dined,
	Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband:
	She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
	Thither I must, although against my will,
	For servants must their masters' minds fulfil.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE II	The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.


	[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA]

ADRIANA	Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
	Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye
	That he did plead in earnest? yea or no?
	Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
	What observation madest thou in this case
	Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?

LUCIANA	First he denied you had in him no right.

ADRIANA	He meant he did me none; the more my spite.

LUCIANA	Then swore he that he was a stranger here.

ADRIANA	And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.

LUCIANA	Then pleaded I for you.

ADRIANA	And what said he?

LUCIANA	That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me.

ADRIANA	With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?

LUCIANA	With words that in an honest suit might move.
	First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.

ADRIANA	Didst speak him fair?

LUCIANA	Have patience, I beseech.

ADRIANA	I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
	My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
	He is deformed, crooked, old and sere,
	Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;
	Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
	Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.

LUCIANA	Who would be jealous then of such a one?
	No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

ADRIANA	Ah, but I think him better than I say,
	And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
	Far from her nest the lapwing cries away:
	My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.

	[Enter DROMIO of Syracuse]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Here! go; the desk, the purse! sweet, now, make haste.

LUCIANA	How hast thou lost thy breath?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	By running fast.

ADRIANA	Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.
	A devil in an everlasting garment hath him;
	One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
	A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough;
	A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
	A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that
	countermands
	The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands;
	A hound that runs counter and yet draws dryfoot well;
	One that before the judgement carries poor souls to hell.

ADRIANA	Why, man, what is the matter?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case.

ADRIANA	What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;
	But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell.
	Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?

ADRIANA	Go fetch it, sister.

	[Exit Luciana]

		This I wonder at,
	That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
	Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;
	A chain, a chain! Do you not hear it ring?

ADRIANA	What, the chain?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No, no, the bell: 'tis time that I were gone:
	It was two ere I left him, and now the clock
	strikes one.

ADRIANA	The hours come back! that did I never hear.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for
	very fear.

ADRIANA	As if Time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason!

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's
	worth, to season.
	Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say
	That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
	If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
	Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

	[Re-enter LUCIANA with a purse]

ADRIANA	Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it straight;
	And bring thy master home immediately.
	Come, sister: I am press'd down with conceit--
	Conceit, my comfort and my injury.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE III	A public place.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	There's not a man I meet but doth salute me
	As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
	And every one doth call me by my name.
	Some tender money to me; some invite me;
	Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
	Some offer me commodities to buy:
	Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop
	And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
	And therewithal took measure of my body.
	Sure, these are but imaginary wiles
	And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

	[Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, here's the gold you sent me for. What, have
	you got the picture of old Adam new-apparelled?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What gold is this? what Adam dost thou mean?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not that Adam that kept the Paradise but that Adam
	that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's
	skin that was killed for the Prodigal; he that came
	behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you
	forsake your liberty.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I understand thee not.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a
	bass-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir,
	that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob
	and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed
	men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up
	his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a
	morris-pike.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	What, thou meanest an officer?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band, he that brings
	any man to answer it that breaks his band; one that
	thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 'God
	give you good rest!'

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the
	bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were
	you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy
	Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to
	deliver you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	The fellow is distract, and so am I;
	And here we wander in illusions:
	Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

	[Enter a Courtezan]

Courtezan	Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
	I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:
	Is that the chain you promised me to-day?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, is this Mistress Satan?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	It is the devil.


DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here
	she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof
	comes that the wenches say 'God damn me;' that's as
	much to say 'God make me a light wench.' It is
	written, they appear to men like angels of light:
	light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn;
	ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her.

Courtezan	Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.
	Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat; or bespeak a
	long spoon.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Why, Dromio?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with
	the devil.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping?
	Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress:
	I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.

Courtezan	Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
	Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,
	And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
	A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
	A nut, a cherry-stone;
	But she, more covetous, would have a chain.
	Master, be wise: an if you give it her,
	The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.

Courtezan	I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain:
	I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, that you know.

	[Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse]

Courtezan	Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,
	Else would he never so demean himself.
	A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
	And for the same he promised me a chain:
	Both one and other he denies me now.
	The reason that I gather he is mad,
	Besides this present instance of his rage,
	Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner,
	Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
	Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,
	On purpose shut the doors against his way.
	My way is now to hie home to his house,
	And tell his wife that, being lunatic,
	He rush'd into my house and took perforce
	My ring away. This course I fittest choose;
	For forty ducats is too much to lose.

	[Exit]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT IV



SCENE IV	A street.


	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and the Officer]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Fear me not, man; I will not break away:
	I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
	To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
	My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,
	And will not lightly trust the messenger
	That I should be attach'd in Ephesus,
	I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.

	[Enter DROMIO of Ephesus with a rope's-end]

	Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.
	How now, sir! have you that I sent you for?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	But where's the money?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I returned.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.

	[Beating him]

Officer	Good sir, be patient.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity.

Officer	Good, now, hold thy tongue.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou whoreson, senseless villain!

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel
	your blows.

ANTIPHOLUS	Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an
	ass.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my long
	ears. I have served him from the hour of my
	nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his
	hands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he
	heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me
	with beating; I am waked with it when I sleep;
	raised with it when I sit; driven out of doors with
	it when I go from home; welcomed home with it when
	I return; nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a
	beggar wont her brat; and, I think when he hath
	lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

	[Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, and PINCH]

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or
	rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'beware the
	rope's-end.'

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Wilt thou still talk?

	[Beating him]

Courtezan	How say you now? is not your husband mad?

ADRIANA	His incivility confirms no less.
	Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;
	Establish him in his true sense again,
	And I will please you what you will demand.

LUCIANA	Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

Courtezan	Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!

PINCH	Give me your hand and let me feel your pulse.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.

	[Striking him]

PINCH	I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
	To yield possession to my holy prayers
	And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight:
	I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad.

ADRIANA	O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	You minion, you, are these your customers?
	Did this companion with the saffron face
	Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
	Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut
	And I denied to enter in my house?

ADRIANA	O husband, God doth know you dined at home;
	Where would you had remain'd until this time,
	Free from these slanders and this open shame!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dined at home! Thou villain, what sayest thou?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut out?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you shut out.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And did not she herself revile me there?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sans fable, she herself reviled you there.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And did not I in rage depart from thence?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	In verity you did; my bones bear witness,
	That since have felt the vigour of his rage.

ADRIANA	Is't good to soothe him in these contraries?

PINCH	It is no shame: the fellow finds his vein,
	And yielding to him humours well his frenzy.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me.

ADRIANA	Alas, I sent you money to redeem you,
	By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Money by me! heart and goodwill you might;
	But surely master, not a rag of money.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?

ADRIANA	He came to me and I deliver'd it.

LUCIANA	And I am witness with her that she did.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	God and the rope-maker bear me witness
	That I was sent for nothing but a rope!

PINCH	Mistress, both man and master is possess'd;
	I know it by their pale and deadly looks:
	They must be bound and laid in some dark room.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day?
	And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

ADRIANA	I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	And, gentle master, I received no gold;
	But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.

ADRIANA	Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all;
	And art confederate with a damned pack
	To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:
	But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes
	That would behold in me this shameful sport.

	[Enter three or four, and offer to bind him.
	He strives]

ADRIANA	O, bind him, bind him! let him not come near me.

PINCH	More company! The fiend is strong within him.

LUCIANA	Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou,
	I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them
	To make a rescue?

Officer	                  Masters, let him go
	He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

PINCH	Go bind this man, for he is frantic too.

	[They offer to bind Dromio of Ephesus]

ADRIANA	What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
	Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
	Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

Officer	He is my prisoner: if I let him go,
	The debt he owes will be required of me.

ADRIANA	I will discharge thee ere I go from thee:
	Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,
	And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.
	Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd
	Home to my house. O most unhappy day!

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	O most unhappy strumpet!

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Master, I am here entered in bond for you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, good master:
	cry 'The devil!'

LUCIANA	God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!

ADRIANA	Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.

	[Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, Officer and
	Courtezan]

	Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?

Officer	One Angelo, a goldsmith: do you know him?

ADRIANA	I know the man. What is the sum he owes?

Officer	Two hundred ducats.

ADRIANA	Say, how grows it due?

Officer	Due for a chain your husband had of him.

ADRIANA	He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

Courtezan	When as your husband all in rage to-day
	Came to my house and took away my ring--
	The ring I saw upon his finger now--
	Straight after did I meet him with a chain.

ADRIANA	It may be so, but I did never see it.
	Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is:
	I long to know the truth hereof at large.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse with his rapier drawn,
	and DROMIO of Syracuse]

LUCIANA	God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.

ADRIANA	And come with naked swords.
	Let's call more help to have them bound again.

Officer	Away! they'll kill us.

	[Exeunt all but Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio
	of Syracuse]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I see these witches are afraid of swords.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	She that would be your wife now ran from you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence:
	I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do us
	no harm: you saw they speak us fair, give us gold:
	methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for
	the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of
	me, I could find in my heart to stay here still and
	turn witch.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I will not stay to-night for all the town;
	Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.

	[Exeunt]




	THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


ACT V



SCENE I	A street before a Priory.


	[Enter Second Merchant and ANGELO]

ANGELO	I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you;
	But, I protest, he had the chain of me,
	Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.

Second Merchant	How is the man esteemed here in the city?

ANGELO	Of very reverend reputation, sir,
	Of credit infinite, highly beloved,
	Second to none that lives here in the city:
	His word might bear my wealth at any time.

Second Merchant	Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and DROMIO of Syracuse]

ANGELO	'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck
	Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
	Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
	Signior Antipholus, I wonder much
	That you would put me to this shame and trouble;
	And, not without some scandal to yourself,
	With circumstance and oaths so to deny
	This chain which now you wear so openly:
	Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
	You have done wrong to this my honest friend,
	Who, but for staying on our controversy,
	Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day:
	This chain you had of me; can you deny it?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I think I had; I never did deny it.

Second Merchant	Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?

Second Merchant	These ears of mine, thou know'st did hear thee.
	Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou livest
	To walk where any honest man resort.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	Thou art a villain to impeach me thus:
	I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty
	Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.

Second Merchant	I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.

	[They draw]

	[Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, and others]

ADRIANA	Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake! he is mad.
	Some get within him, take his sword away:
	Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a house!
	This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd!

	[Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse
	to the Priory]

	[Enter the Lady Abbess, AEMILIA]

AEMELIA	Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?

ADRIANA	To fetch my poor distracted husband hence.
	Let us come in, that we may bind him fast
	And bear him home for his recovery.

ANGELO	I knew he was not in his perfect wits.

Second Merchant	I am sorry now that I did draw on him.

AEMELIA	How long hath this possession held the man?

ADRIANA	This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,
	And much different from the man he was;
	But till this afternoon his passion
	Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.

AEMELIA	Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea?
	Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye
	Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?
	A sin prevailing much in youthful men,
	Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
	Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

ADRIANA	To none of these, except it be the last;
	Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.

AEMELIA	You should for that have reprehended him.

ADRIANA	Why, so I did.

AEMELIA	                  Ay, but not rough enough.

ADRIANA	As roughly as my modesty would let me.

AEMELIA	Haply, in private.

ADRIANA	And in assemblies too.

AEMELIA	Ay, but not enough.

ADRIANA	It was the copy of our conference:
	In bed he slept not for my urging it;
	At board he fed not for my urging it;
	Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
	In company I often glanced it;
	Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

AEMELIA	And thereof came it that the man was mad.
	The venom clamours of a jealous woman
	Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
	It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing,
	And therefore comes it that his head is light.
	Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings:
	Unquiet meals make ill digestions;
	Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;
	And what's a fever but a fit of madness?
	Thou say'st his sports were hinderd by thy brawls:
	Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
	But moody and dull melancholy,
	Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
	And at her heels a huge infectious troop
	Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?
	In food, in sport and life-preserving rest
	To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast:
	The consequence is then thy jealous fits
	Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.

LUCIANA	She never reprehended him but mildly,
	When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly.
	Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?

ADRIANA	She did betray me to my own reproof.
	Good people enter and lay hold on him.

AEMELIA	No, not a creature enters in my house.

ADRIANA	Then let your servants bring my husband forth.

AEMELIA	Neither: he took this place for sanctuary,
	And it shall privilege him from your hands
	Till I have brought him to his wits again,
	Or lose my labour in assaying it.

ADRIANA	I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
	Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
	And will have no attorney but myself;
	And therefore let me have him home with me.

AEMELIA	Be patient; for I will not let him stir
	Till I have used the approved means I have,
	With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers,
	To make of him a formal man again:
	It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
	A charitable duty of my order.
	Therefore depart and leave him here with me.

ADRIANA	I will not hence and leave my husband here:
	And ill it doth beseem your holiness
	To separate the husband and the wife.

AEMELIA	Be quiet and depart: thou shalt not have him.

	[Exit]

LUCIANA	Complain unto the duke of this indignity.

ADRIANA	Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet
	And never rise until my tears and prayers
	Have won his grace to come in person hither
	And take perforce my husband from the abbess.

Second Merchant	By this, I think, the dial points at five:
	Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person
	Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
	The place of death and sorry execution,
	Behind the ditches of the abbey here.

ANGELO	Upon what cause?

Second Merchant	To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,
	Who put unluckily into this bay
	Against the laws and statutes of this town,
	Beheaded publicly for his offence.

ANGELO	See where they come: we will behold his death.

LUCIANA	Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.

	[Enter DUKE SOLINUS, attended; AEGEON bareheaded; with the
	Headsman and other Officers]

DUKE SOLINUS	Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
	If any friend will pay the sum for him,
	He shall not die; so much we tender him.

ADRIANA	Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess!

DUKE SOLINUS	She is a virtuous and a reverend lady:
	It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.

ADRIANA	May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband,
	Whom I made lord of me and all I had,
	At your important letters,--this ill day
	A most outrageous fit of madness took him;
	That desperately he hurried through the street,
	With him his bondman, all as mad as he--
	Doing displeasure to the citizens
	By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
	Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
	Once did I get him bound and sent him home,
	Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
	That here and there his fury had committed.
	Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
	He broke from those that had the guard of him;
	And with his mad attendant and himself,
	Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
	Met us again and madly bent on us,
	Chased us away; till, raising of more aid,
	We came again to bind them. Then they fled
	Into this abbey, whither we pursued them:
	And here the abbess shuts the gates on us
	And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
	Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.
	Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command
	Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.

DUKE SOLINUS	Long since thy husband served me in my wars,
	And I to thee engaged a prince's word,
	When thou didst make him master of thy bed,
	To do him all the grace and good I could.
	Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate
	And bid the lady abbess come to me.
	I will determine this before I stir.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!
	My master and his man are both broke loose,
	Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor
	Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;
	And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him
	Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair:
	My master preaches patience to him and the while
	His man with scissors nicks him like a fool,
	And sure, unless you send some present help,
	Between them they will kill the conjurer.

ADRIANA	Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here,
	And that is false thou dost report to us.

Servant	Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
	I have not breathed almost since I did see it.
	He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,
	To scorch your face and to disfigure you.

	[Cry within]

	Hark, hark! I hear him, mistress. fly, be gone!

DUKE SOLINUS	Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds!

ADRIANA	Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you,
	That he is borne about invisible:
	Even now we housed him in the abbey here;
	And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

	[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus and DROMIO of Ephesus]

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me justice!
	Even for the service that long since I did thee,
	When I bestrid thee in the wars and took
	Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood
	That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

AEGEON	Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
	I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there!
	She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife,
	That hath abused and dishonour'd me
	Even in the strength and height of injury!
	Beyond imagination is the wrong
	That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

DUKE SOLINUS	Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me,
	While she with harlots feasted in my house.

DUKE SOLINUS	A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou so?

ADRIANA	No, my good lord: myself, he and my sister
	To-day did dine together. So befall my soul
	As this is false he burdens me withal!

LUCIANA	Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,
	But she tells to your highness simple truth!

ANGELO	O perjured woman! They are both forsworn:
	In this the madman justly chargeth them.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	My liege, I am advised what I say,
	Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,
	Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire,
	Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
	This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner:
	That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
	Could witness it, for he was with me then;
	Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
	Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,
	Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
	Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
	I went to seek him: in the street I met him
	And in his company that gentleman.
	There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down
	That I this day of him received the chain,
	Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which
	He did arrest me with an officer.
	I did obey, and sent my peasant home
	For certain ducats: he with none return'd
	Then fairly I bespoke the officer
	To go in person with me to my house.
	By the way we met
	My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
	Of vile confederates. Along with them
	They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain,
	A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
	A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller,
	A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,
	A dead-looking man: this pernicious slave,
	Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
	And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
	And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
	Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together
	They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence
	And in a dark and dankish vault at home
	There left me and my man, both bound together;
	Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
	I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
	Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
	To give me ample satisfaction
	For these deep shames and great indignities.

ANGELO	My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
	That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

DUKE SOLINUS	But had he such a chain of thee or no?

ANGELO	He had, my lord: and when he ran in here,
	These people saw the chain about his neck.

Second Merchant	Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine
	Heard you confess you had the chain of him
	After you first forswore it on the mart:
	And thereupon I drew my sword on you;
	And then you fled into this abbey here,
	From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I never came within these abbey-walls,
	Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
	I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
	And this is false you burden me withal.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
	I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
	If here you housed him, here he would have been;
	If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
	You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here
	Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.

Courtezan	He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.

DUKE SOLINUS	Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Courtezan	As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.
	I think you are all mated or stark mad.

	[Exit one to Abbess]

AEGEON	Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:
	Haply I see a friend will save my life
	And pay the sum that may deliver me.

DUKE SOLINUS	Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.

AEGEON	Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
	And is not that your bondman, Dromio?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Within this hour I was his bondman sir,
	But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords:
	Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.

AEGEON	I am sure you both of you remember me.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;
	For lately we were bound, as you are now
	You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?

AEGEON	Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

ANTIPHOLUS	I never saw you in my life till now.

AEGEON	O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
	And careful hours with time's deformed hand
	Have written strange defeatures in my face:
	But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Neither.

AEGEON	Dromio, nor thou?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	                  No, trust me, sir, nor I.

AEGEON	I am sure thou dost.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a
	man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

AEGEON	Not know my voice! O time's extremity,
	Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue
	In seven short years, that here my only son
	Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares?
	Though now this grained face of mine be hid
	In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
	And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
	Yet hath my night of life some memory,
	My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,
	My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
	All these old witnesses--I cannot err--
	Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I never saw my father in my life.

AEGEON	But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
	Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps, my son,
	Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	The duke and all that know me in the city
	Can witness with me that it is not so
	I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

DUKE SOLINUS	I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
	Have I been patron to Antipholus,
	During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:
	I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

	[Re-enter AEMILIA, with ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and
	DROMIO of Syracuse]

AEMELIA	Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd.

	[All gather to see them]

ADRIANA	I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.

DUKE SOLINUS	One of these men is Genius to the other;
	And so of these. Which is the natural man,
	And which the spirit? who deciphers them?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	AEgeon art thou not? or else his ghost?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	O, my old master! who hath bound him here?

AEMELIA	Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds
	And gain a husband by his liberty.
	Speak, old AEgeon, if thou be'st the man
	That hadst a wife once call'd AEmilia
	That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:
	O, if thou be'st the same AEgeon, speak,
	And speak unto the same AEmilia!

AEGEON	If I dream not, thou art AEmilia:
	If thou art she, tell me where is that son
	That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

AEMELIA	By men of Epidamnum he and I
	And the twin Dromio all were taken up;
	But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
	By force took Dromio and my son from them
	And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
	What then became of them I cannot tell
	I to this fortune that you see me in.

DUKE SOLINUS	Why, here begins his morning story right;
	These two Antipholuses, these two so like,
	And these two Dromios, one in semblance,--
	Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,--
	These are the parents to these children,
	Which accidentally are met together.
	Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.

DUKE SOLINUS	Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord,--

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	And I with him.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,
	Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

ADRIANA	Which of you two did dine with me to-day?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I, gentle mistress.

ADRIANA	And are not you my husband?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	No; I say nay to that.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	And so do I; yet did she call me so:
	And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
	Did call me brother.

	[To Luciana]

		What I told you then,
	I hope I shall have leisure to make good;
	If this be not a dream I see and hear.

ANGELO	That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	I think it be, sir; I deny it not.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.

ANGELO	I think I did, sir; I deny it not.

ADRIANA	I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
	By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	No, none by me.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	This purse of ducats I received from you,
	And Dromio, my man, did bring them me.
	I see we still did meet each other's man,
	And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
	And thereupon these errors are arose.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	These ducats pawn I for my father here.

DUKE SOLINUS	It shall not need; thy father hath his life.

Courtezan	Sir, I must have that diamond from you.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.

AEMELIA	Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
	To go with us into the abbey here
	And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:
	And all that are assembled in this place,
	That by this sympathized one day's error
	Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company,
	And we shall make full satisfaction.
	Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
	Of you, my sons; and till this present hour
	My heavy burden ne'er delivered.
	The duke, my husband and my children both,
	And you the calendars of their nativity,
	Go to a gossips' feast and go with me;
	After so long grief, such festivity!

DUKE SOLINUS	With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.

	[Exeunt all but Antipholus of Syracuse, Antipholus
	of Ephesus, Dromio of Syracuse and Dromio of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?

ANTIPHOLUS
OF EPHESUS	Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.

ANTIPHOLUS
OF SYRACUSE	He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio:
	Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon:
	Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.

	[Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Antipholus of Ephesus]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	There is a fat friend at your master's house,
	That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner:
	She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother:
	I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
	Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	Not I, sir; you are my elder.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	That's a question: how shall we try it?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE	We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first.

DROMIO OF EPHESUS	Nay, then, thus:
	We came into the world like brother and brother;
	And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

	[Exeunt]
	CYMBELINE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CYMBELINE	king of Britain.

CLOTEN	son to the Queen by a former husband.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	a gentleman, husband to Imogen.

BELARIUS	a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan.


GUIDERIUS	|  sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names
	|  of Polydote and Cadwal, supposed sons to
ARVIRAGUS	|  Morgan.


PHILARIO	friend to Posthumus,	|
			|  Italians.
IACHIMO	friend to Philario, 	|


CAIUS LUCIUS	general of the Roman forces.

PISANIO	servant to Posthumus.

CORNELIUS	a physician.

	A Roman Captain. (Captain:)

	Two British Captains.
	(First Captain:)
	(Second Captain:)

	A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
	(Frenchman:)

	Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)

	Two Gentlemen of the same.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)

	Two Gaolers.
	(First Gaoler:)
	(Second Gaoler:)

QUEEN	wife to Cymbeline.

IMOGEN	daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.

HELEN	a lady attending on Imogen.

	Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes,
	a Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians,
	Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers,
	and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(Lady:)
	(First Lady:)
	(First Senator:)
	(Second Senator:)
	(First Tribune:)
	(Soothsayer:)
	(Messenger:)

	Apparitions.
	(Sicilius Leonatus:)
	(Mother:)
	(First Brother:)
	(Second Brother:)
	(Jupiter:)

SCENE	Britain; Rome.




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE I	Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman	You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
	No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
	Still seem as does the king.

Second Gentleman	But what's the matter?

First Gentleman	His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
	He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
	That late he married--hath referr'd herself
	Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
	Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
	Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
	Be touch'd at very heart.

Second Gentleman	None but the king?

First Gentleman	He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
	That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
	Although they wear their faces to the bent
	Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not
	Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Second Gentleman	And why so?

First Gentleman	He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
	Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--
	I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
	And therefore banish'd--is a creature such
	As, to seek through the regions of the earth
	For one his like, there would be something failing
	In him that should compare. I do not think
	So fair an outward and such stuff within
	Endows a man but he.

Second Gentleman	You speak him far.

First Gentleman	I do extend him, sir, within himself,
	Crush him together rather than unfold
	His measure duly.

Second Gentleman	                  What's his name and birth?

First Gentleman	I cannot delve him to the root: his father
	Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
	Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
	But had his titles by Tenantius whom
	He served with glory and admired success,
	So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
	And had, besides this gentleman in question,
	Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
	Died with their swords in hand; for which
	their father,
	Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
	That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
	Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
	As he was born. The king he takes the babe
	To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
	Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
	Puts to him all the learnings that his time
	Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
	As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
	And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
	Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
	A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
	A glass that feated them, and to the graver
	A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
	For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
	Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
	By her election may be truly read
	What kind of man he is.

Second Gentleman	I honour him
	Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
	Is she sole child to the king?

First Gentleman	His only child.
	He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
	Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
	I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
	Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
	Which way they went.

Second Gentleman	How long is this ago?

First Gentleman	Some twenty years.

Second Gentleman	That a king's children should be so convey'd,
	So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
	That could not trace them!

First Gentleman	Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
	Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
	Yet is it true, sir.

Second Gentleman	I do well believe you.

First Gentleman	We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
	The queen, and princess.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]

QUEEN	No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
	After the slander of most stepmothers,
	Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
	Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
	That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
	So soon as I can win the offended king,
	I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
	The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
	You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
	Your wisdom may inform you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Please your highness,
	I will from hence to-day.

QUEEN	You know the peril.
	I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
	The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
	Hath charged you should not speak together.

	[Exit]

IMOGEN	O
	Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
	Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
	I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--
	Always reserved my holy duty--what
	His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
	And I shall here abide the hourly shot
	Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
	But that there is this jewel in the world
	That I may see again.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	My queen! my mistress!
	O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
	To be suspected of more tenderness
	Than doth become a man. I will remain
	The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
	My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
	Who to my father was a friend, to me
	Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
	And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
	Though ink be made of gall.

	[Re-enter QUEEN]

QUEEN	Be brief, I pray you:
	If the king come, I shall incur I know not
	How much of his displeasure.

	[Aside]

		        Yet I'll move him
	To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
	But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
	Pays dear for my offences.

	[Exit]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Should we be taking leave
	As long a term as yet we have to live,
	The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMOGEN	Nay, stay a little:
	Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
	Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
	This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
	But keep it till you woo another wife,
	When Imogen is dead.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	How, how! another?
	You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
	And sear up my embracements from a next
	With bonds of death!

	[Putting on the ring]

		Remain, remain thou here
	While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
	As I my poor self did exchange for you,
	To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
	I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
	It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
	Upon this fairest prisoner.

	[Putting a bracelet upon her arm]

IMOGEN	O the gods!
	When shall we see again?

	[Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Alack, the king!

CYMBELINE	Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
	If after this command thou fraught the court
	With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
	Thou'rt poison to my blood.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The gods protect you!
	And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.

	[Exit]

IMOGEN	                  There cannot be a pinch in death
	More sharp than this is.

CYMBELINE	O disloyal thing,
	That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
	A year's age on me.

IMOGEN	I beseech you, sir,
	Harm not yourself with your vexation
	I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
	Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYMBELINE	Past grace? obedience?

IMOGEN	Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

CYMBELINE	That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMOGEN	O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
	And did avoid a puttock.

CYMBELINE	Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
	A seat for baseness.

IMOGEN	No; I rather added
	A lustre to it.

CYMBELINE	                  O thou vile one!

IMOGEN	Sir,
	It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
	You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
	A man worth any woman, overbuys me
	Almost the sum he pays.

CYMBELINE	What, art thou mad?

IMOGEN	Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
	A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
	Our neighbour shepherd's son!

CYMBELINE	Thou foolish thing!

	[Re-enter QUEEN]

	They were again together: you have done
	Not after our command. Away with her,
	And pen her up.

QUEEN	                  Beseech your patience. Peace,
	Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
	Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
	Out of your best advice.

CYMBELINE	Nay, let her languish
	A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
	Die of this folly!

	[Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]

QUEEN	                  Fie! you must give way.

	[Enter PISANIO]

	Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

PISANIO	My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN	Ha!
	No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO	There might have been,
	But that my master rather play'd than fought
	And had no help of anger: they were parted
	By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN	I am very glad on't.

IMOGEN	Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
	To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
	I would they were in Afric both together;
	Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
	The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PISANIO	On his command: he would not suffer me
	To bring him to the haven; left these notes
	Of what commands I should be subject to,
	When 't pleased you to employ me.

QUEEN	This hath been
	Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour
	He will remain so.

PISANIO	                  I humbly thank your highness.

QUEEN	Pray, walk awhile.

IMOGEN	                  About some half-hour hence,
	I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
	Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. A public place.


	[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

First Lord	Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the
	violence of action hath made you reek as a
	sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:
	there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

CLOTEN	If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

Second Lord	[Aside]  No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.

First Lord	Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be
	not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

Second Lord	[Aside]  His steel was in debt; it went o' the
	backside the town.

CLOTEN	The villain would not stand me.

Second Lord	[Aside]  No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

First Lord	Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but
	he added to your having; gave you some ground.

Second Lord	[Aside]  As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!

CLOTEN	I would they had not come between us.

Second Lord	[Aside]  So would I, till you had measured how long
	a fool you were upon the ground.

CLOTEN	And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

Second Lord	[Aside]  If it be a sin to make a true election, she
	is damned.

First Lord	Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain
	go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen
	small reflection of her wit.

Second Lord	[Aside]  She shines not upon fools, lest the
	reflection should hurt her.

CLOTEN	Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
	hurt done!

Second Lord	[Aside]  I wish not so; unless it had been the fall
	of an ass, which is no great hurt.

CLOTEN	You'll go with us?

First Lord	I'll attend your lordship.

CLOTEN	Nay, come, let's go together.

Second Lord	Well, my lord.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO]

IMOGEN	I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
	And question'dst every sail: if he should write
	And not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
	As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
	That he spake to thee?

PISANIO	It was his queen, his queen!

IMOGEN	Then waved his handkerchief?

PISANIO	And kiss'd it, madam.

IMOGEN	Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!
	And that was all?

PISANIO	                  No, madam; for so long
	As he could make me with this eye or ear
	Distinguish him from others, he did keep
	The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
	Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind
	Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
	How swift his ship.

IMOGEN	Thou shouldst have made him
	As little as a crow, or less, ere left
	To after-eye him.

PISANIO	                  Madam, so I did.

IMOGEN	I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
	To look upon him, till the diminution
	Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
	Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
	The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
	Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
	When shall we hear from him?

PISANIO	Be assured, madam,
	With his next vantage.

IMOGEN	I did not take my leave of him, but had
	Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
	How I would think on him at certain hours
	Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
	The shes of Italy should not betray
	Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,
	At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
	To encounter me with orisons, for then
	I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
	Give him that parting kiss which I had set
	Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father
	And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
	Shakes all our buds from growing.

	[Enter a Lady]

Lady	The queen, madam,
	Desires your highness' company.

IMOGEN	Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
	I will attend the queen.

PISANIO	Madam, I shall.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE IV	Rome. Philario's house.


	[Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a
	Dutchman, and a Spaniard]

IACHIMO	Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: he was
	then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy
	as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I
	could then have looked on him without the help of
	admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments
	had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.

PHILARIO	You speak of him when he was less furnished than now
	he is with that which makes him both without and within.

Frenchman	I have seen him in France: we had very many there
	could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.

IACHIMO	This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein
	he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,
	words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.

Frenchman	And then his banishment.

IACHIMO	Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this
	lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully
	to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment,
	which else an easy battery might lay flat, for
	taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes
	it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps
	acquaintance?

PHILARIO	His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I
	have been often bound for no less than my life.
	Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained
	amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your
	knowing, to a stranger of his quality.

	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

	I beseech you all, be better known to this
	gentleman; whom I commend to you as a noble friend
	of mine: how worthy he is I will leave to appear
	hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.

Frenchman	Sir, we have known together in Orleans.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
	which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.

Frenchman	Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I
	did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity
	you should have been put together with so mortal a
	purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so
	slight and trivial a nature.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;
	rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in
	my every action to be guided by others' experiences:
	but upon my mended judgment--if I offend not to say
	it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether slight.

Frenchman	'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords,
	and by such two that would by all likelihood have
	confounded one the other, or have fallen both.

IACHIMO	Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?

Frenchman	Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in public,
	which may, without contradiction, suffer the report.
	It was much like an argument that fell out last
	night, where each of us fell in praise of our
	country mistresses; this gentleman at that time
	vouching--and upon warrant of bloody
	affirmation--his to be more fair, virtuous, wise,
	chaste, constant-qualified and less attemptable
	than any the rarest of our ladies in France.

IACHIMO	That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's
	opinion by this worn out.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	She holds her virtue still and I my mind.

IACHIMO	You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would
	abate her nothing, though I profess myself her
	adorer, not her friend.

IACHIMO	As fair and as good--a kind of hand-in-hand
	comparison--had been something too fair and too good
	for any lady in Britain. If she went before others
	I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres
	many I have beheld. I could not but believe she
	excelled many: but I have not seen the most
	precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone.

IACHIMO	What do you esteem it at?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	More than the world enjoys.

IACHIMO	Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's
	outprized by a trifle.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given, if
	there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit
	for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale,
	and only the gift of the gods.

IACHIMO	Which the gods have given you?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Which, by their graces, I will keep.

IACHIMO	You may wear her in title yours: but, you know,
	strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your
	ring may be stolen too: so your brace of unprizable
	estimations; the one is but frail and the other
	casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished
	courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier
	to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the
	holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do
	nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
	notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

PHILARIO	Let us leave here, gentlemen.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I
	thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.

IACHIMO	With five times so much conversation, I should get
	ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even
	to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	No, no.

IACHIMO	I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to
	your ring; which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it
	something: but I make my wager rather against your
	confidence than her reputation: and, to bar your
	offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
	lady in the world.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	You are a great deal abused in too bold a
	persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're
	worthy of by your attempt.

IACHIMO	What's that?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	A repulse: though your attempt, as you call it,
	deserve more; a punishment too.

PHILARIO	Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly;
	let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be
	better acquainted.

IACHIMO	Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the
	approbation of what I have spoke!

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	What lady would you choose to assail?

IACHIMO	Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe.
	I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,
	that, commend me to the court where your lady is,
	with no more advantage than the opportunity of a
	second conference, and I will bring from thence
	that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring
	I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.

IACHIMO	You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy
	ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot
	preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some
	religion in you, that you fear.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a
	graver purpose, I hope.

IACHIMO	I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo
	what's spoken, I swear.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your
	return: let there be covenants drawn between's: my
	mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your
	unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring.

PHILARIO	I will have it no lay.

IACHIMO	By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no
	sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
	bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats
	are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off,
	and leave her in such honour as you have trust in,
	she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are
	yours: provided I have your commendation for my more
	free entertainment.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I embrace these conditions; let us have articles
	betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if
	you make your voyage upon her and give me directly
	to understand you have prevailed, I am no further
	your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she
	remain unseduced, you not making it appear
	otherwise, for your ill opinion and the assault you
	have made to her chastity you shall answer me with
	your sword.

IACHIMO	Your hand; a covenant: we will have these things set
	down by lawful counsel, and straight away for
	Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and
	starve: I will fetch my gold and have our two
	wagers recorded.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Agreed.

	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and IACHIMO]

Frenchman	Will this hold, think you?

PHILARIO	Signior Iachimo will not from it.
	Pray, let us follow 'em.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE V	Britain. A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS]

QUEEN	Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
	Make haste: who has the note of them?

First Lady	I, madam.

QUEEN	Dispatch.

	[Exeunt Ladies]

	Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

CORNELIUS	Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam:

	[Presenting a small box]

	But I beseech your grace, without offence,--
	My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have
	Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds,
	Which are the movers of a languishing death;
	But though slow, deadly?

QUEEN	I wonder, doctor,
	Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
	Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
	To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
	That our great king himself doth woo me oft
	For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--
	Unless thou think'st me devilish--is't not meet
	That I did amplify my judgment in
	Other conclusions? I will try the forces
	Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
	We count not worth the hanging, but none human,
	To try the vigour of them and apply
	Allayments to their act, and by them gather
	Their several virtues and effects.

CORNELIUS	Your highness
	Shall from this practise but make hard your heart:
	Besides, the seeing these effects will be
	Both noisome and infectious.

QUEEN	O, content thee.

	[Enter PISANIO]

	[Aside]

	Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
	Will I first work: he's for his master,
	An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
	Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
	Take your own way.

CORNELIUS	[Aside]          I do suspect you, madam;
	But you shall do no harm.

QUEEN	[To PISANIO]            Hark thee, a word.

CORNELIUS	[Aside]  I do not like her. She doth think she has
	Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit,
	And will not trust one of her malice with
	A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
	Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;
	Which first, perchance, she'll prove on
	cats and dogs,
	Then afterward up higher: but there is
	No danger in what show of death it makes,
	More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
	To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
	With a most false effect; and I the truer,
	So to be false with her.

QUEEN	No further service, doctor,
	Until I send for thee.

CORNELIUS	I humbly take my leave.

	[Exit]

QUEEN	Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
	She will not quench and let instructions enter
	Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:
	When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
	I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
	As great as is thy master, greater, for
	His fortunes all lie speechless and his name
	Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor
	Continue where he is: to shift his being
	Is to exchange one misery with another,
	And every day that comes comes to decay
	A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
	To be depender on a thing that leans,
	Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,
	So much as but to prop him?

	[The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up]

		      Thou takest up
	Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
	It is a thing I made, which hath the king
	Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know
	What is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;
	It is an earnest of a further good
	That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
	The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
	Think what a chance thou changest on, but think
	Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,
	Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king
	To any shape of thy preferment such
	As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
	That set thee on to this desert, am bound
	To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
	Think on my words.

	[Exit PISANIO]

		A sly and constant knave,
	Not to be shaked; the agent for his master
	And the remembrancer of her to hold
	The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
	Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
	Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,
	Except she bend her humour, shall be assured
	To taste of too.

	[Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies]

	So, so: well done, well done:
	The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
	Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
	Think on my words.

	[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]

PISANIO	And shall do:
	But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
	I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE VI	The same. Another room in the palace.


	[Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
	A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
	That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!
	My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
	Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
	As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
	Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
	How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
	Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

	[Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO]

PISANIO	Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
	Comes from my lord with letters.

IACHIMO	Change you, madam?
	The worthy Leonatus is in safety
	And greets your highness dearly.

	[Presents a letter]

IMOGEN	Thanks, good sir:
	You're kindly welcome.

IACHIMO	[Aside]  All of her that is out of door most rich!
	If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
	She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
	Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
	Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
	Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
	Rather directly fly.

IMOGEN	[Reads]  'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
	kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
	him accordingly, as you value your trust--
			 LEONATUS.'
	So far I read aloud:
	But even the very middle of my heart
	Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
	You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
	Have words to bid you, and shall find it so
	In all that I can do.

IACHIMO	Thanks, fairest lady.
	What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
	To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
	Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
	The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
	Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
	Partition make with spectacles so precious
	'Twixt fair and foul?

IMOGEN	What makes your admiration?

IACHIMO	It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
	'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
	Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
	For idiots in this case of favour would
	Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
	Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
	Should make desire vomit emptiness,
	Not so allured to feed.

IMOGEN	What is the matter, trow?

IACHIMO	The cloyed will,
	That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
	Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
	Longs after for the garbage.

IMOGEN	What, dear sir,
	Thus raps you? Are you well?

IACHIMO	Thanks, madam; well.

	[To PISANIO]

		 Beseech you, sir, desire
	My man's abode where I did leave him: he
	Is strange and peevish.

PISANIO	I was going, sir,
	To give him welcome.

	[Exit]

IMOGEN	Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

IACHIMO	Well, madam.

IMOGEN	Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.

IACHIMO	Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
	So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
	The Briton reveller.

IMOGEN	When he was here,
	He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
	Not knowing why.

IACHIMO	                  I never saw him sad.
	There is a Frenchman his companion, one
	An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
	A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
	The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--
	Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
	Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
	By history, report, or his own proof,
	What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
	But must be, will his free hours languish for
	Assured bondage?'

IMOGEN	                  Will my lord say so?

IACHIMO	Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
	It is a recreation to be by
	And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
	Some men are much to blame.

IMOGEN	Not he, I hope.

IACHIMO	Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
	Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
	In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
	Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
	To pity too.

IMOGEN	                  What do you pity, sir?

IACHIMO	Two creatures heartily.

IMOGEN	Am I one, sir?
	You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
	Deserves your pity?

IACHIMO	Lamentable! What,
	To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
	I' the dungeon by a snuff?

IMOGEN	I pray you, sir,
	Deliver with more openness your answers
	To my demands. Why do you pity me?

IACHIMO	That others do--
	I was about to say--enjoy your--But
	It is an office of the gods to venge it,
	Not mine to speak on 't.

IMOGEN	You do seem to know
	Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--
	Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
	Than to be sure they do; for certainties
	Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
	The remedy then born--discover to me
	What both you spur and stop.

IACHIMO	Had I this cheek
	To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
	Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
	To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
	Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
	Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
	Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
	That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
	Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as
	With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
	Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
	That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
	That all the plagues of hell should at one time
	Encounter such revolt.

IMOGEN	My lord, I fear,
	Has forgot Britain.

IACHIMO	And himself. Not I,
	Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
	The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
	That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue
	Charms this report out.

IMOGEN	Let me hear no more.

IACHIMO	O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
	With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
	So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
	Would make the great'st king double,--to be partner'd
	With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
	Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
	That play with all infirmities for gold
	Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
	As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
	Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
	Recoil from your great stock.

IMOGEN	Revenged!
	How should I be revenged? If this be true,--
	As I have such a heart that both mine ears
	Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,
	How should I be revenged?

IACHIMO	Should he make me
	Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
	Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
	In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
	I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
	More noble than that runagate to your bed,
	And will continue fast to your affection,
	Still close as sure.

IMOGEN	What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO	Let me my service tender on your lips.

IMOGEN	Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
	So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
	Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
	For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange.
	Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
	From thy report as thou from honour, and
	Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
	Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
	The king my father shall be made acquainted
	Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
	A saucy stranger in his court to mart
	As in a Romish stew and to expound
	His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
	He little cares for and a daughter who
	He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO	O happy Leonatus! I may say
	The credit that thy lady hath of thee
	Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
	Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
	A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
	Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
	For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
	I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
	Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
	That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
	The truest manner'd; such a holy witch
	That he enchants societies into him;
	Half all men's hearts are his.

IMOGEN	You make amends.

IACHIMO	He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
	He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
	More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
	Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
	To try your taking a false report; which hath
	Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
	In the election of a sir so rare,
	Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him
	Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,
	Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

IMOGEN	All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
	for yours.

IACHIMO	My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
	To entreat your grace but in a small request,
	And yet of moment to, for it concerns
	Your lord; myself and other noble friends,
	Are partners in the business.

IMOGEN	Pray, what is't?

IACHIMO	Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--
	The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums
	To buy a present for the emperor
	Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
	In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
	Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
	And I am something curious, being strange,
	To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
	To take them in protection?

IMOGEN	Willingly;
	And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
	My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
	In my bedchamber.

IACHIMO	They are in a trunk,
	Attended by my men: I will make bold
	To send them to you, only for this night;
	I must aboard to-morrow.

IMOGEN	O, no, no.

IACHIMO	Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
	By lengthening my return. From Gallia
	I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
	To see your grace.

IMOGEN	I thank you for your pains:
	But not away to-morrow!

IACHIMO	O, I must, madam:
	Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
	To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
	I have outstood my time; which is material
	To the tender of our present.

IMOGEN	I will write.
	Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
	And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE I	Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

CLOTEN	Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
	jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
	hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
	must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
	oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.

First Lord	What got he by that? You have broke his pate with
	your bowl.

Second Lord	[Aside]  If his wit had been like him that broke it,
	it would have run all out.

CLOTEN	When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
	any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?

Second Lord	No my lord;

	[Aside]

	nor crop the ears of them.

CLOTEN	Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
	Would he had been one of my rank!

Second Lord	[Aside]  To have smelt like a fool.

CLOTEN	I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a
	pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am;
	they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
	mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
	fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
	nobody can match.

Second Lord	[Aside]  You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
	cock, with your comb on.

CLOTEN	Sayest thou?

Second Lord	It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
	companion that you give offence to.

CLOTEN	No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
	offence to my inferiors.

Second Lord	Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

CLOTEN	Why, so I say.

First Lord	Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?

CLOTEN	A stranger, and I not know on't!

Second Lord	[Aside]  He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
	not.

First Lord	There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
	Leonatus' friends.

CLOTEN	Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
	whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

First Lord	One of your lordship's pages.

CLOTEN	Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
	derogation in't?

Second Lord	You cannot derogate, my lord.

CLOTEN	Not easily, I think.

Second Lord	[Aside]  You are a fool granted; therefore your
	issues, being foolish, do not derogate.

CLOTEN	Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
	to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.

Second Lord	I'll attend your lordship.

	[Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord]

	That such a crafty devil as is his mother
	Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
	Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
	Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
	And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
	Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
	Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
	A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
	More hateful than the foul expulsion is
	Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
	Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
	The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
	That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
	To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE II	Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace:
	a trunk in one corner of it.


	[IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending]

IMOGEN	Who's there? my woman Helen?

Lady	Please you, madam

IMOGEN	What hour is it?

Lady	                  Almost midnight, madam.

IMOGEN	I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
	Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
	Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
	And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
	I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly

	[Exit Lady]

	To your protection I commend me, gods.
	From fairies and the tempters of the night
	Guard me, beseech ye.

	[Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk]

IACHIMO	The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
	Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
	Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
	The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
	How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
	And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
	But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
	How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
	Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
	Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
	To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
	Under these windows, white and azure laced
	With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
	To note the chamber: I will write all down:
	Such and such pictures; there the window; such
	The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
	Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
	Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
	Above ten thousand meaner moveables
	Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
	O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
	And be her sense but as a monument,
	Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:

	[Taking off her bracelet]

	As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
	'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
	As strongly as the conscience does within,
	To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
	A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
	I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
	Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
	Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
	The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
	Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
	Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
	The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
	Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
	To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
	Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
	May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
	Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

	[Clock strikes]

	One, two, three: time, time!

	[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE III	An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments.


	[Enter CLOTEN and Lords]

First Lord	Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the
	most coldest that ever turned up ace.

CLOTEN	It would make any man cold to lose.

First Lord	But not every man patient after the noble temper of
	your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

CLOTEN	Winning will put any man into courage. If I could
	get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.
	It's almost morning, is't not?

First Lord	Day, my lord.

CLOTEN	I would this music would come: I am advised to give
	her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.

	[Enter Musicians]

	Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
	fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
	will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
	First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
	after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich
	words to it: and then let her consider.
	[SONG]

	Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
	And Phoebus 'gins arise,
	His steeds to water at those springs
	On chaliced flowers that lies;
	And winking Mary-buds begin
	To ope their golden eyes:
	With every thing that pretty is,
	My lady sweet, arise:
	Arise, arise.

CLOTEN	So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will
	consider your music the better: if it do not, it is
	a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and
	calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
	boot, can never amend.

	[Exeunt Musicians]

Second Lord	Here comes the king.

CLOTEN	I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I
	was up so early: he cannot choose but take this
	service I have done fatherly.

	[Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN]

	Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.

CYMBELINE	Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
	Will she not forth?

CLOTEN	I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

CYMBELINE	The exile of her minion is too new;
	She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
	Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
	And then she's yours.

QUEEN	You are most bound to the king,
	Who lets go by no vantages that may
	Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
	To orderly soliciting, and be friended
	With aptness of the season; make denials
	Increase your services; so seem as if
	You were inspired to do those duties which
	You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
	Save when command to your dismission tends,
	And therein you are senseless.

CLOTEN	Senseless! not so.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
	The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE	A worthy fellow,
	Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
	But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
	According to the honour of his sender;
	And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
	We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
	When you have given good morning to your mistress,
	Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
	To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

	[Exeunt all but CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
	Let her lie still and dream.

	[Knocks]

		       By your leave, ho!
	I Know her women are about her: what
	If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
	Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
	Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
	Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
	Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
	Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
	Can it not do and undo? I will make
	One of her women lawyer to me, for
	I yet not understand the case myself.

	[Knocks]

	By your leave.

	[Enter a Lady]

Lady	Who's there that knocks?

CLOTEN	A gentleman.

Lady	No more?

CLOTEN	Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady	That's more
	Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
	Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?

CLOTEN	Your lady's person: is she ready?

Lady	Ay,
	To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN	There is gold for you;
	Sell me your good report.

Lady	How! my good name? or to report of you
	What I shall think is good?--The princess!

	[Enter IMOGEN]

CLOTEN	Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

	[Exit Lady]

IMOGEN	Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
	For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
	Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
	And scarce can spare them.

CLOTEN	Still, I swear I love you.

IMOGEN	If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
	If you swear still, your recompense is still
	That I regard it not.

CLOTEN	This is no answer.

IMOGEN	But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
	I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
	I shall unfold equal discourtesy
	To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
	Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

CLOTEN	To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
	I will not.

IMOGEN	          Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN	Do you call me fool?

IMOGEN	As I am mad, I do:
	If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
	That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
	You put me to forget a lady's manners,
	By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
	That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
	By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
	And am so near the lack of charity--
	To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather
	You felt than make't my boast.

CLOTEN	You sin against
	Obedience, which you owe your father. For
	The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
	One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
	With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
	And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
	Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,
	On whom there is no more dependency
	But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
	Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
	The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
	The precious note of it with a base slave.
	A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
	A pantler, not so eminent.

IMOGEN	Profane fellow
	Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more
	But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
	To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
	Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
	Comparative for your virtues, to be styled
	The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
	For being preferred so well.

CLOTEN	The south-fog rot him!

IMOGEN	He never can meet more mischance than come
	To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
	That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
	In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
	Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

	[Enter PISANIO]

CLOTEN	'His garment!' Now the devil--

IMOGEN	To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--

CLOTEN	'His garment!'

IMOGEN	                  I am sprited with a fool.
	Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman
	Search for a jewel that too casually
	Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
	If I would lose it for a revenue
	Of any king's in Europe. I do think
	I saw't this morning: confident I am
	Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
	I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
	That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO	'Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN	I hope so: go and search.

	[Exit PISANIO]

CLOTEN	You have abused me:
	'His meanest garment!'

IMOGEN	Ay, I said so, sir:
	If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

CLOTEN	I will inform your father.

IMOGEN	Your mother too:
	She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
	But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,
	To the worst of discontent.

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	I'll be revenged:
	'His meanest garment!' Well.

	[Exit]



CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE IV	Rome. Philario's house.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure
	To win the king as I am bold her honour
	Will remain hers.

PHILARIO	                  What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Not any, but abide the change of time,
	Quake in the present winter's state and wish
	That warmer days would come: in these sear'd hopes,
	I barely gratify your love; they failing,
	I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO	Your very goodness and your company
	O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
	Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
	Will do's commission throughly: and I think
	He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
	Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
	Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I do believe,
	Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
	That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
	The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
	In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
	Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
	Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
	Smiled at their lack of skill, but found
	their courage
	Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,
	Now mingled with their courages, will make known
	To their approvers they are people such
	That mend upon the world.

	[Enter IACHIMO]

PHILARIO	See! Iachimo!

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The swiftest harts have posted you by land;
	And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
	To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO	Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I hope the briefness of your answer made
	The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO	Your lady
	Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
	Look through a casement to allure false hearts
	And be false with them.

IACHIMO	Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Their tenor good, I trust.

IACHIMO	'Tis very like.

PHILARIO	Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
	When you were there?

IACHIMO	He was expected then,
	But not approach'd.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	All is well yet.
	Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
	Too dull for your good wearing?

IACHIMO	If I had lost it,
	I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
	I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
	A second night of such sweet shortness which
	Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	The stone's too hard to come by.

IACHIMO	Not a whit,
	Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Make not, sir,
	Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we
	Must not continue friends.

IACHIMO	Good sir, we must,
	If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
	The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
	We were to question further: but I now
	Profess myself the winner of her honour,
	Together with your ring; and not the wronger
	Of her or you, having proceeded but
	By both your wills.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	If you can make't apparent
	That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
	And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion
	You had of her pure honour gains or loses
	Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
	To who shall find them.

IACHIMO	Sir, my circumstances,
	Being so near the truth as I will make them,
	Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
	I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
	You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
	You need it not.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	                  Proceed.

IACHIMO	First, her bedchamber,--
	Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
	Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd
	With tapesty of silk and silver; the story
	Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
	And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
	The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
	So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
	In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
	Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
	Since the true life on't was--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is true;
	And this you might have heard of here, by me,
	Or by some other.

IACHIMO	More particulars
	Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	So they must,
	Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO	The chimney
	Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
	Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures
	So likely to report themselves: the cutter
	Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
	Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is a thing
	Which you might from relation likewise reap,
	Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO	The roof o' the chamber
	With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--
	I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids
	Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
	Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	This is her honour!
	Let it be granted you have seen all this--and praise
	Be given to your remembrance--the description
	Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
	The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO	Then, if you can,

	[Showing the bracelet]

	Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!
	And now 'tis up again: it must be married
	To that your diamond; I'll keep them.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Jove!
	Once more let me behold it: is it that
	Which I left with her?

IACHIMO	Sir--I thank her--that:
	She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
	Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
	And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and said
	She prized it once.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	May be she pluck'd it off
	To send it me.

IACHIMO	She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;

	[Gives the ring]

	It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
	Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
	Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
	Where there's another man: the vows of women
	Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
	Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.
	O, above measure false!

PHILARIO	Have patience, sir,
	And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
	It may be probable she lost it; or
	Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
	Hath stol'n it from her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Very true;
	And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring:
	Render to me some corporal sign about her,
	More evident than this; for this was stolen.

IACHIMO	By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
	'Tis true:--nay, keep the ring--'tis true: I am sure
	She would not lose it: her attendants are
	All sworn and honourable:--they induced to steal it!
	And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed her:
	The cognizance of her incontinency
	Is this: she hath bought the name of whore
	thus dearly.
	There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
	Divide themselves between you!

PHILARIO	Sir, be patient:
	This is not strong enough to be believed
	Of one persuaded well of--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Never talk on't;
	She hath been colted by him.

IACHIMO	If you seek
	For further satisfying, under her breast--
	Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud
	Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,
	I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
	To feed again, though full. You do remember
	This stain upon her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Ay, and it doth confirm
	Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
	Were there no more but it.

IACHIMO	Will you hear more?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns;
	Once, and a million!

IACHIMO	I'll be sworn--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	No swearing.
	If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
	And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
	Thou'st made me cuckold.

IACHIMO	I'll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
	I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
	Her father. I'll do something--

	[Exit]

PHILARIO	Quite besides
	The government of patience! You have won:
	Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
	He hath against himself.

IACHIMO	With an my heart.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE V	Another room in Philario's house.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Is there no way for men to be but women
	Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
	And that most venerable man which I
	Did call my father, was I know not where
	When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
	Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
	The Dian of that time so doth my wife
	The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
	Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
	And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
	A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
	Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
	As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
	This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--
	Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,
	Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
	Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
	But what he look'd for should oppose and she
	Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
	The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
	That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
	It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
	The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
	Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
	Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
	Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
	All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
	Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
	For even to vice
	They are not constant but are changing still
	One vice, but of a minute old, for one
	Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
	Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
	In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
	The very devils cannot plague them better.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE I	Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN,
	and Lords at one door, and at another,
	CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

CAIUS LUCIUS	When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
	Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues
	Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain
	And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--
	Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less
	Than in his feats deserving it--for him
	And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
	Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
	Is left untender'd.

QUEEN	And, to kill the marvel,
	Shall be so ever.

CLOTEN	There be many Caesars,
	Ere such another Julius. Britain is
	A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
	For wearing our own noses.

QUEEN	That opportunity
	Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
	We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
	The kings your ancestors, together with
	The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
	As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
	With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
	With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
	But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
	Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
	Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
	That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
	From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
	Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
	Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
	As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
	The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
	O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,
	Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
	And Britons strut with courage.

CLOTEN	Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
	kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,
	as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of
	them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
	straight arms, none.

CYMBELINE	Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN	We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
	Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a
	hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If
	Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or
	put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute
	for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

CYMBELINE	You must know,
	Till the injurious Romans did extort
	This tribute from us, we were free:
	Caesar's ambition,
	Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
	The sides o' the world, against all colour here
	Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
	Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
	Ourselves to be.

CLOTEN	|
	|                We do.
Lords	|

CYMBELINE	Say, then, to Caesar,
	Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
	Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
	Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
	Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
	Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,
	Who was the first of Britain which did put
	His brows within a golden crown and call'd
	Himself a king.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  I am sorry, Cymbeline,
	That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--
	Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
	Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy:
	Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
	In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
	For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
	I thank thee for myself.

CYMBELINE	Thou art welcome, Caius.
	Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
	Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
	Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
	Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
	That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
	Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent
	Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
	So Caesar shall not find them.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Let proof speak.

CLOTEN	His majesty bids you welcome. Make
	pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
	you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
	shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you
	beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in
	the adventure, our crows shall fare the better
	for you; and there's an end.

CAIUS LUCIUS	So, sir.

CYMBELINE	I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
	All the remain is 'Welcome!'

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE II	Another room in the palace.


	[Enter PISANIO, with a letter]

PISANIO	How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
	What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
	O master! what a strange infection
	Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
	As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd
	On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
	She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
	More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
	As would take in some virtue. O my master!
	Thy mind to her is now as low as were
	Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
	Upon the love and truth and vows which I
	Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
	If it be so to do good service, never
	Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
	That I should seem to lack humanity
	so much as this fact comes to?

	[Reading]

		'Do't: the letter
	that I have sent her, by her own command
	Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!
	Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
	Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
	So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
	I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

	[Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	How now, Pisanio!

PISANIO	Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

IMOGEN	Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!
	O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
	That knew the stars as I his characters;
	He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,
	Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
	Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
	That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:
	Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
	For it doth physic love: of his content,
	All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
	You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
	And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:
	Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
	You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!

	[Reads]

	'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me
	in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
	you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me
	with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
	at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of
	this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all
	happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,
	increasing in love,
		        LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
	O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
	He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
	How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
	May plod it in a week, why may not I
	Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--
	Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,--
	let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st,
	But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me;
	For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;
	Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
	To the smothering of the sense--how far it is
	To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
	Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
	To inherit such a haven: but first of all,
	How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
	That we shall make in time, from our hence-going
	And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:
	Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
	We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
	How many score of miles may we well ride
	'Twixt hour and hour?

PISANIO	One score 'twixt sun and sun,
	Madam, 's enough for you:

	[Aside]

		     and too much too.

IMOGEN	Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
	Could never go so slow: I have heard of
	riding wagers,
	Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
	That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
	Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
	She'll home to her father: and provide me presently
	A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
	A franklin's housewife.

PISANIO	Madam, you're best consider.

IMOGEN	I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
	Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
	That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
	Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,
	Accessible is none but Milford way.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE III	Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.


	[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS,
	and ARVIRAGUS following]

BELARIUS	A goodly day not to keep house, with such
	Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
	Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you
	To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
	Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
	And keep their impious turbans on, without
	Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
	We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
	As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS	Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS	Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS	Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;
	Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
	When you above perceive me like a crow,
	That it is place which lessens and sets off;
	And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
	Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
	This service is not service, so being done,
	But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
	Draws us a profit from all things we see;
	And often, to our comfort, shall we find
	The sharded beetle in a safer hold
	Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
	Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
	Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
	Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
	Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
	Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.

GUIDERIUS	Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
	Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
	What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
	If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
	That have a sharper known; well corresponding
	With your stiff age: but unto us it is
	A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
	A prison for a debtor, that not dares
	To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS	                  What should we speak of
	When we are old as you? when we shall hear
	The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
	In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
	The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
	We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
	Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;
	Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
	We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
	And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS	How you speak!
	Did you but know the city's usuries
	And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
	As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
	Is certain falling, or so slippery that
	The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
	A pain that only seems to seek out danger
	I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
	the search,
	And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
	As record of fair act; nay, many times,
	Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
	Must court'sy at the censure:--O boys, this story
	The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
	With Roman swords, and my report was once
	First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,
	And when a soldier was the theme, my name
	Was not far off: then was I as a tree
	Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
	A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
	Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
	And left me bare to weather.

GUIDERIUS	Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS	My fault being nothing--as I have told you oft--
	But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
	Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
	I was confederate with the Romans: so
	Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
	This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
	Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
	More pious debts to heaven than in all
	The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
	This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
	The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
	To him the other two shall minister;
	And we will fear no poison, which attends
	In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

	[Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

	How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
	These boys know little they are sons to the king;
	Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
	They think they are mine; and though train'd
	up thus meanly
	I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
	The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
	In simple and low things to prince it much
	Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
	The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
	The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!
	When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
	The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
	Into my story: say 'Thus, mine enemy fell,
	And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then
	The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
	Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture
	That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
	Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
	Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
	His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!
	O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
	Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
	At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
	Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
	Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
	Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for
	their mother,
	And every day do honour to her grave:
	Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
	They take for natural father. The game is up.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE IV	Country near Milford-Haven.


	[Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
	Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so
	To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!
	Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
	That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
	From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
	Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
	Beyond self-explication: put thyself
	Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
	Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
	Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
	A look untender? If't be summer news,
	Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
	But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand!
	That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
	And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue
	May take off some extremity, which to read
	Would be even mortal to me.

PISANIO	Please you, read;
	And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
	The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMOGEN	[Reads]  'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
	strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
	bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
	but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain
	as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,
	must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with
	the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away
	her life: I shall give thee opportunity at
	Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose
	where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain
	it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and
	equally to me disloyal.'

PISANIO	What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
	Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
	Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
	Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
	Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
	All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
	Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
	This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

IMOGEN	False to his bed! What is it to be false?
	To lie in watch there and to think on him?
	To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep
	charge nature,
	To break it with a fearful dream of him
	And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it?

PISANIO	Alas, good lady!

IMOGEN	I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,
	Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
	Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks
	Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy
	Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
	Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
	And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
	I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O,
	Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
	By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
	Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
	But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO	Good madam, hear me.

IMOGEN	True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
	Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
	Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
	From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
	Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
	Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
	From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
	Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him,
	A little witness my obedience: look!
	I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
	The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
	Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
	Thy master is not there, who was indeed
	The riches of it: do his bidding; strike
	Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
	But now thou seem'st a coward.

PISANIO	Hence, vile instrument!
	Thou shalt not damn my hand.

IMOGEN	Why, I must die;
	And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
	No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
	There is a prohibition so divine
	That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
	Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
	Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
	The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
	All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
	Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
	Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
	Believe false teachers: though those that
	are betray'd
	Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
	Stands in worse case of woe.
	And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
	My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
	And make me put into contempt the suits
	Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
	It is no act of common passage, but
	A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself
	To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
	That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
	Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch:
	The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
	Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
	When I desire it too.

PISANIO	O gracious lady,
	Since I received command to do this business
	I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN	Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO	I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

IMOGEN	Wherefore then
	Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
	So many miles with a pretence? this place?
	Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
	The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
	For my being absent? whereunto I never
	Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,
	To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
	The elected deer before thee?

PISANIO	But to win time
	To lose so bad employment; in the which
	I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
	Hear me with patience.

IMOGEN	Talk thy tongue weary; speak
	I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
	Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
	Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

PISANIO	Then, madam,
	I thought you would not back again.

IMOGEN	Most like;
	Bringing me here to kill me.

PISANIO	Not so, neither:
	But if I were as wise as honest, then
	My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
	But that my master is abused:
	Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
	Hath done you both this cursed injury.

IMOGEN	Some Roman courtezan.

PISANIO	No, on my life.
	I'll give but notice you are dead and send him
	Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
	I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
	And that will well confirm it.

IMOGEN	Why good fellow,
	What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
	Or in my life what comfort, when I am
	Dead to my husband?

PISANIO	If you'll back to the court--

IMOGEN	No court, no father; nor no more ado
	With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
	That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
	As fearful as a siege.

PISANIO	If not at court,
	Then not in Britain must you bide.

IMOGEN	Where then
	Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
	Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
	Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
	In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
	There's livers out of Britain.

PISANIO	I am most glad
	You think of other place. The ambassador,
	Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
	To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
	Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
	That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
	But by self-danger, you should tread a course
	Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near
	The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least
	That though his actions were not visible, yet
	Report should render him hourly to your ear
	As truly as he moves.

IMOGEN	O, for such means!
	Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
	I would adventure.

PISANIO	Well, then, here's the point:
	You must forget to be a woman; change
	Command into obedience: fear and niceness--
	The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
	Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage:
	Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
	As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
	Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
	Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart!
	Alack, no remedy!--to the greedy touch
	Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
	Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
	You made great Juno angry.

IMOGEN	Nay, be brief
	I see into thy end, and am almost
	A man already.

PISANIO	First, make yourself but like one.
	Fore-thinking this, I have already fit--
	'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all
	That answer to them: would you in their serving,
	And with what imitation you can borrow
	From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
	Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
	wherein you're happy,--which you'll make him know,
	If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless
	With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable
	And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
	You have me, rich; and I will never fail
	Beginning nor supplyment.

IMOGEN	Thou art all the comfort
	The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
	There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
	All that good time will give us: this attempt
	I am soldier to, and will abide it with
	A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO	Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
	Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
	Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
	Here is a box; I had it from the queen:
	What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
	Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
	Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
	And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
	Direct you to the best!

IMOGEN	Amen: I thank thee.

	[Exeunt, severally]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE V	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS,
	Lords, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Thus far; and so farewell.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thanks, royal sir.
	My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
	And am right sorry that I must report ye
	My master's enemy.

CYMBELINE	                  Our subjects, sir,
	Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
	To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
	Appear unkinglike.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  So, sir: I desire of you
	A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
	Madam, all joy befal your grace!

QUEEN	And you!

CYMBELINE	My lords, you are appointed for that office;
	The due of honour in no point omit.
	So farewell, noble Lucius.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Your hand, my lord.

CLOTEN	Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
	I wear it as your enemy.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Sir, the event
	Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.

CYMBELINE	Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
	Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!

	[Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords]

QUEEN	He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
	That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN	'Tis all the better;
	Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE	Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
	How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
	Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
	The powers that he already hath in Gallia
	Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
	His war for Britain.

QUEEN	'Tis not sleepy business;
	But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.

CYMBELINE	Our expectation that it would be thus
	Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
	Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
	Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
	The duty of the day: she looks us like
	A thing more made of malice than of duty:
	We have noted it. Call her before us; for
	We have been too slight in sufferance.

	[Exit an Attendant]

QUEEN	Royal sir,
	Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
	Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
	'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
	Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
	So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
	And strokes death to her.

	[Re-enter Attendant]

CYMBELINE	Where is she, sir? How
	Can her contempt be answer'd?

Attendant	Please you, sir,
	Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
	That will be given to the loudest noise we make.

QUEEN	My lord, when last I went to visit her,
	She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
	Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
	She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
	Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
	She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
	Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE	Her doors lock'd?
	Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
	Prove false!

	[Exit]

QUEEN	Son, I say, follow the king.

CLOTEN	That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
	have not seen these two days.

QUEEN	Go, look after.

	[Exit CLOTEN]

	Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
	He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
	Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
	It is a thing most precious. But for her,
	Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,
	Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
	To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
	To death or to dishonour; and my end
	Can make good use of either: she being down,
	I have the placing of the British crown.

	[Re-enter CLOTEN]

	How now, my son!

CLOTEN	'Tis certain she is fled.
	Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
	Dare come about him.

QUEEN	[Aside]            All the better: may
	This night forestall him of the coming day!

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
	And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
	Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
	The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
	Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
	Disdaining me and throwing favours on
	The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
	That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
	I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
	To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--

	[Enter PISANIO]

	Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
	Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
	Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
	Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO	O, good my lord!

CLOTEN	Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
	I will not ask again. Close villain,
	I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
	Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
	From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
	A dram of worth be drawn.

PISANIO	Alas, my lord,
	How can she be with him? When was she missed?
	He is in Rome.

CLOTEN	                  Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
	No further halting: satisfy me home
	What is become of her.

PISANIO	O, my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN	All-worthy villain!
	Discover where thy mistress is at once,
	At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
	Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
	Thy condemnation and thy death.

PISANIO	Then, sir,
	This paper is the history of my knowledge
	Touching her flight.

	[Presenting a letter]

CLOTEN	Let's see't. I will pursue her
	Even to Augustus' throne.

PISANIO	[Aside]                 Or this, or perish.
	She's far enough; and what he learns by this
	May prove his travel, not her danger.

CLOTEN	Hum!

PISANIO	[Aside]  I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
	Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

CLOTEN	Sirrah, is this letter true?

PISANIO	Sir, as I think.

CLOTEN	It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
	wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
	undergo those employments wherein I should have
	cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
	what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
	directly and truly, I would think thee an honest
	man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
	relief nor my voice for thy preferment.

PISANIO	Well, my good lord.

CLOTEN	Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
	constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
	that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
	course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
	mine: wilt thou serve me?

PISANIO	Sir, I will.

CLOTEN	Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
	late master's garments in thy possession?

PISANIO	I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he
	wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

CLOTEN	The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
	hither: let it be thy lint service; go.

PISANIO	I shall, my lord.

	[Exit]

CLOTEN	Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
	thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
	villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
	garments were come. She said upon a time--the
	bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
	held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
	than my noble and natural person together with the
	adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
	back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her
	eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then
	be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
	speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
	when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex
	her I will execute in the clothes that she so
	praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
	her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
	and I'll be merry in my revenge.

	[Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes]

	Be those the garments?

PISANIO	Ay, my noble lord.

CLOTEN	How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

PISANIO	She can scarce be there yet.

CLOTEN	Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
	thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
	that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
	but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
	to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
	wings to follow it! Come, and be true.

	[Exit]

PISANIO	Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee
	Were to prove false, which I will never be,
	To him that is most true. To Milford go,
	And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
	You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
	Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VI	Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes]

IMOGEN	I see a man's life is a tedious one:
	I have tired myself, and for two nights together
	Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
	But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
	When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
	Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think
	Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
	Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
	I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
	That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
	A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
	When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
	Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
	Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
	Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
	My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
	At point to sink for food. But what is this?
	Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
	I were best not to call; I dare not call:
	yet famine,
	Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant,
	Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever
	Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
	If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
	Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
	Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
	But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
	Such a foe, good heavens!

	[Exit, to the cave]

	[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and
	Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
	Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
	The sweat of industry would dry and die,
	But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
	Will make what's homely savoury: weariness
	Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
	Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
	Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

GUIDERIUS	I am thoroughly weary.

ARVIRAGUS	I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

GUIDERIUS	There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
	Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

BELARIUS	[Looking into the cave]

	Stay; come not in.
	But that it eats our victuals, I should think
	Here were a fairy.

GUIDERIUS	What's the matter, sir?

BELARIUS	By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
	An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
	No elder than a boy!

	[Re-enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN	Good masters, harm me not:
	Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
	To have begg'd or bought what I have took:
	good troth,
	I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
	Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat:
	I would have left it on the board so soon
	As I had made my meal, and parted
	With prayers for the provider.

GUIDERIUS	Money, youth?

ARVIRAGUS	All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
	As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
	Who worship dirty gods.

IMOGEN	I see you're angry:
	Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
	Have died had I not made it.

BELARIUS	Whither bound?

IMOGEN	To Milford-Haven.

BELARIUS	What's your name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
	Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
	To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
	I am fall'n in this offence.

BELARIUS	Prithee, fair youth,
	Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
	By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
	'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
	Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it.
	Boys, bid him welcome.

GUIDERIUS	Were you a woman, youth,
	I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
	I bid for you as I'd buy.

ARVIRAGUS	I'll make't my comfort
	He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
	And such a welcome as I'd give to him
	After long absence, such is yours: most welcome!
	Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

IMOGEN	'Mongst friends,
	If brothers.

	[Aside]

	Would it had been so, that they
	Had been my father's sons! then had my prize
	Been less, and so more equal ballasting
	To thee, Posthumus.

BELARIUS	He wrings at some distress.

GUIDERIUS	Would I could free't!

ARVIRAGUS	Or I, whate'er it be,
	What pain it cost, what danger. God's!

BELARIUS	Hark, boys.

	[Whispering]

IMOGEN	Great men,
	That had a court no bigger than this cave,
	That did attend themselves and had the virtue
	Which their own conscience seal'd them--laying by
	That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--
	Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
	I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
	Since Leonatus's false.

BELARIUS	It shall be so.
	Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:
	Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
	We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
	So far as thou wilt speak it.

GUIDERIUS	Pray, draw near.

ARVIRAGUS	The night to the owl and morn to the lark
	less welcome.

IMOGEN	Thanks, sir.

ARVIRAGUS	I pray, draw near.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VII	Rome. A public place.


	[Enter two Senators and Tribunes]

First Senator	This is the tenor of the emperor's writ:
	That since the common men are now in action
	'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
	And that the legions now in Gallia are
	Full weak to undertake our wars against
	The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
	The gentry to this business. He creates
	Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
	For this immediate levy, he commends
	His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!

First Tribune	Is Lucius general of the forces?

Second Senator	Ay.

First Tribune	Remaining now in Gallia?

First Senator	With those legions
	Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
	Must be supplyant: the words of your commission
	Will tie you to the numbers and the time
	Of their dispatch.

First Tribune	                  We will discharge our duty.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE I	Wales: near the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	I am near to the place where they should meet, if
	Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
	serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
	him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
	rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
	a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
	play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it
	is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer
	in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are
	as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,
	not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
	advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike
	conversant in general services, and more remarkable
	in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant
	thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
	Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
	shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
	mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
	thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
	father; who may haply be a little angry for my so
	rough usage; but my mother, having power of his
	testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My
	horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore
	purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is
	the very description of their meeting-place; and
	the fellow dares not deceive me.

	[Exit]



	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE II	Before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
	ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN]

BELARIUS	[To IMOGEN]  You are not well: remain here in the cave;
	We'll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS	[To IMOGEN]	Brother, stay here
	Are we not brothers?

IMOGEN	So man and man should be;
	But clay and clay differs in dignity,
	Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

GUIDERIUS	Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.

IMOGEN	So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
	But not so citizen a wanton as
	To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;
	Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
	Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
	Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
	To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
	Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
	I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
	Stealing so poorly.

GUIDERIUS	I love thee; I have spoke it
	How much the quantity, the weight as much,
	As I do love my father.

BELARIUS	What! how! how!

ARVIRAGUS	If it be sin to say so, I yoke me
	In my good brother's fault: I know not why
	I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
	Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door,
	And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
	'My father, not this youth.'

BELARIUS	[Aside]	O noble strain!
	O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
	Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:
	Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
	I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
	Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
	'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.

ARVIRAGUS	Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN	I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS	                  You health. So please you, sir.

IMOGEN	[Aside]  These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
	I have heard!
	Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
	Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
	The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
	Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
	I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
	I'll now taste of thy drug.

	[Swallows some]

GUIDERIUS	I could not stir him:
	He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
	Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

ARVIRAGUS	Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
	I might know more.

BELARIUS	To the field, to the field!
	We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.

ARVIRAGUS	We'll not be long away.

BELARIUS	Pray, be not sick,
	For you must be our housewife.

IMOGEN	Well or ill,
	I am bound to you.

BELARIUS	And shalt be ever.

	[Exit IMOGEN, to the cave]

	This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had
	Good ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS	                  How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS	But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
	In characters,
	And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
	And he her dieter.

ARVIRAGUS	Nobly he yokes
	A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
	Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
	The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
	From so divine a temple, to commix
	With winds that sailors rail at.

GUIDERIUS	I do note
	That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
	Mingle their spurs together.

ARVIRAGUS	Grow, patience!
	And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
	His perishing root with the increasing vine!

BELARIUS	It is great morning. Come, away!--
	Who's there?

	[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN	I cannot find those runagates; that villain
	Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

BELARIUS	'Those runagates!'
	Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis
	Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
	I saw him not these many years, and yet
	I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!

GUIDERIUS	He is but one: you and my brother search
	What companies are near: pray you, away;
	Let me alone with him.

	[Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

CLOTEN	                  Soft! What are you
	That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
	I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

GUIDERIUS	A thing
	More slavish did I ne'er than answering
	A slave without a knock.

CLOTEN	Thou art a robber,
	A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.

GUIDERIUS	To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
	An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
	Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
	My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
	Why I should yield to thee?

CLOTEN	Thou villain base,
	Know'st me not by my clothes?

GUIDERIUS	No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
	Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
	Which, as it seems, make thee.

CLOTEN	Thou precious varlet,
	My tailor made them not.

GUIDERIUS	Hence, then, and thank
	The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
	I am loath to beat thee.

CLOTEN	Thou injurious thief,
	Hear but my name, and tremble.

GUIDERIUS	What's thy name?

CLOTEN	Cloten, thou villain.

GUIDERIUS	Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
	I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or
	Adder, Spider,
	'Twould move me sooner.

CLOTEN	To thy further fear,
	Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
	I am son to the queen.

GUIDERIUS	I am sorry for 't; not seeming
	So worthy as thy birth.

CLOTEN	Art not afeard?

GUIDERIUS	Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:
	At fools I laugh, not fear them.

CLOTEN	Die the death:
	When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
	I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
	And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
	Yield, rustic mountaineer.

	[Exeunt, fighting]

	[Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	No companies abroad?

ARVIRAGUS	None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.

BELARIUS	I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
	But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
	Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
	And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute
	'Twas very Cloten.

ARVIRAGUS	                  In this place we left them:
	I wish my brother make good time with him,
	You say he is so fell.

BELARIUS	Being scarce made up,
	I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
	Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
	Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.

	[Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head]

GUIDERIUS	This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
	There was no money in't: not Hercules
	Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
	Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
	My head as I do his.

BELARIUS	What hast thou done?

GUIDERIUS	I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
	Son to the queen, after his own report;
	Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
	With his own single hand he'ld take us in
	Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,
	And set them on Lud's-town.

BELARIUS	We are all undone.

GUIDERIUS	Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
	But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
	Protects not us: then why should we be tender
	To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
	Play judge and executioner all himself,
	For we do fear the law? What company
	Discover you abroad?

BELARIUS	No single soul
	Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
	He must have some attendants. Though his humour
	Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
	From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
	Absolute madness could so far have raved
	To bring him here alone; although perhaps
	It may be heard at court that such as we
	Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
	May make some stronger head; the which he hearing--
	As it is like him--might break out, and swear
	He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable
	To come alone, either he so undertaking,
	Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,
	If we do fear this body hath a tail
	More perilous than the head.

ARVIRAGUS	Let ordinance
	Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
	My brother hath done well.

BELARIUS	I had no mind
	To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
	Did make my way long forth.

GUIDERIUS	With his own sword,
	Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
	His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
	Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
	And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
	That's all I reck.

	[Exit]

BELARIUS	I fear 'twill be revenged:
	Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
	Becomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS	Would I had done't
	So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
	I love thee brotherly, but envy much
	Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,
	That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
	And put us to our answer.

BELARIUS	Well, 'tis done:
	We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
	Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
	You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
	Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him
	To dinner presently.

ARVIRAGUS	Poor sick Fidele!
	I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour
	I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
	And praise myself for charity.

	[Exit]

BELARIUS	O thou goddess,
	Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
	In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
	As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
	Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
	Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
	That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
	And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
	That an invisible instinct should frame them
	To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
	Civility not seen from other, valour
	That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
	As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
	What Cloten's being here to us portends,
	Or what his death will bring us.

	[Re-enter GUIDERIUS]

GUIDERIUS	Where's my brother?
	I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
	In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
	For his return.

	[Solemn music]

BELARIUS	                  My ingenious instrument!
	Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
	Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

GUIDERIUS	Is he at home?

BELARIUS	                  He went hence even now.

GUIDERIUS	What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
	it did not speak before. All solemn things
	Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
	Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
	Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
	Is Cadwal mad?

BELARIUS	                  Look, here he comes,
	And brings the dire occasion in his arms
	Of what we blame him for.

	[Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead,
	bearing her in his arms]

ARVIRAGUS	The bird is dead
	That we have made so much on. I had rather
	Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
	To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
	Than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS	O sweetest, fairest lily!
	My brother wears thee not the one half so well
	As when thou grew'st thyself.

BELARIUS	O melancholy!
	Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
	The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
	Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
	Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
	Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
	How found you him?

ARVIRAGUS	Stark, as you see:
	Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,
	Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
	right cheek
	Reposing on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS	Where?

ARVIRAGUS	O' the floor;
	His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put
	My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
	Answer'd my steps too loud.

GUIDERIUS	Why, he but sleeps:
	If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
	With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
	And worms will not come to thee.

ARVIRAGUS	With fairest flowers
	Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
	I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
	The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
	The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
	The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
	Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
	With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming
	Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
	Without a monument!--bring thee all this;
	Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
	To winter-ground thy corse.

GUIDERIUS	Prithee, have done;
	And do not play in wench-like words with that
	Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
	And not protract with admiration what
	Is now due debt. To the grave!

ARVIRAGUS	Say, where shall's lay him?

GUIDERIUS	By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS	Be't so:
	And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
	Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
	As once our mother; use like note and words,
	Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

GUIDERIUS	Cadwal,
	I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
	For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
	Than priests and fanes that lie.

ARVIRAGUS	We'll speak it, then.

BELARIUS	Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten
	Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
	And though he came our enemy, remember
	He was paid for that: though mean and
	mighty, rotting
	Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
	That angel of the world, doth make distinction
	Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
	And though you took his life, as being our foe,
	Yet bury him as a prince.

GUIDERIUS	Pray You, fetch him hither.
	Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
	When neither are alive.

ARVIRAGUS	If you'll go fetch him,
	We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

	[Exit BELARIUS]

GUIDERIUS	Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
	My father hath a reason for't.

ARVIRAGUS	'Tis true.

GUIDERIUS	Come on then, and remove him.

ARVIRAGUS	So. Begin.
	[SONG]

GUIDERIUS	     Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
	Nor the furious winter's rages;
	Thou thy worldly task hast done,
	Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
	Golden lads and girls all must,
	As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS	     Fear no more the frown o' the great;
	Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
	Care no more to clothe and eat;
	To thee the reed is as the oak:
	The sceptre, learning, physic, must
	All follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS	     Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS	        Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS	     Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS	        Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:


GUIDERIUS	|
	|  All lovers young, all lovers must
ARVIRAGUS	|   Consign to thee, and come to dust.


GUIDERIUS	     No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS	        Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS	     Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS	        Nothing ill come near thee!


GUIDERIUS	|
	|   Quiet consummation have;
ARVIRAGUS	|    And renowned be thy grave!


	[Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN]

GUIDERIUS	We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

BELARIUS	Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:
	The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
	Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
	You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
	These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
	Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
	The ground that gave them first has them again:
	Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

	[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

IMOGEN	[Awaking]  Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
	the way?--
	I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither?
	'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?--
	I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
	But, soft! no bedfellow!--O gods and goddesses!

	[Seeing the body of CLOTEN]

	These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
	This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
	For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
	And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
	'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
	Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes
	Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
	I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be
	Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
	As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
	The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
	Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
	A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
	I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
	His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
	The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
	Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio,
	All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
	And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
	Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
	Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
	Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
	Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--
	From this most bravest vessel of the world
	Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
	Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!
	where's that?
	Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
	And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
	'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
	Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
	The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
	And cordial to me, have I not found it
	Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
	This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
	Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
	That we the horrider may seem to those
	Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

	[Falls on the body]

	[Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers,
	and a Soothsayer]

Captain	To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,
	After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
	You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
	They are in readiness.

CAIUS LUCIUS	But what from Rome?

Captain	The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
	And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
	That promise noble service: and they come
	Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
	Syenna's brother.

CAIUS LUCIUS	                  When expect you them?

Captain	With the next benefit o' the wind.

CAIUS LUCIUS	This forwardness
	Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
	Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
	What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?

Soothsayer	Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--
	I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:
	I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
	From the spongy south to this part of the west,
	There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--
	Unless my sins abuse my divination--
	Success to the Roman host.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Dream often so,
	And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
	Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
	It was a worthy building. How! a page!
	Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;
	For nature doth abhor to make his bed
	With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
	Let's see the boy's face.

Captain	He's alive, my lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS	He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
	Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
	They crave to be demanded. Who is this
	Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
	That, otherwise than noble nature did,
	Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
	In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
	What art thou?

IMOGEN	                  I am nothing: or if not,
	Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
	A very valiant Briton and a good,
	That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
	There is no more such masters: I may wander
	From east to occident, cry out for service,
	Try many, all good, serve truly, never
	Find such another master.

CAIUS LUCIUS	'Lack, good youth!
	Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
	Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

IMOGEN	Richard du Champ.

	[Aside]

	If I do lie and do
	No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
	They'll pardon it.--Say you, sir?

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thy name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
	Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
	Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
	Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
	No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
	Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
	Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

IMOGEN	I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
	I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
	As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
	With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
	And on it said a century of prayers,
	Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
	And leaving so his service, follow you,
	So please you entertain me.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Ay, good youth!
	And rather father thee than master thee.
	My friends,
	The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
	Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
	And make him with our pikes and partisans
	A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
	By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
	As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes
	Some falls are means the happier to arise.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE III	A room in Cymbeline's palace.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	A fever with the absence of her son,
	A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
	How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
	The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
	Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
	When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
	So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
	The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
	Who needs must know of her departure and
	Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
	By a sharp torture.

PISANIO	Sir, my life is yours;
	I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
	I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
	Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
	Hold me your loyal servant.

First Lord	Good my liege,
	The day that she was missing he was here:
	I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
	All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
	There wants no diligence in seeking him,
	And will, no doubt, be found.

CYMBELINE	The time is troublesome.

	[To PISANIO]

	We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
	Does yet depend.

First Lord	                  So please your majesty,
	The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
	Are landed on your coast, with a supply
	Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

CYMBELINE	Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
	I am amazed with matter.

First Lord	Good my liege,
	Your preparation can affront no less
	Than what you hear of: come more, for more
	you're ready:
	The want is but to put those powers in motion
	That long to move.

CYMBELINE	                  I thank you. Let's withdraw;
	And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
	What can from Italy annoy us; but
	We grieve at chances here. Away!

	[Exeunt all but PISANIO]

PISANIO	I heard no letter from my master since
	I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange:
	Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
	To yield me often tidings: neither know I
	What is betid to Cloten; but remain
	Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
	Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
	These present wars shall find I love my country,
	Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
	All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
	Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Wales: before the cave of Belarius.


	[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

GUIDERIUS	The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS	Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS	What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
	From action and adventure?

GUIDERIUS	Nay, what hope
	Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
	Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
	For barbarous and unnatural revolts
	During their use, and slay us after.

BELARIUS	Sons,
	We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
	To the king's party there's no going: newness
	Of Cloten's death--we being not known, not muster'd
	Among the bands--may drive us to a render
	Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
	Which we have done, whose answer would be death
	Drawn on with torture.

GUIDERIUS	This is, sir, a doubt
	In such a time nothing becoming you,
	Nor satisfying us.

ARVIRAGUS	                  It is not likely
	That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
	Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
	And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
	That they will waste their time upon our note,
	To know from whence we are.

BELARIUS	O, I am known
	Of many in the army: many years,
	Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
	From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
	Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;
	Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
	The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
	To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
	But to be still hot summer's tamings and
	The shrinking slaves of winter.

GUIDERIUS	Than be so
	Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
	I and my brother are not known; yourself
	So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
	Cannot be question'd.

ARVIRAGUS	By this sun that shines,
	I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
	Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood,
	But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
	Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
	A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
	Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
	To look upon the holy sun, to have
	The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
	So long a poor unknown.

GUIDERIUS	By heavens, I'll go:
	If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
	I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
	The hazard therefore due fall on me by
	The hands of Romans!

ARVIRAGUS	So say I	amen.

BELARIUS	No reason I, since of your lives you set
	So slight a valuation, should reserve
	My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
	If in your country wars you chance to die,
	That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
	Lead, lead.

	[Aside]

	The time seems long; their blood
	thinks scorn,
	Till it fly out and show them princes born.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE I	Britain. The Roman camp.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
	Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
	If each of you should take this course, how many
	Must murder wives much better than themselves
	For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
	Every good servant does not all commands:
	No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
	Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
	Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
	The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
	Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
	You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
	To have them fall no more: you some permit
	To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
	And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
	But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
	And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
	Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
	Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
	That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
	I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
	Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
	Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
	As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
	Against the part I come with; so I'll die
	For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
	Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
	Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
	Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
	More valour in me than my habits show.
	Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
	To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
	The fashion, less without and more within.

	[Exit]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE II	Field of battle between the British and Roman camps.


	[Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and
	the Roman Army: from the other side, the
	British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following,
	like a poor soldier. They march over and go
	out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO
	and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS he vanquisheth and disarmeth
	IACHIMO, and then leaves him]

IACHIMO	The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
	Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
	The princess of this country, and the air on't
	Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
	A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
	In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
	As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
	If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
	This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
	Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.

	[Exit]

	[The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is
	taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS,
	GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS	Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
	The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
	The villany of our fears.


GUIDERIUS	|
	|  Stand, stand, and fight!
ARVIRAGUS	|


	[Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the
	Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then
	re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN]

CAIUS LUCIUS	Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
	For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
	As war were hoodwink'd.

IACHIMO	'Tis their fresh supplies.

CAIUS LUCIUS	It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
	Let's reinforce, or fly.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE III	Another part of the field.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord]

Lord	Camest thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I did.
	Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

Lord	I did.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
	But that the heavens fought: the king himself
	Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
	And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
	Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
	Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
	More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
	Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
	Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd
	With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
	To die with lengthen'd shame.

Lord	Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf;
	Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
	An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
	So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
	In doing this for's country: athwart the lane,
	He, with two striplings-lads more like to run
	The country base than to commit such slaughter
	With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
	Than those for preservation cased, or shame--
	Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
	'Our Britain s harts die flying, not our men:
	To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand;
	Or we are Romans and will give you that
	Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save,
	But to look back in frown: stand, stand.'
	These three,
	Three thousand confident, in act as many--
	For three performers are the file when all
	The rest do nothing--with this word 'Stand, stand,'
	Accommodated by the place, more charming
	With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
	A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
	Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some,
	turn'd coward
	But by example--O, a sin in war,
	Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to look
	The way that they did, and to grin like lions
	Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
	A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon
	A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly
	Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
	The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,
	Like fragments in hard voyages, became
	The life o' the need: having found the backdoor open
	Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
	Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
	O'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
	Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
	Those that would die or ere resist are grown
	The mortal bugs o' the field.

Lord	This was strange chance
	A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
	Rather to wonder at the things you hear
	Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
	And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
	'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
	Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'

Lord	Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	'Lack, to what end?
	Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
	For if he'll do as he is made to do,
	I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
	You have put me into rhyme.

Lord	Farewell; you're angry.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Still going?

	[Exit Lord]

	This is a lord! O noble misery,
	To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!
	To-day how many would have given their honours
	To have saved their carcasses! took heel to do't,
	And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
	Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
	Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,
	'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
	Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
	That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him
	For being now a favourer to the Briton,
	No more a Briton, I have resumed again
	The part I came in: fight I will no more,
	But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
	Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
	Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
	Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
	On either side I come to spend my breath;
	Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,
	But end it by some means for Imogen.

	[Enter two British Captains and Soldiers]

First Captain	Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken.
	'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

Second Captain	There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
	That gave the affront with them.

First Captain	So 'tis reported:
	But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	A Roman,
	Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
	Had answer'd him.

Second Captain	                  Lay hands on him; a dog!
	A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
	What crows have peck'd them here. He brags
	his service
	As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
	PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives.
	The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to
	CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler:
	then exeunt omnes]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE IV	A British prison.


	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and two Gaolers]

First Gaoler	You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you;
	So graze as you find pasture.

Second Gaoler	Ay, or a stomach.

	[Exeunt Gaolers]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away,
	think, to liberty: yet am I better
	Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
	Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
	By the sure physician, death, who is the key
	To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
	More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me
	The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
	Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
	So children temporal fathers do appease;
	Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
	I cannot do it better than in gyves,
	Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy,
	If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
	No stricter render of me than my all.
	I know you are more clement than vile men,
	Who of their broken debtors take a third,
	A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
	On their abatement: that's not my desire:
	For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
	'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
	'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
	Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
	You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers,
	If you will take this audit, take this life,
	And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
	I'll speak to thee in silence.

	[Sleeps]

	[Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition,
	SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus Leonatus,
	an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in
	his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother
	to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them:
	then, after other music, follow the two young
	Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with
	wounds as they died in the wars. They circle
	Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping]

Sicilius Leonatus	No more, thou thunder-master, show
	Thy spite on mortal flies:
	With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
	That thy adulteries
	Rates and revenges.
	Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
	Whose face I never saw?
	I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
	Attending nature's law:
	Whose father then, as men report
	Thou orphans' father art,
	Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
	From this earth-vexing smart.

Mother	Lucina lent not me her aid,
	But took me in my throes;
	That from me was Posthumus ript,
	Came crying 'mongst his foes,
	A thing of pity!

Sicilius Leonatus	Great nature, like his ancestry,
	Moulded the stuff so fair,
	That he deserved the praise o' the world,
	As great Sicilius' heir.

First Brother	When once he was mature for man,
	In Britain where was he
	That could stand up his parallel;
	Or fruitful object be
	In eye of Imogen, that best
	Could deem his dignity?

Mother	With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
	To be exiled, and thrown
	From Leonati seat, and cast
	From her his dearest one,
	Sweet Imogen?

Sicilius Leonatus	Why did you suffer Iachimo,
	Slight thing of Italy,
	To taint his nobler heart and brain
	With needless jealosy;
	And to become the geck and scorn
	O' th' other's villany?

Second Brother	For this from stiller seats we came,
	Our parents and us twain,
	That striking in our country's cause
	Fell bravely and were slain,
	Our fealty and Tenantius' right
	With honour to maintain.

First Brother	Like hardiment Posthumus hath
	To Cymbeline perform'd:
	Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
	Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
	The graces for his merits due,
	Being all to dolours turn'd?

Sicilius Leonatus	Thy crystal window ope; look out;
	No longer exercise
	Upon a valiant race thy harsh
	And potent injuries.

Mother	Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
	Take off his miseries.

Sicilius Leonatus	Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
	Or we poor ghosts will cry
	To the shining synod of the rest
	Against thy deity.


First Brother	|   Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
	|   And from thy justice fly.
Second Brother	|


	[Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
	upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The
	Apparitions fall on their knees]

Jupiter	No more, you petty spirits of region low,
	Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
	Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
	Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?
	Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest
	Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
	Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
	No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours.
	Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
	The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
	Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
	His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
	Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
	Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
	He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
	And happier much by his affliction made.
	This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
	Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:
	and so, away: no further with your din
	Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
	Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

	[Ascends]

Sicilius Leonatus	He came in thunder; his celestial breath
	Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
	Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is
	More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird
	Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,
	As when his god is pleased.

All	Thanks, Jupiter!

Sicilius Leonatus	The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
	His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest,
	Let us with care perform his great behest.

	[The Apparitions vanish]

Posthumus Leonatus	[Waking]  Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
	A father to me; and thou hast created
	A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn!
	Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:
	And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
	On greatness' favour dream as I have done,
	Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:
	Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
	And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I,
	That have this golden chance and know not why.
	What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
	Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
	Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
	So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
	As good as promise.

	[Reads]

	'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
	without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
	tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
	lopped branches, which, being dead many years,
	shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and
	freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
	Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
	'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
	Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
	Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
	As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
	The action of my life is like it, which
	I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

	[Re-enter First Gaoler]

First Gaoler	Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

First Gaoler	Hanging is the word, sir: if
	you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	So, if I prove a good repast to the
	spectators, the dish pays the shot.

First Gaoler	A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is,
	you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
	more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of
	parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in
	flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too
	much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and
	sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain
	both empty; the brain the heavier for being too
	light, the purse too light, being drawn of
	heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be
	quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up
	thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
	creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
	the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
	counters; so the acquittance follows.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

First Gaoler	Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
	tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your
	sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he
	would change places with his officer; for, look you,
	sir, you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

First Gaoler	Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen
	him so pictured: you must either be directed by
	some that take upon them to know, or do take upon
	yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or
	jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how
	you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll
	never return to tell one.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to
	direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and
	will not use them.

First Gaoler	What an infinite mock is this, that a man should
	have the best use of eyes to see the way of
	blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.

First Gaoler	I'll be hang'd then.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.

	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger]

First Gaoler	Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young
	gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my
	conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,
	for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them
	too that die against their wills; so should I, if I
	were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one
	mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and
	gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but
	my wish hath a preferment in 't.

	[Exeunt]




	CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE V	Cymbeline's tent.


	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
	PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE	Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
	Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
	That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
	Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
	Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found:
	He shall be happy that can find him, if
	Our grace can make him so.

BELARIUS	I never saw
	Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
	Such precious deeds in one that promises nought
	But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE	No tidings of him?

PISANIO	He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
	But no trace of him.

CYMBELINE	To my grief, I am
	The heir of his reward;

	[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

		    which I will add
	To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
	By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
	To ask of whence you are. Report it.

BELARIUS	Sir,
	In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
	Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
	Unless I add, we are honest.

CYMBELINE	Bow your knees.
	Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you
	Companions to our person and will fit you
	With dignities becoming your estates.

	[Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies]

	There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
	Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
	And not o' the court of Britain.

CORNELIUS	Hail, great king!
	To sour your happiness, I must report
	The queen is dead.

CYMBELINE	Who worse than a physician
	Would this report become? But I consider,
	By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
	Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

CORNELIUS	With horror, madly dying, like her life,
	Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
	Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
	I will report, so please you: these her women
	Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
	Were present when she finish'd.

CYMBELINE	Prithee, say.

CORNELIUS	First, she confess'd she never loved you, only
	Affected greatness got by you, not you:
	Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
	Abhorr'd your person.

CYMBELINE	She alone knew this;
	And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
	Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS	Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
	With such integrity, she did confess
	Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
	But that her flight prevented it, she had
	Ta'en off by poison.

CYMBELINE	O most delicate fiend!
	Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?

CORNELIUS	More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
	For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
	Should by the minute feed on life and lingering
	By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
	By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
	O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
	When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
	Her son into the adoption of the crown:
	But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
	Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
	Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
	The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
	Despairing died.

CYMBELINE	                  Heard you all this, her women?

First Lady	We did, so please your highness.

CYMBELINE	Mine eyes
	Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
	Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
	That thought her like her seeming; it had
	been vicious
	To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
	That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
	And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

	[Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other
	Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
	behind, and IMOGEN]

	Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that
	The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
	Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
	That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
	Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
	So think of your estate.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
	Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
	We should not, when the blood was cool,
	have threaten'd
	Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
	Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
	May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
	A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
	Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
	For my peculiar care. This one thing only
	I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
	Let him be ransom'd: never master had
	A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
	So tender over his occasions, true,
	So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
	With my request, which I make bold your highness
	Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
	Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir,
	And spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE	I have surely seen him:
	His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
	Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
	And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
	To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; live:
	And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
	Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
	Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
	The noblest ta'en.

IMOGEN	                  I humbly thank your highness.

CAIUS LUCIUS	I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
	And yet I know thou wilt.

IMOGEN	No, no: alack,
	There's other work in hand: I see a thing
	Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
	Must shuffle for itself.

CAIUS LUCIUS	The boy disdains me,
	He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
	That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
	Why stands he so perplex'd?

CYMBELINE	What wouldst thou, boy?
	I love thee more and more: think more and more
	What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
	Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

IMOGEN	He is a Roman; no more kin to me
	Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
	Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE	Wherefore eyest him so?

IMOGEN	I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
	To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE	Ay, with all my heart,
	And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

IMOGEN	Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE	                  Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
	I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.

	[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]

BELARIUS	Is not this boy revived from death?

ARVIRAGUS	One sand another
	Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
	Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS	The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS	Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
	Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure
	He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS	But we saw him dead.

BELARIUS	Be silent; let's see further.

PISANIO	[Aside]	It is my mistress:
	Since she is living, let the time run on
	To good or bad.

	[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward]

CYMBELINE	                  Come, stand thou by our side;
	Make thy demand aloud.

	[To IACHIMO]
		  Sir, step you forth;
	Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
	Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
	Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
	Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

IMOGEN	My boon is, that this gentleman may render
	Of whom he had this ring.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	[Aside]                 What's that to him?

CYMBELINE	That diamond upon your finger, say
	How came it yours?

IACHIMO	Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
	Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

CYMBELINE	How! me?

IACHIMO	I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
	Which torments me to conceal. By villany
	I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel;
	Whom thou didst banish; and--which more may
	grieve thee,
	As it doth me--a nobler sir ne'er lived
	'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

CYMBELINE	All that belongs to this.

IACHIMO	That paragon, thy daughter,--
	For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
	Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint.

CYMBELINE	My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
	I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
	Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.

IACHIMO	Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock
	That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed
	The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would
	Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
	Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus--
	What should I say? he was too good to be
	Where ill men were; and was the best of all
	Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly,
	Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
	For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
	Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming
	The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva.
	Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
	A shop of all the qualities that man
	Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
	Fairness which strikes the eye--

CYMBELINE	I stand on fire:
	Come to the matter.

IACHIMO	All too soon I shall,
	Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
	Most like a noble lord in love and one
	That had a royal lover, took his hint;
	And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein
	He was as calm as virtue--he began
	His mistress' picture; which by his tongue
	being made,
	And then a mind put in't, either our brags
	Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description
	Proved us unspeaking sots.

CYMBELINE	Nay, nay, to the purpose.

IACHIMO	Your daughter's chastity--there it begins.
	He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
	And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
	Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
	Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
	Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
	In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
	By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
	No lesser of her honour confident
	Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
	And would so, had it been a carbuncle
	Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it
	Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
	Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
	Remember me at court; where I was taught
	Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
	'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
	Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
	'Gan in your duller Britain operate
	Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent:
	And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd,
	That I return'd with simular proof enough
	To make the noble Leonatus mad,
	By wounding his belief in her renown
	With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes
	Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,--
	O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks
	Of secret on her person, that he could not
	But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
	I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon--
	Methinks, I see him now--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	[Advancing]             Ay, so thou dost,
	Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
	Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
	That's due to all the villains past, in being,
	To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
	Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
	For torturers ingenious: it is I
	That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
	By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
	That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie--
	That caused a lesser villain than myself,
	A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
	Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
	Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
	The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
	Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
	Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
	My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
	Imogen, Imogen!

IMOGEN	                  Peace, my lord; hear, hear--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
	There lie thy part.

	[Striking her: she falls]

PISANIO	O, gentlemen, help!
	Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
	You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help!
	Mine honour'd lady!

CYMBELINE	Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	How come these staggers on me?

PISANIO	Wake, my mistress!

CYMBELINE	If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
	To death with mortal joy.

PISANIO	How fares thy mistress?

IMOGEN	O, get thee from my sight;
	Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
	Breathe not where princes are.

CYMBELINE	The tune of Imogen!

PISANIO	Lady,
	The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
	That box I gave you was not thought by me
	A precious thing: I had it from the queen.

CYMBELINE	New matter still?

IMOGEN	                  It poison'd me.

CORNELIUS	O gods!
	I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
	Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
	Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
	Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
	As I would serve a rat.'

CYMBELINE	What's this, Comelius?

CORNELIUS	The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
	To temper poisons for her, still pretending
	The satisfaction of her knowledge only
	In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
	Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
	Was of more danger, did compound for her
	A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
	The present power of life, but in short time
	All offices of nature should again
	Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

IMOGEN	Most like I did, for I was dead.

BELARIUS	My boys,
	There was our error.

GUIDERIUS	This is, sure, Fidele.

IMOGEN	Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
	Think that you are upon a rock; and now
	Throw me again.

	[Embracing him]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
	Till the tree die!

CYMBELINE	                  How now, my flesh, my child!
	What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?
	Wilt thou not speak to me?

IMOGEN	[Kneeling]               Your blessing, sir.

BELARIUS	[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]  Though you did love
	this youth, I blame ye not:
	You had a motive for't.

CYMBELINE	My tears that fall
	Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
	Thy mother's dead.

IMOGEN	I am sorry for't, my lord.

CYMBELINE	O, she was nought; and long of her it was
	That we meet here so strangely: but her son
	Is gone, we know not how nor where.

PISANIO	My lord,
	Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
	Upon my lady's missing, came to me
	With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
	If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
	It was my instant death. By accident,
	had a feigned letter of my master's
	Then in my pocket; which directed him
	To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
	Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
	Which he enforced from me, away he posts
	With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
	My lady's honour: what became of him
	I further know not.

GUIDERIUS	Let me end the story:
	I slew him there.

CYMBELINE	Marry, the gods forfend!
	I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
	Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
	Deny't again.

GUIDERIUS	                  I have spoke it, and I did it.

CYMBELINE	He was a prince.

GUIDERIUS	A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
	Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
	With language that would make me spurn the sea,
	If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
	And am right glad he is not standing here
	To tell this tale of mine.

CYMBELINE	I am sorry for thee:
	By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
	Endure our law: thou'rt dead.

IMOGEN	That headless man
	I thought had been my lord.

CYMBELINE	Bind the offender,
	And take him from our presence.

BELARIUS	Stay, sir king:
	This man is better than the man he slew,
	As well descended as thyself; and hath
	More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
	Had ever scar for.

	[To the Guard]

	Let his arms alone;
	They were not born for bondage.

CYMBELINE	Why, old soldier,
	Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
	By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
	As good as we?

ARVIRAGUS	                  In that he spake too far.

CYMBELINE	And thou shalt die for't.

BELARIUS	We will die all three:
	But I will prove that two on's are as good
	As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
	For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
	Though, haply, well for you.

ARVIRAGUS	Your danger's ours.

GUIDERIUS	And our good his.

BELARIUS	                  Have at it then, by leave.
	Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
	Was call'd Belarius.

CYMBELINE	What of him? he is
	A banish'd traitor.

BELARIUS	He it is that hath
	Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man;
	I know not how a traitor.

CYMBELINE	Take him hence:
	The whole world shall not save him.

BELARIUS	Not too hot:
	First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
	And let it be confiscate all, so soon
	As I have received it.

CYMBELINE	Nursing of my sons!

BELARIUS	I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
	Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
	Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
	These two young gentlemen, that call me father
	And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
	They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
	And blood of your begetting.

CYMBELINE	How! my issue!

BELARIUS	So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
	Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
	Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
	Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
	Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes--
	For such and so they are--these twenty years
	Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
	Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
	Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
	Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
	Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
	Having received the punishment before,
	For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
	Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
	The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
	Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
	Here are your sons again; and I must lose
	Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
	The benediction of these covering heavens
	Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
	To inlay heaven with stars.

CYMBELINE	Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
	The service that you three have done is more
	Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
	If these be they, I know not how to wish
	A pair of worthier sons.

BELARIUS	Be pleased awhile.
	This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
	Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
	This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
	Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
	In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
	Of his queen mother, which for more probation
	I can with ease produce.

CYMBELINE	Guiderius had
	Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
	It was a mark of wonder.

BELARIUS	This is he;
	Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
	It was wise nature's end in the donation,
	To be his evidence now.

CYMBELINE	O, what, am I
	A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
	Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
	That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
	may reign in them now! O Imogen,
	Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

IMOGEN	No, my lord;
	I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
	Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
	But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
	When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
	When ye were so indeed.

CYMBELINE	Did you e'er meet?

ARVIRAGUS	Ay, my good lord.

GUIDERIUS	                  And at first meeting loved;
	Continued so, until we thought he died.

CORNELIUS	By the queen's dram she swallow'd.

CYMBELINE	O rare instinct!
	When shall I hear all through? This fierce
	abridgement
	Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
	Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
	And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
	How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
	Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
	And your three motives to the battle, with
	I know not how much more, should be demanded;
	And all the other by-dependencies,
	From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
	Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
	Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
	And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
	On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
	Each object with a joy: the counterchange
	Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
	And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.

	[To BELARIUS]

	Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

IMOGEN	You are my father too, and did relieve me,
	To see this gracious season.

CYMBELINE	All o'erjoy'd,
	Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
	For they shall taste our comfort.

IMOGEN	My good master,
	I will yet do you service.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Happy be you!

CYMBELINE	The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
	He would have well becomed this place, and graced
	The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I am, sir,
	The soldier that did company these three
	In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
	The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
	Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
	Have made you finish.

IACHIMO	[Kneeling]          I am down again:
	But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
	As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
	Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
	And here the bracelet of the truest princess
	That ever swore her faith.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Kneel not to me:
	The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
	The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
	And deal with others better.

CYMBELINE	Nobly doom'd!
	We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
	Pardon's the word to all.

ARVIRAGUS	You holp us, sir,
	As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
	Joy'd are we that you are.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
	Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
	Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
	Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
	Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
	This label on my bosom; whose containing
	Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
	Make no collection of it: let him show
	His skill in the construction.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Philarmonus!

Soothsayer	Here, my good lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS	Read, and declare the meaning.

Soothsayer	[Reads]  'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
	unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
	piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
	shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
	years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
	stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
	his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
	peace and plenty.'
	Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
	The fit and apt construction of thy name,
	Being Leonatus, doth import so much.

	[To CYMBELINE]

	The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
	Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
	We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
	Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
	Answering the letter of the oracle,
	Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
	With this most tender air.

CYMBELINE	This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer	The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
	Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
	Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
	For many years thought dead, are now revived,
	To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
	Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE	Well
	My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
	Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
	And to the Roman empire; promising
	To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
	We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
	Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
	Have laid most heavy hand.

Soothsayer	The fingers of the powers above do tune
	The harmony of this peace. The vision
	Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
	Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
	Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
	From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
	Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
	So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
	The imperial Caesar, should again unite
	His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
	Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE	Laud we the gods;
	And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
	From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
	To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
	A Roman and a British ensign wave
	Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
	And in the temple of great Jupiter
	Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
	Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
	Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

	[Exeunt]
	LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE

FERDINAND	king of Navarre.


BIRON	|
	|
LONGAVILLE	|  lords attending on the King.
	|
DUMAIN	|


BOYET	|
	|  lords attending on the Princess of France.
MERCADE	|


DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	a fantastical Spaniard.

SIR NATHANIEL	a curate.

HOLOFERNES	a schoolmaster.

DULL	a constable.

COSTARD	a clown.

MOTH	page to Armado.

	A Forester.

	The PRINCESS of France: (PRINCESS:)


ROSALINE	|
	|
MARIA	|  ladies attending on the Princess.
	|
KATHARINE	|


JAQUENETTA	a country wench.

	Lords, Attendants, &c.
	(First Lord:)


SCENE	Navarre.




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT I



SCENE I	The king of Navarre's park.


	[Enter FERDINAND king of Navarre, BIRON, LONGAVILLE
	and DUMAIN]

FERDINAND	Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
	Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
	And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
	When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
	The endeavor of this present breath may buy
	That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
	And make us heirs of all eternity.
	Therefore, brave conquerors,--for so you are,
	That war against your own affections
	And the huge army of the world's desires,--
	Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
	Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
	Our court shall be a little Academe,
	Still and contemplative in living art.
	You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
	Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
	My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
	That are recorded in this schedule here:
	Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
	That his own hand may strike his honour down
	That violates the smallest branch herein:
	If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do,
	Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

LONGAVILLE	I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
	The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
	Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
	Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

DUMAIN	My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
	The grosser manner of these world's delights
	He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
	To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
	With all these living in philosophy.

BIRON	I can but say their protestation over;
	So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
	That is, to live and study here three years.
	But there are other strict observances;
	As, not to see a woman in that term,
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
	And one day in a week to touch no food
	And but one meal on every day beside,
	The which I hope is not enrolled there;
	And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
	And not be seen to wink of all the day--
	When I was wont to think no harm all night
	And make a dark night too of half the day--
	Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
	O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
	Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

FERDINAND	Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.

BIRON	Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:
	I only swore to study with your grace
	And stay here in your court for three years' space.

LONGAVILLE	You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

BIRON	By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
	What is the end of study? let me know.

FERDINAND	Why, that to know, which else we should not know.

BIRON	Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?

FERDINAND	Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.

BIRON	Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
	To know the thing I am forbid to know:
	As thus,--to study where I well may dine,
	When I to feast expressly am forbid;
	Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
	When mistresses from common sense are hid;
	Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath,
	Study to break it and not break my troth.
	If study's gain be thus and this be so,
	Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
	Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

FERDINAND	These be the stops that hinder study quite
	And train our intellects to vain delight.

BIRON	Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
	Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:
	As, painfully to pore upon a book
	To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
	Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:
	Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:
	So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
	Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
	Study me how to please the eye indeed
	By fixing it upon a fairer eye,
	Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed
	And give him light that it was blinded by.
	Study is like the heaven's glorious sun
	That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks:
	Small have continual plodders ever won
	Save base authority from others' books
	These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
	That give a name to every fixed star
	Have no more profit of their shining nights
	Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
	Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
	And every godfather can give a name.

FERDINAND	How well he's read, to reason against reading!

DUMAIN	Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

LONGAVILLE	He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding.

BIRON	The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.

DUMAIN	How follows that?

BIRON	                  Fit in his place and time.

DUMAIN	In reason nothing.

BIRON	                  Something then in rhyme.

FERDINAND	Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
	That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

BIRON	Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast
	Before the birds have any cause to sing?
	Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
	At Christmas I no more desire a rose
	Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
	But like of each thing that in season grows.
	So you, to study now it is too late,
	Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.

FERDINAND	Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu.

BIRON	No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you:
	And though I have for barbarism spoke more
	Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
	Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore
	And bide the penance of each three years' day.
	Give me the paper; let me read the same;
	And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.

FERDINAND	How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

BIRON	[Reads]  'Item, That no woman shall come within a
	mile of my court:' Hath this been proclaimed?

LONGAVILLE	Four days ago.

BIRON	Let's see the penalty.

	[Reads]

	'On pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty?

LONGAVILLE	Marry, that did I.

BIRON	Sweet lord, and why?

LONGAVILLE	To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

BIRON	A dangerous law against gentility!

	[Reads]

	'Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman
	within the term of three years, he shall endure such
	public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.'
	This article, my liege, yourself must break;
	For well you know here comes in embassy
	The French king's daughter with yourself to speak--
	A maid of grace and complete majesty--
	About surrender up of Aquitaine
	To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father:
	Therefore this article is made in vain,
	Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

FERDINAND	What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.

BIRON	So study evermore is overshot:
	While it doth study to have what it would
	It doth forget to do the thing it should,
	And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
	'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.

FERDINAND	We must of force dispense with this decree;
	She must lie here on mere necessity.

BIRON	Necessity will make us all forsworn
	Three thousand times within this three years' space;
	For every man with his affects is born,
	Not by might master'd but by special grace:
	If I break faith, this word shall speak for me;
	I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.'
	So to the laws at large I write my name:

	[Subscribes]

	And he that breaks them in the least degree
	Stands in attainder of eternal shame:
	Suggestions are to other as to me;
	But I believe, although I seem so loath,
	I am the last that will last keep his oath.
	But is there no quick recreation granted?

FERDINAND	Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted
	With a refined traveller of Spain;
	A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
	That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
	One whom the music of his own vain tongue
	Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
	A man of complements, whom right and wrong
	Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
	This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
	For interim to our studies shall relate
	In high-born words the worth of many a knight
	From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate.
	How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
	But, I protest, I love to hear him lie
	And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

BIRON	Armado is a most illustrious wight,
	A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.

LONGAVILLE	Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;
	And so to study, three years is but short.

	[Enter DULL with a letter, and COSTARD]

DULL	Which is the duke's own person?

BIRON	This, fellow: what wouldst?

DULL	I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his
	grace's tharborough: but I would see his own person
	in flesh and blood.

BIRON	This is he.

DULL	Signior Arme--Arme--commends you. There's villany
	abroad: this letter will tell you more.

COSTARD	Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.

FERDINAND	A letter from the magnificent Armado.

BIRON	How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.

LONGAVILLE	A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

BIRON	To hear? or forbear laughing?

LONGAVILLE	To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to
	forbear both.

BIRON	Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to
	climb in the merriness.

COSTARD	The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
	The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.

BIRON	In what manner?

COSTARD	In manner and form following, sir; all those three:
	I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with
	her upon the form, and taken following her into the
	park; which, put together, is in manner and form
	following. Now, sir, for the manner,--it is the
	manner of a man to speak to a woman: for the form,--
	in some form.

BIRON	For the following, sir?

COSTARD	As it shall follow in my correction: and God defend
	the right!

FERDINAND	Will you hear this letter with attention?

BIRON	As we would hear an oracle.

COSTARD	Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent and
	sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god,
	and body's fostering patron.'

COSTARD	Not a word of Costard yet.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'So it is,'--

COSTARD	It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is, in
	telling true, but so.

FERDINAND	Peace!

COSTARD	Be to me and every man that dares not fight!

FERDINAND	No words!

COSTARD	Of other men's secrets, I beseech you.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured
	melancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour
	to the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving
	air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to
	walk. The time when. About the sixth hour; when
	beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down
	to that nourishment which is called supper: so much
	for the time when. Now for the ground which; which,
	I mean, I walked upon: it is y-cleped thy park. Then
	for the place where; where, I mean, I did encounter
	that obscene and preposterous event, that draweth
	from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which
	here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest;
	but to the place where; it standeth north-north-east
	and by east from the west corner of thy curious-
	knotted garden: there did I see that low-spirited
	swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,'--

COSTARD	Me?

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'that unlettered small-knowing soul,'--

COSTARD	Me?

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'that shallow vassal,'--

COSTARD	Still me?

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'which, as I remember, hight Costard,'--

COSTARD	O, me!

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy
	established proclaimed edict and continent canon,
	which with,--O, with--but with this I passion to say
	wherewith,--

COSTARD	With a wench.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a
	female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a
	woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on,
	have sent to thee, to receive the meed of
	punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Anthony
	Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and
	estimation.'

DULL	'Me, an't shall please you; I am Anthony Dull.

FERDINAND	[Reads]  'For Jaquenetta,--so is the weaker vessel
	called which I apprehended with the aforesaid
	swain,--I keep her as a vessel of the law's fury;
	and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring
	her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted
	and heart-burning heat of duty.
		        DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.'

BIRON	This is not so well as I looked for, but the best
	that ever I heard.

FERDINAND	Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say
	you to this?

COSTARD	Sir, I confess the wench.

FERDINAND	Did you hear the proclamation?

COSTARD	I do confess much of the hearing it but little of
	the marking of it.

FERDINAND	It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, to be taken
	with a wench.

COSTARD	I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with a damsel.

FERDINAND	Well, it was proclaimed 'damsel.'

COSTARD	This was no damsel, neither, sir; she was a virgin.

FERDINAND	It is so varied, too; for it was proclaimed 'virgin.'

COSTARD	If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.

FERDINAND	This maid will not serve your turn, sir.

COSTARD	This maid will serve my turn, sir.

FERDINAND	Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast
	a week with bran and water.

COSTARD	I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

FERDINAND	And Don Armado shall be your keeper.
	My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er:
	And go we, lords, to put in practise that
	Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.

	[Exeunt FERDINAND, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN]

BIRON	I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
	These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
	Sirrah, come on.

COSTARD	I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is, I was
	taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true
	girl; and therefore welcome the sour cup of
	prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again; and
	till then, sit thee down, sorrow!

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT I



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit
	grows melancholy?

MOTH	A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.

MOTH	No, no; O Lord, sir, no.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my
	tender juvenal?

MOTH	By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Why tough senior? why tough senior?

MOTH	Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton
	appertaining to thy young days, which we may
	nominate tender.

MOTH	And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your
	old time, which we may name tough.

DON ADRIANO DE
ARMADO	Pretty and apt.

MOTH	How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or
	I apt, and my saying pretty?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Thou pretty, because little.

MOTH	Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	And therefore apt, because quick.

MOTH	Speak you this in my praise, master?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	In thy condign praise.

MOTH	I will praise an eel with the same praise.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	What, that an eel is ingenious?

MOTH	That an eel is quick.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do say thou art quick in answers: thou heatest my blood.

MOTH	I am answered, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I love not to be crossed.

MOTH	[Aside]  He speaks the mere contrary; crosses love not him.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I have promised to study three years with the duke.

MOTH	You may do it in an hour, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Impossible.

MOTH	How many is one thrice told?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

MOTH	You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I confess both: they are both the varnish of a
	complete man.

MOTH	Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of
	deuce-ace amounts to.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	It doth amount to one more than two.

MOTH	Which the base vulgar do call three.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	True.

MOTH	Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here
	is three studied, ere ye'll thrice wink: and how
	easy it is to put 'years' to the word 'three,' and
	study three years in two words, the dancing horse
	will tell you.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	A most fine figure!

MOTH	To prove you a cipher.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will hereupon confess I am in love: and as it is
	base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a
	base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour
	of affection would deliver me from the reprobate
	thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and
	ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised
	courtesy. I think scorn to sigh: methinks I should
	outswear Cupid. Comfort, me, boy: what great men
	have been in love?

MOTH	Hercules, master.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name
	more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good
	repute and carriage.

MOTH	Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great
	carriage, for he carried the town-gates on his back
	like a porter: and he was in love.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do
	excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in
	carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson's
	love, my dear Moth?

MOTH	A woman, master.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Of what complexion?

MOTH	Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Tell me precisely of what complexion.

MOTH	Of the sea-water green, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Is that one of the four complexions?

MOTH	As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Green indeed is the colour of lovers; but to have a
	love of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason
	for it. He surely affected her for her wit.

MOTH	It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.
DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	My love is most immaculate white and red.

MOTH	Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under
	such colours.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Define, define, well-educated infant.

MOTH	My father's wit and my mother's tongue, assist me!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty and
	pathetical!

MOTH	     If she be made of white and red,
	Her faults will ne'er be known,
	For blushing cheeks by faults are bred
	And fears by pale white shown:
	Then if she fear, or be to blame,
	By this you shall not know,
	For still her cheeks possess the same
	Which native she doth owe.
	A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of
	white and red.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

MOTH	The world was very guilty of such a ballad some
	three ages since: but I think now 'tis not to be
	found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for
	the writing nor the tune.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may
	example my digression by some mighty precedent.
	Boy, I do love that country girl that I took in the
	park with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well.

MOTH	[Aside]  To be whipped; and yet a better love than
	my master.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

MOTH	And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I say, sing.

MOTH	Forbear till this company be past.

	[Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA]

DULL	Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard
	safe: and you must suffer him to take no delight
	nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a week.
	For this damsel, I must keep her at the park: she
	is allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!

JAQUENETTA	Man?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will visit thee at the lodge.

JAQUENETTA	That's hereby.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I know where it is situate.

JAQUENETTA	Lord, how wise you are!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will tell thee wonders.

JAQUENETTA	With that face?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I love thee.

JAQUENETTA	So I heard you say.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	And so, farewell.

JAQUENETTA	Fair weather after you!

DULL	Come, Jaquenetta, away!

	[Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETTA]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou
	be pardoned.

COSTARD	Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a
	full stomach.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Thou shalt be heavily punished.

COSTARD	I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they
	are but lightly rewarded.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Take away this villain; shut him up.

MOTH	Come, you transgressing slave; away!

COSTARD	Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being loose.

MOTH	No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.

COSTARD	Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation
	that I have seen, some shall see.

MOTH	What shall some see?

COSTARD	Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon.
	It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their
	words; and therefore I will say nothing: I thank
	God I have as little patience as another man; and
	therefore I can be quiet.

	[Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do affect the very ground, which is base, where
	her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which
	is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which
	is a great argument of falsehood, if I love. And
	how can that be true love which is falsely
	attempted? Love is a familiar; Love is a devil:
	there is no evil angel but Love. Yet was Samson so
	tempted, and he had an excellent strength; yet was
	Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit.
	Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club;
	and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier.
	The first and second cause will not serve my turn;
	the passado he respects not, the duello he regards
	not: his disgrace is to be called boy; but his
	glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust rapier!
	be still, drum! for your manager is in love; yea,
	he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme,
	for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit;
	write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.

	[Exit]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT II



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter the PRINCESS of France, ROSALINE, MARIA,
	KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and other Attendants]

BOYET	Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:
	Consider who the king your father sends,
	To whom he sends, and what's his embassy:
	Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
	To parley with the sole inheritor
	Of all perfections that a man may owe,
	Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
	Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
	Be now as prodigal of all dear grace
	As Nature was in making graces dear
	When she did starve the general world beside
	And prodigally gave them all to you.

PRINCESS	Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
	Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
	Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye,
	Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues:
	I am less proud to hear you tell my worth
	Than you much willing to be counted wise
	In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
	But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,
	You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
	Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
	Till painful study shall outwear three years,
	No woman may approach his silent court:
	Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course,
	Before we enter his forbidden gates,
	To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
	Bold of your worthiness, we single you
	As our best-moving fair solicitor.
	Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
	On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
	Importunes personal conference with his grace:
	Haste, signify so much; while we attend,
	Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will.

BOYET	Proud of employment, willingly I go.

PRINCESS	All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.

	[Exit BOYET]

	Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
	That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?

First Lord	Lord Longaville is one.

PRINCESS	Know you the man?

MARIA	I know him, madam: at a marriage-feast,
	Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
	Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized
	In Normandy, saw I this Longaville:
	A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
	Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:
	Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
	The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
	If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,
	Is a sharp wit matched with too blunt a will;
	Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
	It should none spare that come within his power.

PRINCESS	Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?

MARIA	They say so most that most his humours know.

PRINCESS	Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow.
	Who are the rest?

KATHARINE	The young Dumain, a well-accomplished youth,
	Of all that virtue love for virtue loved:
	Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;
	For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
	And shape to win grace though he had no wit.
	I saw him at the Duke Alencon's once;
	And much too little of that good I saw
	Is my report to his great worthiness.

ROSALINE	Another of these students at that time
	Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.
	Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
	Within the limit of becoming mirth,
	I never spent an hour's talk withal:
	His eye begets occasion for his wit;
	For every object that the one doth catch
	The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
	Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
	Delivers in such apt and gracious words
	That aged ears play truant at his tales
	And younger hearings are quite ravished;
	So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

PRINCESS	God bless my ladies! are they all in love,
	That every one her own hath garnished
	With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

First Lord	Here comes Boyet.

	[Re-enter BOYET]

PRINCESS	Now, what admittance, lord?

BOYET	Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
	And he and his competitors in oath
	Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady,
	Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:
	He rather means to lodge you in the field,
	Like one that comes here to besiege his court,
	Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
	To let you enter his unpeopled house.
	Here comes Navarre.

	[Enter FERDINAND, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BIRON, and
	Attendants]

FERDINAND	Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

PRINCESS	'Fair' I give you back again; and 'welcome' I have
	not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be
	yours; and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.

FERDINAND	You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

PRINCESS	I will be welcome, then: conduct me thither.

FERDINAND	Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.

PRINCESS	Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.

FERDINAND	Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

PRINCESS	Why, will shall break it; will and nothing else.

FERDINAND	Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

PRINCESS	Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
	Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
	I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
	Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
	And sin to break it.
	But pardon me. I am too sudden-bold:
	To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
	Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
	And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

FERDINAND	Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.

PRINCESS	You will the sooner, that I were away;
	For you'll prove perjured if you make me stay.

BIRON	Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

ROSALINE	Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

BIRON	I know you did.

ROSALINE	How needless was it then to ask the question!

BIRON	You must not be so quick.

ROSALINE	'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions.

BIRON	Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.

ROSALINE	Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

BIRON	What time o' day?

ROSALINE	The hour that fools should ask.

BIRON	Now fair befall your mask!

ROSALINE	Fair fall the face it covers!

BIRON	And send you many lovers!

ROSALINE	Amen, so you be none.

BIRON	Nay, then will I be gone.

FERDINAND	Madam, your father here doth intimate
	The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
	Being but the one half of an entire sum
	Disbursed by my father in his wars.
	But say that he or we, as neither have,
	Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid
	A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
	One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,
	Although not valued to the money's worth.
	If then the king your father will restore
	But that one half which is unsatisfied,
	We will give up our right in Aquitaine,
	And hold fair friendship with his majesty.
	But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
	For here he doth demand to have repaid
	A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
	On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,
	To have his title live in Aquitaine;
	Which we much rather had depart withal
	And have the money by our father lent
	Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.
	Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
	From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
	A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast
	And go well satisfied to France again.

PRINCESS	You do the king my father too much wrong
	And wrong the reputation of your name,
	In so unseeming to confess receipt
	Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

FERDINAND	I do protest I never heard of it;
	And if you prove it, I'll repay it back
	Or yield up Aquitaine.

PRINCESS	We arrest your word.
	Boyet, you can produce acquittances
	For such a sum from special officers
	Of Charles his father.

FERDINAND	Satisfy me so.

BOYET	So please your grace, the packet is not come
	Where that and other specialties are bound:
	To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

FERDINAND	It shall suffice me: at which interview
	All liberal reason I will yield unto.
	Meantime receive such welcome at my hand
	As honour without breach of honour may
	Make tender of to thy true worthiness:
	You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
	But here without you shall be so received
	As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart,
	Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
	Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:
	To-morrow shall we visit you again.

PRINCESS	Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!

FERDINAND	Thy own wish wish I thee in every place!

	[Exit]

BIRON	Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.

ROSALINE	Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

BIRON	I would you heard it groan.

ROSALINE	Is the fool sick?

BIRON	Sick at the heart.

ROSALINE	Alack, let it blood.

BIRON	Would that do it good?

ROSALINE	My physic says 'ay.'

BIRON	Will you prick't with your eye?

ROSALINE	No point, with my knife.

BIRON	Now, God save thy life!

ROSALINE	And yours from long living!

BIRON	I cannot stay thanksgiving.

	[Retiring]

DUMAIN	Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?

BOYET	The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.

DUMAIN	A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.

	[Exit]

LONGAVILLE	I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

BOYET	A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

LONGAVILLE	Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.

BOYET	She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.

LONGAVILLE	Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

BOYET	Her mother's, I have heard.

LONGAVILLE	God's blessing on your beard!

BOYET	Good sir, be not offended.
	She is an heir of Falconbridge.

LONGAVILLE	Nay, my choler is ended.
	She is a most sweet lady.

BOYET	Not unlike, sir, that may be.

	[Exit LONGAVILLE]

BIRON	What's her name in the cap?

BOYET	Rosaline, by good hap.

BIRON	Is she wedded or no?

BOYET	To her will, sir, or so.

BIRON	You are welcome, sir: adieu.

BOYET	Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

	[Exit BIRON]

MARIA	That last is Biron, the merry madcap lord:
	Not a word with him but a jest.

BOYET	And every jest but a word.

PRINCESS	It was well done of you to take him at his word.

BOYET	I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

MARIA	Two hot sheeps, marry.

BOYET	And wherefore not ships?
	No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

MARIA	You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?

BOYET	So you grant pasture for me.

	[Offering to kiss her]

MARIA	Not so, gentle beast:
	My lips are no common, though several they be.

BOYET	Belonging to whom?

MARIA	                  To my fortunes and me.

PRINCESS	Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree:
	This civil war of wits were much better used
	On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.

BOYET	If my observation, which very seldom lies,
	By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,
	Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

PRINCESS	With what?

BOYET	With that which we lovers entitle affected.

PRINCESS	Your reason?

BOYET	Why, all his behaviors did make their retire
	To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
	His heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd,
	Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd:
	His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
	Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
	All senses to that sense did make their repair,
	To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
	Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
	As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
	Who, tendering their own worth from where they were glass'd,
	Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd:
	His face's own margent did quote such amazes
	That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
	I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,
	An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

PRINCESS	Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.

BOYET	But to speak that in words which his eye hath
	disclosed.
	I only have made a mouth of his eye,
	By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

ROSALINE	Thou art an old love-monger and speakest skilfully.

MARIA	He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news of him.

ROSALINE	Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

BOYET	Do you hear, my mad wenches?

MARIA	No.

BOYET	What then, do you see?

ROSALINE	Ay, our way to be gone.

BOYET	You are too hard for me.

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT III



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

MOTH	Concolinel.

	[Singing]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this key,
	give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately
	hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

MOTH	Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	How meanest thou? brawling in French?

MOTH	No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at
	the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour
	it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and
	sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you
	swallowed love with singing love, sometime through
	the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling
	love; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of
	your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly
	doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in
	your pocket like a man after the old painting; and
	keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.
	These are complements, these are humours; these
	betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without
	these; and make them men of note--do you note
	me?--that most are affected to these.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	How hast thou purchased this experience?

MOTH	By my penny of observation.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	But O,--but O,--

MOTH	'The hobby-horse is forgot.'

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Callest thou my love 'hobby-horse'?

MOTH	No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your
	love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Almost I had.

MOTH	Negligent student! learn her by heart.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By heart and in heart, boy.

MOTH	And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	What wilt thou prove?

MOTH	A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon
	the instant: by heart you love her, because your
	heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her,
	because your heart is in love with her; and out of
	heart you love her, being out of heart that you
	cannot enjoy her.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I am all these three.

MOTH	And three times as much more, and yet nothing at
	all.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.

MOTH	A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador
	for an ass.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

MOTH	Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse,
	for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The way is but short: away!

MOTH	As swift as lead, sir.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The meaning, pretty ingenious?
	Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

MOTH	Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I say lead is slow.

MOTH	You are too swift, sir, to say so:
	Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
	He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
	I shoot thee at the swain.

MOTH	Thump then and I flee.

	[Exit]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of grace!
	By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
	Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
	My herald is return'd.

	[Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD]

MOTH	A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l'envoy; begin.

COSTARD	No enigma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the
	mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no
	l'envoy, no l'envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly
	thought my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes
	me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars!
	Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and
	the word l'envoy for a salve?

MOTH	Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
	Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
	I will example it:
	The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
	Were still at odds, being but three.
	There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.

MOTH	I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	          The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
	Were still at odds, being but three.

MOTH	          Until the goose came out of door,
	And stay'd the odds by adding four.
	Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with
	my l'envoy.
	The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
	Were still at odds, being but three.
DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	          Until the goose came out of door,
	Staying the odds by adding four.

MOTH	A good l'envoy, ending in the goose: would you
	desire more?

COSTARD	The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat.
	Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.
	To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:
	Let me see; a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?

MOTH	By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
	Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

COSTARD	True, and I for a plantain: thus came your
	argument in;
	Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;
	And he ended the market.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	But tell me; how was there a costard broken in a shin?

MOTH	I will tell you sensibly.

COSTARD	Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak that l'envoy:
	I Costard, running out, that was safely within,
	Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	We will talk no more of this matter.

COSTARD	Till there be more matter in the shin.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

COSTARD	O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l'envoy,
	some goose, in this.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,
	enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured,
	restrained, captivated, bound.

COSTARD	True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and,
	in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this:
	bear this significant

	[Giving a letter]

		to the country maid Jaquenetta:
	there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine
	honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

	[Exit]

MOTH	Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

COSTARD	My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew!

	[Exit MOTH]

	Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration!
	O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: three
	farthings--remuneration.--'What's the price of this
	inkle?'--'One penny.'--'No, I'll give you a
	remuneration:' why, it carries it. Remuneration!
	why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will
	never buy and sell out of this word.

	[Enter BIRON]

BIRON	O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

COSTARD	Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man
	buy for a remuneration?

BIRON	What is a remuneration?

COSTARD	Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

BIRON	Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.

COSTARD	I thank your worship: God be wi' you!

BIRON	Stay, slave; I must employ thee:
	As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
	Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

COSTARD	When would you have it done, sir?

BIRON	This afternoon.

COSTARD	Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.

BIRON	Thou knowest not what it is.

COSTARD	I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

BIRON	Why, villain, thou must know first.

COSTARD	I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

BIRON	It must be done this afternoon.
	Hark, slave, it is but this:
	The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
	And in her train there is a gentle lady;
	When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
	And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;
	And to her white hand see thou do commend
	This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.

	[Giving him a shilling]

COSTARD	Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration,
	a'leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I
	will do it sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration!

	[Exit]

BIRON	And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;
	A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
	A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;
	A domineering pedant o'er the boy;
	Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
	This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
	This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
	Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
	The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
	Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
	Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
	Sole imperator and great general
	Of trotting 'paritors:--O my little heart:--
	And I to be a corporal of his field,
	And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
	What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
	A woman, that is like a German clock,
	Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
	And never going aright, being a watch,
	But being watch'd that it may still go right!
	Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
	And, among three, to love the worst of all;
	A wightly wanton with a velvet brow,
	With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes;
	Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed
	Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
	And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
	To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
	That Cupid will impose for my neglect
	Of his almighty dreadful little might.
	Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:
	Some men must love my lady and some Joan.

	[Exit]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT IV



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter the PRINCESS, and her train, a Forester,
	BOYET, ROSALINE, MARIA, and KATHARINE]

PRINCESS	Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard
	Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BOYET	I know not; but I think it was not he.

PRINCESS	Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.
	Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch:
	On Saturday we will return to France.
	Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
	That we must stand and play the murderer in?

Forester	Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
	A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

PRINCESS	I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
	And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.

Forester	Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

PRINCESS	What, what? first praise me and again say no?
	O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

Forester	Yes, madam, fair.

PRINCESS	                  Nay, never paint me now:
	Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
	Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
	Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

Forester	Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

PRINCESS	See see, my beauty will be saved by merit!
	O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
	A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
	But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
	And shooting well is then accounted ill.
	Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
	Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
	If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
	That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
	And out of question so it is sometimes,
	Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
	When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
	We bend to that the working of the heart;
	As I for praise alone now seek to spill
	The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.

BOYET	Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
	Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
	Lords o'er their lords?

PRINCESS	Only for praise: and praise we may afford
	To any lady that subdues a lord.

BOYET	Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

	[Enter COSTARD]

COSTARD	God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

PRINCESS	Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

COSTARD	Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

PRINCESS	The thickest and the tallest.

COSTARD	The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.
	An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
	One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
	Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

PRINCESS	What's your will, sir? what's your will?

COSTARD	I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.

PRINCESS	O, thy letter, thy letter! he's a good friend of mine:
	Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;
	Break up this capon.

BOYET	I am bound to serve.
	This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
	It is writ to Jaquenetta.

PRINCESS	We will read it, I swear.
	Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

	[Reads]

BOYET	'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;
	true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that
	thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful
	than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have
	commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The
	magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set
	eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar
	Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say,
	Veni, vidi, vici; which to annothanize in the
	vulgar,--O base and obscure vulgar!--videlicet, He
	came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw two;
	overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he
	come? to see: why did he see? to overcome: to
	whom came he? to the beggar: what saw he? the
	beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The
	conclusion is victory: on whose side? the king's.
	The captive is enriched: on whose side? the
	beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose
	side? the king's: no, on both in one, or one in
	both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison:
	thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness.
	Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce
	thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I
	will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes;
	for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus,
	expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot,
	my eyes on thy picture. and my heart on thy every
	part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry,
		    DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.'

	Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
	'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey.
	Submissive fall his princely feet before,
	And he from forage will incline to play:
	But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
	Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

PRINCESS	What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
	What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?

BOYET	I am much deceived but I remember the style.

PRINCESS	Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.

BOYET	This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
	A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
	To the prince and his bookmates.

PRINCESS	Thou fellow, a word:
	Who gave thee this letter?

COSTARD	I told you; my lord.

PRINCESS	To whom shouldst thou give it?

COSTARD	From my lord to my lady.

PRINCESS	From which lord to which lady?

COSTARD	From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
	To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.

PRINCESS	Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.

	[To ROSALINE]

	Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day.

	[Exeunt PRINCESS and train]

BOYET	Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?

ROSALINE	Shall I teach you to know?

BOYET	Ay, my continent of beauty.

ROSALINE	Why, she that bears the bow.
	Finely put off!

BOYET	My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
	Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
	Finely put on!

ROSALINE	Well, then, I am the shooter.

BOYET	And who is your deer?

ROSALINE	If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
	Finely put on, indeed!

MARIA	You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes
	at the brow.

BOYET	But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?

ROSALINE	Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was
	a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as
	touching the hit it?

BOYET	So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a
	woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little
	wench, as touching the hit it.

ROSALINE	          Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
	Thou canst not hit it, my good man.

BOYET	          An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
	An I cannot, another can.

	[Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE]

COSTARD	By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!

MARIA	A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.

BOYET	A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
	Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.

MARIA	Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out.

COSTARD	Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.

BOYET	An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

COSTARD	Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.

MARIA	Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.

COSTARD	She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.

BOYET	I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.

	[Exeunt BOYET and MARIA]

COSTARD	By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!
	Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down!
	O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony
	vulgar wit!
	When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it
	were, so fit.
	Armado o' th' one side,--O, a most dainty man!
	To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
	To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a'
	will swear!
	And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit!
	Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
	Sola, sola!

	[Shout within]

	[Exit COSTARD, running]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL]

SIR NATHANIEL	Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony
	of a good conscience.

HOLOFERNES	The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe
	as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in
	the ear of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven;
	and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra,
	the soil, the land, the earth.

SIR NATHANIEL	Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly
	varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I
	assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

HOLOFERNES	Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

DULL	'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

HOLOFERNES	Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of
	insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of
	explication; facere, as it were, replication, or
	rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his
	inclination, after his undressed, unpolished,
	uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather,
	unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to
	insert again my haud credo for a deer.

DULL	I said the deer was not a haud credo; twas a pricket.

HOLOFERNES	Twice-sod simplicity, his coctus!
	O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

SIR NATHANIEL	Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred
	in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he
	hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not
	replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in
	the duller parts:
	And such barren plants are set before us, that we
	thankful should be,
	Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that
	do fructify in us more than he.
	For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,
	So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school:
	But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind,
	Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.

DULL	You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit
	What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five
	weeks old as yet?

HOLOFERNES	Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

DULL	What is Dictynna?

SIR NATHANIEL	A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.

HOLOFERNES	The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,
	And raught not to five weeks when he came to
	five-score.
	The allusion holds in the exchange.

DULL	'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

HOLOFERNES	God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds
	in the exchange.

DULL	And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange; for
	the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside
	that, 'twas a pricket that the princess killed.

HOLOFERNES	Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph
	on the death of the deer? And, to humour the
	ignorant, call I the deer the princess killed a pricket.

SIR NATHANIEL	Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall
	please you to abrogate scurrility.

HOLOFERNES	I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.
	The preyful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty
	pleasing pricket;
	Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made
	sore with shooting.
	The dogs did yell: put L to sore, then sorel jumps
	from thicket;
	Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.
	If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores
	one sorel.
	Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.

SIR NATHANIEL	A rare talent!

DULL	[Aside]  If a talent be a claw, look how he claws
	him with a talent.

HOLOFERNES	This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a
	foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures,
	shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions,
	revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of
	memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and
	delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the
	gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am
	thankful for it.

SIR NATHANIEL	Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may my
	parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by
	you, and their daughters profit very greatly under
	you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.

HOLOFERNES	Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall
	want no instruction; if their daughters be capable,
	I will put it to them: but vir sapit qui pauca
	loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us.

	[Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD]

JAQUENETTA	God give you good morrow, master Parson.

HOLOFERNES	Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if one should be
	pierced, which is the one?

COSTARD	Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.

HOLOFERNES	Piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a
	tuft of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough
	for a swine: 'tis pretty; it is well.

JAQUENETTA	Good master Parson, be so good as read me this
	letter: it was given me by Costard, and sent me
	from Don Armado: I beseech you, read it.

HOLOFERNES	Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra
	Ruminat,--and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I
	may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice;
	Venetia, Venetia,
	Chi non ti vede non ti pretia.
	Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandeth thee
	not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.
	Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather,
	as Horace says in his--What, my soul, verses?

SIR NATHANIEL	Ay, sir, and very learned.

HOLOFERNES	Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.

SIR NATHANIEL	[Reads]

	If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
	Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd!
	Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove:
	Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like
	osiers bow'd.
	Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes,
	Where all those pleasures live that art would
	comprehend:
	If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
	Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend,
	All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
	Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire:
	Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
	Which not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
	Celestial as thou art, O, pardon, love, this wrong,
	That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

HOLOFERNES	You find not the apostraphas, and so miss the
	accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are
	only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy,
	facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret.
	Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso,
	but for smelling out the odouriferous flowers of
	fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing:
	so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper,
	the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin,
	was this directed to you?

JAQUENETTA	Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange
	queen's lords.

HOLOFERNES	I will overglance the superscript: 'To the
	snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady
	Rosaline.' I will look again on the intellect of
	the letter, for the nomination of the party writing
	to the person written unto: 'Your ladyship's in all
	desired employment, BIRON.' Sir Nathaniel, this
	Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here
	he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger
	queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of
	progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my
	sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the
	king: it may concern much. Stay not thy
	compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu.

JAQUENETTA	Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!

COSTARD	Have with thee, my girl.

	[Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA]

SIR NATHANIEL	Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very
	religiously; and, as a certain father saith,--

HOLOFERNES	Sir tell me not of the father; I do fear colourable
	colours. But to return to the verses: did they
	please you, Sir Nathaniel?

SIR NATHANIEL	Marvellous well for the pen.

HOLOFERNES	I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil
	of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please
	you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my
	privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid
	child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I
	will prove those verses to be very unlearned,
	neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I
	beseech your society.

SIR NATHANIEL	And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is
	the happiness of life.

HOLOFERNES	And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.

	[To DULL]

	Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not
	say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at
	their game, and we will to our recreation.

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same.


	[Enter BIRON, with a paper]

BIRON	The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing
	myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in
	a pitch,--pitch that defiles: defile! a foul
	word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say
	the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well
	proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as
	Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep:
	well proved again o' my side! I will not love: if
	I do, hang me; i' faith, I will not. O, but her
	eye,--by this light, but for her eye, I would not
	love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing
	in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By
	heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme
	and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme,
	and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my
	sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent
	it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter
	fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care
	a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one
	with a paper: God give him grace to groan!

	[Stands aside]

	[Enter FERDINAND, with a paper]

FERDINAND	Ay me!

BIRON	[Aside]  Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid:
	thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the
	left pap. In faith, secrets!

FERDINAND	[Reads]

	So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
	To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
	As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
	The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows:
	Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
	Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
	As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
	Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep:
	No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;
	So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
	Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
	And they thy glory through my grief will show:
	But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
	My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
	O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
	No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.
	How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper:
	Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

	[Steps aside]

	What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.

BIRON	Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

	[Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper]

LONGAVILLE	Ay me, I am forsworn!

BIRON	Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.

FERDINAND	In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in shame!

BIRON	One drunkard loves another of the name.

LONGAVILLE	Am I the first that have been perjured so?

BIRON	I could put thee in comfort. Not by two that I know:
	Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
	The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.

LONGAVILLE	I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move:
	O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
	These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

BIRON	O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
	Disfigure not his slop.

LONGAVILLE	This same shall go.

	[Reads]

	Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
	'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
	Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
	Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
	A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
	Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
	My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
	Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
	Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:
	Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
	Exhalest this vapour-vow; in thee it is:
	If broken then, it is no fault of mine:
	If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
	To lose an oath to win a paradise?

BIRON	This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,
	A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
	God amend us, God amend! we are much out o' the way.

LONGAVILLE	By whom shall I send this?--Company! stay.

	[Steps aside]

BIRON	All hid, all hid; an old infant play.
	Like a demigod here sit I in the sky.
	And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'ereye.
	More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!

	[Enter DUMAIN, with a paper]

	Dumain transform'd! four woodcocks in a dish!

DUMAIN	O most divine Kate!

BIRON	O most profane coxcomb!

DUMAIN	By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

BIRON	By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.

DUMAIN	Her amber hair for foul hath amber quoted.

BIRON	An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

DUMAIN	As upright as the cedar.

BIRON	Stoop, I say;
	Her shoulder is with child.

DUMAIN	As fair as day.

BIRON	Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

DUMAIN	O that I had my wish!

LONGAVILLE	And I had mine!

FERDINAND	And I mine too, good Lord!

BIRON	Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good word?

DUMAIN	I would forget her; but a fever she
	Reigns in my blood and will remember'd be.

BIRON	A fever in your blood! why, then incision
	Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision!

DUMAIN	Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.

BIRON	Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

DUMAIN	[Reads]

	On a day--alack the day!--
	Love, whose month is ever May,
	Spied a blossom passing fair
	Playing in the wanton air:
	Through the velvet leaves the wind,
	All unseen, can passage find;
	That the lover, sick to death,
	Wish himself the heaven's breath.
	Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
	Air, would I might triumph so!
	But, alack, my hand is sworn
	Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;
	Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
	Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
	Do not call it sin in me,
	That I am forsworn for thee;
	Thou for whom Jove would swear
	Juno but an Ethiope were;
	And deny himself for Jove,
	Turning mortal for thy love.
	This will I send, and something else more plain,
	That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
	O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville,
	Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,
	Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note;
	For none offend where all alike do dote.

LONGAVILLE	[Advancing]  Dumain, thy love is far from charity.
	You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
	To be o'erheard and taken napping so.

FERDINAND	[Advancing]  Come, sir, you blush; as his your case is such;
	You chide at him, offending twice as much;
	You do not love Maria; Longaville
	Did never sonnet for her sake compile,
	Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
	His loving bosom to keep down his heart.
	I have been closely shrouded in this bush
	And mark'd you both and for you both did blush:
	I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion,
	Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
	Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
	One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:

	[To LONGAVILLE]

	You would for paradise break faith, and troth;

	[To DUMAIN]

	And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
	What will Biron say when that he shall hear
	Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear?
	How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit!
	How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it!
	For all the wealth that ever I did see,
	I would not have him know so much by me.

BIRON	Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.

	[Advancing]

	Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me!
	Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
	These worms for loving, that art most in love?
	Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
	There is no certain princess that appears;
	You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing;
	Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting!
	But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not,
	All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
	You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
	But I a beam do find in each of three.
	O, what a scene of foolery have I seen,
	Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen!
	O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
	To see a king transformed to a gnat!
	To see great Hercules whipping a gig,
	And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
	And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
	And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
	Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?
	And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
	And where my liege's? all about the breast:
	A caudle, ho!

FERDINAND	                  Too bitter is thy jest.
	Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

BIRON	Not you to me, but I betray'd by you:
	I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
	To break the vow I am engaged in;
	I am betray'd, by keeping company
	With men like men of inconstancy.
	When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
	Or groan for love? or spend a minute's time
	In pruning me? When shall you hear that I
	Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
	A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
	A leg, a limb?

FERDINAND	                  Soft! whither away so fast?
	A true man or a thief that gallops so?

BIRON	I post from love: good lover, let me go.

	[Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD]

JAQUENETTA	God bless the king!

FERDINAND	What present hast thou there?

COSTARD	Some certain treason.

FERDINAND	What makes treason here?

COSTARD	Nay, it makes nothing, sir.

FERDINAND	If it mar nothing neither,
	The treason and you go in peace away together.

JAQUENETTA	I beseech your grace, let this letter be read:
	Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said.

FERDINAND	Biron, read it over.

	[Giving him the paper]

	Where hadst thou it?

JAQUENETTA	Of Costard.

FERDINAND	Where hadst thou it?

COSTARD	Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

	[BIRON tears the letter]

FERDINAND	How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it?

BIRON	A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace needs not fear it.

LONGAVILLE	It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.

DUMAIN	It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.

	[Gathering up the pieces]

BIRON	[To COSTARD]  Ah, you whoreson loggerhead! you were
	born to do me shame.
	Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.

FERDINAND	What?

BIRON	That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess:
	He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
	Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
	O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

DUMAIN	Now the number is even.

BIRON	True, true; we are four.
	Will these turtles be gone?

FERDINAND	Hence, sirs; away!

COSTARD	Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

	[Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA]

BIRON	Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!
	As true we are as flesh and blood can be:
	The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;
	Young blood doth not obey an old decree:
	We cannot cross the cause why we were born;
	Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.

FERDINAND	What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?

BIRON	Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline,
	That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,
	At the first opening of the gorgeous east,
	Bows not his vassal head and strucken blind
	Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
	What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
	Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
	That is not blinded by her majesty?

FERDINAND	   What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?
	My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
	She an attending star, scarce seen a light.

BIRON	My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron:
	O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
	Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
	Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek,
	Where several worthies make one dignity,
	Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
	Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,--
	Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not:
	To things of sale a seller's praise belongs,
	She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.
	A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
	Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
	Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
	And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy:
	O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine.

FERDINAND	   By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

BIRON	Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
	A wife of such wood were felicity.
	O, who can give an oath? where is a book?
	That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,
	If that she learn not of her eye to look:
	No face is fair that is not full so black.

FERDINAND	O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
	The hue of dungeons and the suit of night;
	And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.

BIRON	   Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
	O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,
	It mourns that painting and usurping hair
	Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
	And therefore is she born to make black fair.
	Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
	For native blood is counted painting now;
	And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
	Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

DUMAIN	To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.

LONGAVILLE	   And since her time are colliers counted bright.

FERDINAND	And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.

DUMAIN	   Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.

BIRON	Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
	For fear their colours should be wash'd away.

FERDINAND	'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
	I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

BIRON	I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.

FERDINAND	   No devil will fright thee then so much as she.

DUMAIN	I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

LONGAVILLE	   Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see.

BIRON	O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
	Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!

DUMAIN	O, vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies
	The street should see as she walk'd overhead.

FERDINAND	But what of this? are we not all in love?

BIRON	   Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.

FERDINAND	Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
	Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

DUMAIN	Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.

LONGAVILLE	   O, some authority how to proceed;
	Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

DUMAIN	Some salve for perjury.

BIRON	'Tis more than need.
	Have at you, then, affection's men at arms.
	Consider what you first did swear unto,
	To fast, to study, and to see no woman;
	Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
	Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young;
	And abstinence engenders maladies.
	And where that you have vow'd to study, lords,
	In that each of you have forsworn his book,
	Can you still dream and pore and thereon look?
	For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,
	Have found the ground of study's excellence
	Without the beauty of a woman's face?
	[From women's eyes this doctrine I derive;
	They are the ground, the books, the academes
	From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire]
	Why, universal plodding poisons up
	The nimble spirits in the arteries,
	As motion and long-during action tires
	The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
	Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
	You have in that forsworn the use of eyes
	And study too, the causer of your vow;
	For where is any author in the world
	Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
	Learning is but an adjunct to ourself
	And where we are our learning likewise is:
	Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,
	Do we not likewise see our learning there?
	O, we have made a vow to study, lords,
	And in that vow we have forsworn our books.
	For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
	In leaden contemplation have found out
	Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
	Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?
	Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;
	And therefore, finding barren practisers,
	Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil:
	But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
	Lives not alone immured in the brain;
	But, with the motion of all elements,
	Courses as swift as thought in every power,
	And gives to every power a double power,
	Above their functions and their offices.
	It adds a precious seeing to the eye;
	A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;
	A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
	When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd:
	Love's feeling is more soft and sensible
	Than are the tender horns of cockl'd snails;
	Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste:
	For valour, is not Love a Hercules,
	Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
	Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
	As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
	And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
	Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
	Never durst poet touch a pen to write
	Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs;
	O, then his lines would ravish savage ears
	And plant in tyrants mild humility.
	From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
	They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
	They are the books, the arts, the academes,
	That show, contain and nourish all the world:
	Else none at all in ought proves excellent.
	Then fools you were these women to forswear,
	Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
	For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love,
	Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men,
	Or for men's sake, the authors of these women,
	Or women's sake, by whom we men are men,
	Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,
	Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.
	It is religion to be thus forsworn,
	For charity itself fulfills the law,
	And who can sever love from charity?

FERDINAND	Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!

BIRON	Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;
	Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advised,
	In conflict that you get the sun of them.

LONGAVILLE	Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by:
	Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?

FERDINAND	And win them too: therefore let us devise
	Some entertainment for them in their tents.

BIRON	First, from the park let us conduct them thither;
	Then homeward every man attach the hand
	Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon
	We will with some strange pastime solace them,
	Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
	For revels, dances, masks and merry hours
	Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

FERDINAND	Away, away! no time shall be omitted
	That will betime, and may by us be fitted.

BIRON	Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn;
	And justice always whirls in equal measure:
	Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
	If so, our copper buys no better treasure.

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT V



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL]

HOLOFERNES	Satis quod sufficit.

SIR NATHANIEL	I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner
	have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without
	scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without
	impudency, learned without opinion, and strange with-
	out heresy. I did converse this quondam day with
	a companion of the king's, who is intituled, nomi-
	nated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

HOLOFERNES	Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty, his
	discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye
	ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general
	behavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is
	too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it
	were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

SIR NATHANIEL	A most singular and choice epithet.

	[Draws out his table-book]

HOLOFERNES	He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer
	than the staple of his argument. I abhor such
	fanatical phantasimes, such insociable and
	point-devise companions; such rackers of
	orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when he should
	say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt,--d,
	e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf;
	half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebor; neigh
	abbreviated ne. This is abhominable,--which he
	would call abbominable: it insinuateth me of
	insanie: anne intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.

SIR NATHANIEL	Laus Deo, bene intelligo.

HOLOFERNES	Bon, bon, fort bon, Priscian! a little scratch'd,
	'twill serve.

SIR NATHANIEL	Videsne quis venit?

HOLOFERNES	Video, et gaudeo.

	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Chirrah!

	[To MOTH]

HOLOFERNES	Quare chirrah, not sirrah?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Men of peace, well encountered.

HOLOFERNES	Most military sir, salutation.

MOTH	[Aside to COSTARD]  They have been at a great feast
	of languages, and stolen the scraps.

COSTARD	O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words.
	I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word;
	for thou art not so long by the head as
	honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier
	swallowed than a flap-dragon.

MOTH	Peace! the peal begins.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	[To HOLOFERNES]  Monsieur, are you not lettered?

MOTH	Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a,
	b, spelt backward, with the horn on his head?

HOLOFERNES	Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

MOTH	Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.

HOLOFERNES	Quis, quis, thou consonant?

MOTH	The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them; or
	the fifth, if I.

HOLOFERNES	I will repeat them,--a, e, i,--

MOTH	The sheep: the other two concludes it,--o, u.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet
	touch, a quick venue of wit! snip, snap, quick and
	home! it rejoiceth my intellect: true wit!

MOTH	Offered by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.

HOLOFERNES	What is the figure? what is the figure?

MOTH	Horns.

HOLOFERNES	Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig.

MOTH	Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about
	your infamy circum circa,--a gig of a cuckold's horn.

COSTARD	An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst
	have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is the very
	remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny
	purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an
	the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but my
	bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me!
	Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers'
	ends, as they say.

HOLOFERNES	O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Arts-man, preambulate, we will be singled from the
	barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the
	charge-house on the top of the mountain?

HOLOFERNES	Or mons, the hill.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

HOLOFERNES	I do, sans question.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and
	affection to congratulate the princess at her
	pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the
	rude multitude call the afternoon.

HOLOFERNES	The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is
	liable, congruent and measurable for the afternoon:
	the word is well culled, chose, sweet and apt, I do
	assure you, sir, I do assure.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my familiar,
	I do assure ye, very good friend: for what is
	inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee,
	remember thy courtesy; I beseech thee, apparel thy
	head: and among other important and most serious
	designs, and of great import indeed, too, but let
	that pass: for I must tell thee, it will please his
	grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor
	shoulder, and with his royal finger, thus, dally
	with my excrement, with my mustachio; but, sweet
	heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no
	fable: some certain special honours it pleaseth his
	greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of
	travel, that hath seen the world; but let that pass.
	The very all of all is,--but, sweet heart, I do
	implore secrecy,--that the king would have me
	present the princess, sweet chuck, with some
	delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or
	antique, or firework. Now, understanding that the
	curate and your sweet self are good at such
	eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it
	were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to
	crave your assistance.

HOLOFERNES	Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.
	Sir, as concerning some entertainment of time, some
	show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by
	our assistants, at the king's command, and this most
	gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, before
	the princess; I say none so fit as to present the
	Nine Worthies.

SIR NATHANIEL	Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?

HOLOFERNES	Joshua, yourself; myself and this gallant gentleman,
	Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great
	limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the
	page, Hercules,--

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for
	that Worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the end of his club.

HOLOFERNES	Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules in
	minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a
	snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose.

MOTH	An excellent device! so, if any of the audience
	hiss, you may cry 'Well done, Hercules! now thou
	crushest the snake!' that is the way to make an
	offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	For the rest of the Worthies?--

HOLOFERNES	I will play three myself.

MOTH	Thrice-worthy gentleman!

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Shall I tell you a thing?

HOLOFERNES	We attend.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	We will have, if this fadge not, an antique. I
	beseech you, follow.

HOLOFERNES	Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken no word all this while.

DULL	Nor understood none neither, sir.

HOLOFERNES	Allons! we will employ thee.

DULL	I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play
	On the tabour to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

HOLOFERNES	Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away!

	[Exeunt]




	LOVE'S LABOURS LOST


ACT V



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, and MARIA]

PRINCESS	Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
	If fairings come thus plentifully in:
	A lady wall'd about with diamonds!
	Look you what I have from the loving king.

ROSALINE	Madame, came nothing else along with that?

PRINCESS	Nothing but this! yes, as much love in rhyme
	As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
	Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all,
	That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

ROSALINE	That was the way to make his godhead wax,
	For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

KATHARINE	Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

ROSALINE	You'll ne'er be friends with him; a' kill'd your sister.

KATHARINE	He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;
	And so she died: had she been light, like you,
	Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
	She might ha' been a grandam ere she died:
	And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

ROSALINE	What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

KATHARINE	A light condition in a beauty dark.

ROSALINE	We need more light to find your meaning out.

KATHARINE	You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff;
	Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.

ROSALINE	Look what you do, you do it still i' the dark.

KATHARINE	So do not you, for you are a light wench.

ROSALINE	Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light.

KATHARINE	You weigh me not? O, that's you care not for me.

ROSALINE	Great reason; for 'past cure is still past care.'

PRINCESS	Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.
	But Rosaline, you have a favour too:
	Who sent it? and what is it?

ROSALINE	I would you knew:
	An if my face were but as fair as yours,
	My favour were as great; be witness this.
	Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron:
	The numbers true; and, were the numbering too,
	I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
	I am compared to twenty thousand fairs.
	O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

PRINCESS	Any thing like?

ROSALINE	Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.

PRINCESS	Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

KATHARINE	Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

ROSALINE	'Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor,
	My red dominical, my golden letter:
	O, that your face were not so full of O's!

KATHARINE	A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.

PRINCESS	But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain?

KATHARINE	Madam, this glove.

PRINCESS	                  Did he not send you twain?

KATHARINE	Yes, madam, and moreover
	Some thousand verses of a faithful lover,
	A huge translation of hypocrisy,
	Vilely compiled, profound simplicity.

MARIA	This and these pearls to me sent Longaville:
	The letter is too long by half a mile.

PRINCESS	I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart
	The chain were longer and the letter short?

MARIA	Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

PRINCESS	We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.

ROSALINE	They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
	That same Biron I'll torture ere I go:
	O that I knew he were but in by the week!
	How I would make him fawn and beg and seek
	And wait the season and observe the times
	And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes
	And shape his service wholly to my hests
	And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
	So perttaunt-like would I o'ersway his state
	That he should be my fool and I his fate.

PRINCESS	None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd,
	As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
	Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school
	And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

ROSALINE	The blood of youth burns not with such excess
	As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

MARIA	Folly in fools bears not so strong a note
	As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote;
	Since all the power thereof it doth apply
	To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

PRINCESS	Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

	[Enter BOYET]

BOYET	O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her grace?

PRINCESS	Thy news Boyet?

BOYET	                  Prepare, madam, prepare!
	Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
	Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised,
	Armed in arguments; you'll be surprised:
	Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
	Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

PRINCESS	Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they
	That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.

BOYET	Under the cool shade of a sycamore
	I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
	When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest,
	Toward that shade I might behold addrest
	The king and his companions: warily
	I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
	And overheard what you shall overhear,
	That, by and by, disguised they will be here.
	Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
	That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage:
	Action and accent did they teach him there;
	'Thus must thou speak,' and 'thus thy body bear:'
	And ever and anon they made a doubt
	Presence majestical would put him out,
	'For,' quoth the king, 'an angel shalt thou see;
	Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.'
	The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil;
	I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.'
	With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the shoulder,
	Making the bold wag by their praises bolder:
	One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and swore
	A better speech was never spoke before;
	Another, with his finger and his thumb,
	Cried, 'Via! we will do't, come what will come;'
	The third he caper'd, and cried, 'All goes well;'
	The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
	With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
	With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
	That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
	To cheque their folly, passion's solemn tears.

PRINCESS	But what, but what, come they to visit us?

BOYET	They do, they do: and are apparell'd thus.
	Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
	Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
	And every one his love-feat will advance
	Unto his several mistress, which they'll know
	By favours several which they did bestow.

PRINCESS	And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd;
	For, ladies, we shall every one be mask'd;
	And not a man of them shall have the grace,
	Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.
	Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,
	And then the king will court thee for his dear;
	Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
	So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.
	And change your favours too; so shall your loves
	Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.

ROSALINE	Come on, then; wear the favours most in sight.

KATHARINE	But in this changing what is your intent?

PRINCESS	The effect of my intent is to cross theirs:
	They do it but in mocking merriment;
	And mock for mock is only my intent.
	Their several counsels they unbosom shall
	To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal
	Upon the next occasion that we meet,
	With visages displayed, to talk and greet.

ROSALINE	But shall we dance, if they desire to't?

PRINCESS	No, to the death, we will not move a foot;
	Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace,
	But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face.

BOYET	Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart,
	And quite divorce his memory from his part.

PRINCESS	Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
	The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out
	There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown,
	To make theirs ours and ours none but our own:
	So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
	And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.

	[Trumpets sound within]

BOYET	The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the maskers come.

	[The Ladies mask]

	[Enter Blackamoors with music; MOTH; FERDINAND,
	BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in Russian habits,
	and masked]

MOTH	All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!--

BOYET	Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.

MOTH	A holy parcel of the fairest dames.

	[The Ladies turn their backs to him]

	That ever turn'd their--backs--to mortal views!

BIRON	[Aside to MOTH]  Their eyes, villain, their eyes!

MOTH	That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!--Out--

BOYET	True; out indeed.

MOTH	Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe
	Not to behold--

BIRON	[Aside to MOTH]  Once to behold, rogue.

MOTH	Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,
	--with your sun-beamed eyes--

BOYET	They will not answer to that epithet;
	You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.'

MOTH	They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

BIRON	Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!

	[Exit MOTH]

ROSALINE	What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet:
	If they do speak our language, 'tis our will:
	That some plain man recount their purposes
	Know what they would.

BOYET	What would you with the princess?

BIRON	Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

ROSALINE	What would they, say they?

BOYET	Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

ROSALINE	Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.

BOYET	She says, you have it, and you may be gone.

FERDINAND	Say to her, we have measured many miles
	To tread a measure with her on this grass.

BOYET	They say, that they have measured many a mile
	To tread a measure with you on this grass.

ROSALINE	It is not so. Ask them how many inches
	Is in one mile: if they have measured many,
	The measure then of one is easily told.

BOYET	If to come hither you have measured miles,
	And many miles, the princess bids you tell
	How many inches doth fill up one mile.

BIRON	Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

BOYET	She hears herself.

ROSALINE	                  How many weary steps,
	Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
	Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

BIRON	We number nothing that we spend for you:
	Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
	That we may do it still without accompt.
	Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
	That we, like savages, may worship it.

ROSALINE	My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

FERDINAND	Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
	Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,
	Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.

ROSALINE	O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
	Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water.

FERDINAND	Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.
	Thou bid'st me beg: this begging is not strange.

ROSALINE	Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon.

	[Music plays]

	Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.

FERDINAND	Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

ROSALINE	You took the moon at full, but now she's changed.

FERDINAND	Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
	The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

ROSALINE	Our ears vouchsafe it.

FERDINAND	But your legs should do it.

ROSALINE	Since you are strangers and come here by chance,
	We'll not be nice: take hands. We will not dance.

FERDINAND	Why take we hands, then?

ROSALINE	Only to part friends:
	Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.

FERDINAND	More measure of this measure; be not nice.

ROSALINE	We can afford no more at such a price.

FERDINAND	Prize you yourselves: what buys your company?

ROSALINE	Your absence only.

FERDINAND	                  That can never be.

ROSALINE	Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu;
	Twice to your visor, and half once to you.

FERDINAND	If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

ROSALINE	In private, then.

FERDINAND	                  I am best pleased with that.

	[They converse apart]

BIRON	White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

PRINCESS	Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

BIRON	Nay then, two treys, and if you grow so nice,
	Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well run, dice!
	There's half-a-dozen sweets.

PRINCESS	Seventh sweet, adieu:
	Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

BIRON	One word in secret.

PRINCESS	Let it not be sweet.

BIRON	Thou grievest my gall.

PRINCESS	Gall! bitter.

BIRON	Therefore meet.

	[They converse apart]

DUMAIN	Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

MARIA	Name it.

DUMAIN	       Fair lady,--

MARIA	Say you so? Fair lord,--
	Take that for your fair lady.

DUMAIN	Please it you,
	As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

	[They converse apart]

KATHARINE	What, was your vizard made without a tongue?

LONGAVILLE	I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

KATHARINE	O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.

LONGAVILLE	You have a double tongue within your mask,
	And would afford my speechless vizard half.

KATHARINE	Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf?

LONGAVILLE	A calf, fair lady!

KATHARINE	                  No, a fair lord calf.

LONGAVILLE	Let's part the word.

KATHARINE	No, I'll not be your half
	Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

LONGAVILLE	Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!
	Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

KATHARINE	Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

LONGAVILLE	One word in private with you, ere I die.

KATHARINE	Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you cry.

	[They converse apart]

BOYET	The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
	As is the razor's edge invisible,
	Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,
	Above the sense of sense; so sensible
	Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings
	Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

ROSALINE	Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

BIRON	By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

FERDINAND	Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

PRINCESS	Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.

	[Exeunt FERDINAND, Lords, and Blackamoors]

	Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?

BOYET	Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

ROSALINE	Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

PRINCESS	O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
	Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight?
	Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces?
	This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.

ROSALINE	O, they were all in lamentable cases!
	The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

PRINCESS	Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

MARIA	Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
	No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.

KATHARINE	Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
	And trow you what he called me?

PRINCESS	Qualm, perhaps.

KATHARINE	Yes, in good faith.

PRINCESS	Go, sickness as thou art!

ROSALINE	Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
	But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.

PRINCESS	And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

KATHARINE	And Longaville was for my service born.

MARIA	Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.

BOYET	Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
	Immediately they will again be here
	In their own shapes; for it can never be
	They will digest this harsh indignity.

PRINCESS	Will they return?

BOYET	                  They will, they will, God knows,
	And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
	Therefore change favours; and, when they repair,
	Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

PRINCESS	How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.

BOYET	Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud;
	Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,
	Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

PRINCESS	Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
	If they return in their own shapes to woo?

ROSALINE	Good madam, if by me you'll be advised,
	Let's, mock them still, as well known as disguised:
	Let us complain to them what fools were here,
	Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
	And wonder what they were and to what end
	Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd
	And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
	Should be presented at our tent to us.

BOYET	Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.

PRINCESS	Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land.

	[Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA]

	[Re-enter FERDINAND, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN,
	in their proper habits]

FERDINAND	Fair sir, God save you! Where's the princess?

BOYET	Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty
	Command me any service to her thither?

FERDINAND	That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

BOYET	I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.

	[Exit]

BIRON	This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,
	And utters it again when God doth please:
	He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares
	At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
	And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
	Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
	This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
	Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve;
	A' can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he
	That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy;
	This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
	That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
	In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
	A mean most meanly; and in ushering
	Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet;
	The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
	This is the flower that smiles on every one,
	To show his teeth as white as whale's bone;
	And consciences, that will not die in debt,
	Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

FERDINAND	A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
	That put Armado's page out of his part!

BIRON	See where it comes! Behavior, what wert thou
	Till this madman show'd thee? and what art thou now?

	[Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET, ROSALINE,
	MARIA, and KATHARINE]

FERDINAND	All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

PRINCESS	'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive.

FERDINAND	Construe my speeches better, if you may.

PRINCESS	Then wish me better; I will give you leave.

FERDINAND	We came to visit you, and purpose now
	To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.

PRINCESS	This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:
	Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men.

FERDINAND	Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:
	The virtue of your eye must break my oath.

PRINCESS	You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke;
	For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
	Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
	As the unsullied lily, I protest,
	A world of torments though I should endure,
	I would not yield to be your house's guest;
	So much I hate a breaking cause to be
	Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

FERDINAND	O, you have lived in desolation here,
	Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

PRINCESS	Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
	We have had pastimes here and pleasant game:
	A mess of Russians left us but of late.

FERDINAND	How, madam! Russians!

PRINCESS	Ay, in truth, my lord;
	Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.

ROSALINE	Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
	My lady, to the manner of the days,
	In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
	We four indeed confronted were with four
	In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
	And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
	They did not bless us with one happy word.
	I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
	When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

BIRON	This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,
	Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet,
	With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye,
	By light we lose light: your capacity
	Is of that nature that to your huge store
	Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.

ROSALINE	This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,--

BIRON	I am a fool, and full of poverty.

ROSALINE	But that you take what doth to you belong,
	It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

BIRON	O, I am yours, and all that I possess!

ROSALINE	All the fool mine?

BIRON	                  I cannot give you less.

ROSALINE	Which of the vizards was it that you wore?

BIRON	Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?

ROSALINE	There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case
	That hid the worse and show'd the better face.

FERDINAND	We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.

DUMAIN	Let us confess and turn it to a jest.

PRINCESS	Amazed, my lord? why looks your highness sad?

ROSALINE	Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?
	Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.

BIRON	Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
	Can any face of brass hold longer out?
	Here stand I	lady, dart thy skill at me;
	Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout;
	Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
	Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
	And I will wish thee never more to dance,
	Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
	O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
	Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue,
	Nor never come in vizard to my friend,
	Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song!
	Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
	Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation,
	Figures pedantical; these summer-flies
	Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
	I do forswear them; and I here protest,
	By this white glove;--how white the hand, God knows!--
	Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
	In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
	And, to begin, wench,--so God help me, la!--
	My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

ROSALINE	Sans sans, I pray you.

BIRON	Yet I have a trick
	Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick;
	I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see:
	Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three;
	They are infected; in their hearts it lies;
	They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes;
	These lords are visited; you are not free,
	For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

PRINCESS	No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.

BIRON	Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.

ROSALINE	It is not so; for how can this be true,
	That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

BIRON	Peace! for I will not have to do with you.

ROSALINE	Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

BIRON	Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.

FERDINAND	Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
	Some fair excuse.

PRINCESS	                  The fairest is confession.
	Were not you here but even now disguised?

FERDINAND	Madam, I was.

PRINCESS	                  And were you well advised?

FERDINAND	I was, fair madam.

PRINCESS	                  When you then were here,
	What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

FERDINAND	That more than all the world I did respect her.

PRINCESS	When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

FERDINAND	Upon mine honour, no.

PRINCESS	Peace, peace! forbear:
	Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.

FERDINAND	Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.

PRINCESS	I will: and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
	What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

ROSALINE	Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
	As precious eyesight, and did value me
	Above this world; adding thereto moreover
	That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

PRINCESS	God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
	Most honourably doth unhold his word.

FERDINAND	What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,
	I never swore this lady such an oath.

ROSALINE	By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,
	You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.

FERDINAND	My faith and this the princess I did give:
	I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

PRINCESS	Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
	And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear.
	What, will you have me, or your pearl again?

BIRON	Neither of either; I remit both twain.
	I see the trick on't: here was a consent,
	Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
	To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
	Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
	Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
	That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick
	To make my lady laugh when she's disposed,
	Told our intents before; which once disclosed,
	The ladies did change favours: and then we,
	Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
	Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
	We are again forsworn, in will and error.
	Much upon this it is: and might not you

	[To BOYET]

	Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
	Do not you know my lady's foot by the squier,
	And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
	And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
	Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
	You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
	Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
	You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye
	Wounds like a leaden sword.

BOYET	Full merrily
	Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

BIRON	Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done.

	[Enter COSTARD]

	Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.

COSTARD	O Lord, sir, they would know
	Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.

BIRON	What, are there but three?

COSTARD	No, sir; but it is vara fine,
	For every one pursents three.

BIRON	And three times thrice is nine.

COSTARD	Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope it is not so.
	You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir we know
	what we know:
	I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,--

BIRON	Is not nine.

COSTARD	Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

BIRON	By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

COSTARD	O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living
	by reckoning, sir.

BIRON	How much is it?

COSTARD	O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors,
	sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine
	own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man
	in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir.

BIRON	Art thou one of the Worthies?

COSTARD	It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the
	Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of
	the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.

BIRON	Go, bid them prepare.

COSTARD	We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take
	some care.

	[Exit]

FERDINAND	Biron, they will shame us: let them not approach.

BIRON	We are shame-proof, my lord: and tis some policy
	To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

FERDINAND	I say they shall not come.

PRINCESS	Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now:
	That sport best pleases that doth least know how:
	Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
	Dies in the zeal of that which it presents:
	Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
	When great things labouring perish in their birth.

BIRON	A right description of our sport, my lord.

	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal
	sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

	[Converses apart with FERDINAND, and delivers him a paper]

PRINCESS	Doth this man serve God?

BIRON	Why ask you?

PRINCESS	He speaks not like a man of God's making.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for,
	I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding
	fantastical; too, too vain, too too vain: but we
	will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra.
	I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!

	[Exit]

FERDINAND	Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He
	presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the
	Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page,
	Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus: And if
	these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
	These four will change habits, and present the other five.

BIRON	There is five in the first show.

FERDINAND	You are deceived; 'tis not so.

BIRON	The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool
	and the boy:--
	Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again
	Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

FERDINAND	The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

	[Enter COSTARD, for Pompey]

COSTARD	I Pompey am,--

BOYET	                  You lie, you are not he.

COSTARD	I Pompey am,--

BOYET	                  With libbard's head on knee.

BIRON	Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends
	with thee.

COSTARD	I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big--

DUMAIN	The Great.

COSTARD	It is, 'Great,' sir:--
		 Pompey surnamed the Great;
	That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make
	my foe to sweat:
	And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,
	And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France,
	If your ladyship would say, 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done.

PRINCESS	Great thanks, great Pompey.

COSTARD	'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect: I
	made a little fault in 'Great.'

BIRON	My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

	[Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for Alexander]

SIR NATHANIEL	When in the world I lived, I was the world's
	commander;
	By east, west, north, and south, I spread my
	conquering might:
	My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander,--

BOYET	Your nose says, no, you are not for it stands too right.

BIRON	Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling knight.

PRINCESS	The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Alexander.

SIR NATHANIEL	When in the world I lived, I was the world's
	commander,--

BOYET	Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.

BIRON	Pompey the Great,--

COSTARD	Your servant, and Costard.

BIRON	Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

COSTARD	[To SIR NATHANIEL]  O, sir, you have overthrown
	Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of
	the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds
	his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given
	to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror,
	and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander.

	[SIR NATHANIEL retires]

	There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an
	honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a
	marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good
	bowler: but, for Alisander,--alas, you see how
	'tis,--a little o'erparted. But there are Worthies
	a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

	[Enter HOLOFERNES, for Judas; and MOTH, for Hercules]

HOLOFERNES	   Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
	Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canis;
	And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
	Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
	Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
	Ergo I come with this apology.
	Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

	[MOTH retires]

	Judas I am,--

DUMAIN	A Judas!

HOLOFERNES	Not Iscariot, sir.
	Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.

DUMAIN	Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.

BIRON	A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?

HOLOFERNES	Judas I am,--

DUMAIN	The more shame for you, Judas.

HOLOFERNES	What mean you, sir?

BOYET	To make Judas hang himself.

HOLOFERNES	Begin, sir; you are my elder.

BIRON	Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.

HOLOFERNES	I will not be put out of countenance.

BIRON	Because thou hast no face.

HOLOFERNES	What is this?

BOYET	A cittern-head.

DUMAIN	The head of a bodkin.

BIRON	A Death's face in a ring.

LONGAVILLE	The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

BOYET	The pommel of Caesar's falchion.

DUMAIN	The carved-bone face on a flask.

BIRON	Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch.

DUMAIN	Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

BIRON	Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer.
	And now forward; for we have put thee in countenance.

HOLOFERNES	You have put me out of countenance.

BIRON	False; we have given thee faces.

HOLOFERNES	But you have out-faced them all.

BIRON	An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

BOYET	Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
	And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

DUMAIN	For the latter end of his name.

BIRON	For the ass to the Jude; give it him:--Jud-as, away!

HOLOFERNES	This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

BOYET	A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble.

	[HOLOFERNES retires]

PRINCESS	Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!

	[Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, for Hector]

BIRON	Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.

DUMAIN	Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

FERDINAND	Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.

BOYET	But is this Hector?

FERDINAND	I think Hector was not so clean-timbered.

LONGAVILLE	His leg is too big for Hector's.

DUMAIN	More calf, certain.

BOYET	No; he is best endued in the small.

BIRON	This cannot be Hector.

DUMAIN	He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
	Gave Hector a gift,--

DUMAIN	A gilt nutmeg.

BIRON	A lemon.

LONGAVILLE	Stuck with cloves.

DUMAIN	No, cloven.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Peace!--
	The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty
	Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
	A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea
	From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
	I am that flower,--

DUMAIN	That mint.

LONGAVILLE	That columbine.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

LONGAVILLE	I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

DUMAIN	Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks,
	beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed,
	he was a man. But I will forward with my device.

	[To the PRINCESS]

	Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

PRINCESS	Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

BOYET	[Aside to DUMAIN]  Loves her by the foot,--

DUMAIN	[Aside to BOYET]  He may not by the yard.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,--

COSTARD	The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she
	is two months on her way.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	What meanest thou?

COSTARD	Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor
	wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in
	her belly already: tis yours.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt
	die.

COSTARD	Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is
	quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by
	him.

DUMAIN	Most rare Pompey!

BOYET	Renowned Pompey!

BIRON	Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
	Pompey the Huge!

DUMAIN	Hector trembles.

BIRON	Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them
	on! stir them on!

DUMAIN	Hector will challenge him.

BIRON	Ay, if a' have no man's blood in's belly than will
	sup a flea.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

COSTARD	I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man:
	I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you,
	let me borrow my arms again.

DUMAIN	Room for the incensed Worthies!

COSTARD	I'll do it in my shirt.

DUMAIN	Most resolute Pompey!

MOTH	Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you
	not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean
	you? You will lose your reputation.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat
	in my shirt.

DUMAIN	You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

BIRON	What reason have you for't?

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go
	woolward for penance.

BOYET	True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of
	linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but
	a dishclout of Jaquenetta's, and that a' wears next
	his heart for a favour.

	[Enter MERCADE]

MERCADE	God save you, madam!

PRINCESS	Welcome, Mercade;
	But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

MERCADE	I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
	Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father--

PRINCESS	Dead, for my life!

MERCADE	Even so; my tale is told.

BIRON	Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have
	seen the day of wrong through the little hole of
	discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.

	[Exeunt Worthies]

FERDINAND	How fares your majesty?

PRINCESS	Boyet, prepare; I will away tonight.

FERDINAND	Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

PRINCESS	Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
	For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,
	Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
	In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
	The liberal opposition of our spirits,
	If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
	In the converse of breath: your gentleness
	Was guilty of it. Farewell worthy lord!
	A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:
	Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
	For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

FERDINAND	The extreme parts of time extremely forms
	All causes to the purpose of his speed,
	And often at his very loose decides
	That which long process could not arbitrate:
	And though the mourning brow of progeny
	Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
	The holy suit which fain it would convince,
	Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
	Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
	From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost
	Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
	As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

PRINCESS	I understand you not: my griefs are double.

BIRON	Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
	And by these badges understand the king.
	For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
	Play'd foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
	Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
	Even to the opposed end of our intents:
	And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,--
	As love is full of unbefitting strains,
	All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,
	Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye,
	Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
	Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
	To every varied object in his glance:
	Which parti-coated presence of loose love
	Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
	Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
	Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
	Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
	Our love being yours, the error that love makes
	Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
	By being once false for ever to be true
	To those that make us both,--fair ladies, you:
	And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
	Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.

PRINCESS	We have received your letters full of love;
	Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
	And, in our maiden council, rated them
	At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy,
	As bombast and as lining to the time:
	But more devout than this in our respects
	Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
	In their own fashion, like a merriment.

DUMAIN	Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.

LONGAVILLE	So did our looks.

ROSALINE	                  We did not quote them so.

FERDINAND	Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
	Grant us your loves.

PRINCESS	A time, methinks, too short
	To make a world-without-end bargain in.
	No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much,
	Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this:
	If for my love, as there is no such cause,
	You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
	Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
	To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
	Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
	There stay until the twelve celestial signs
	Have brought about the annual reckoning.
	If this austere insociable life
	Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
	If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
	Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
	But that it bear this trial and last love;
	Then, at the expiration of the year,
	Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,
	And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine
	I will be thine; and till that instant shut
	My woeful self up in a mourning house,
	Raining the tears of lamentation
	For the remembrance of my father's death.
	If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
	Neither entitled in the other's heart.

FERDINAND	If this, or more than this, I would deny,
	To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
	The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
	Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

BIRON	[And what to me, my love? and what to me?

ROSALINE	You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd,
	You are attaint with faults and perjury:
	Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
	A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
	But seek the weary beds of people sick]

DUMAIN	But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?

KATHARINE	A beard, fair health, and honesty;
	With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

DUMAIN	O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

KATHARINE	Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day
	I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say:
	Come when the king doth to my lady come;
	Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

DUMAIN	I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

KATHARINE	Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.

LONGAVILLE	What says Maria?

MARIA	                  At the twelvemonth's end
	I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

LONGAVILLE	I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.

MARIA	The liker you; few taller are so young.

BIRON	Studies my lady? mistress, look on me;
	Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
	What humble suit attends thy answer there:
	Impose some service on me for thy love.

ROSALINE	Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron,
	Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
	Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,
	Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
	Which you on all estates will execute
	That lie within the mercy of your wit.
	To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
	And therewithal to win me, if you please,
	Without the which I am not to be won,
	You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
	Visit the speechless sick and still converse
	With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
	With all the fierce endeavor of your wit
	To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

BIRON	To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
	It cannot be; it is impossible:
	Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINE	Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
	Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
	Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
	A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
	Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
	Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
	Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
	Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
	And I will have you and that fault withal;
	But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
	And I shall find you empty of that fault,
	Right joyful of your reformation.

BIRON	A twelvemonth! well; befall what will befall,
	I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

PRINCESS	[To FERDINAND]  Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave.

FERDINAND	No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

BIRON	Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
	Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
	Might well have made our sport a comedy.

FERDINAND	Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
	And then 'twill end.

BIRON	That's too long for a play.

	[Re-enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO]

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,--

PRINCESS	Was not that Hector?

DUMAIN	The worthy knight of Troy.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am
	a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the
	plough for her sweet love three years. But, most
	esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that
	the two learned men have compiled in praise of the
	owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the
	end of our show.

FERDINAND	Call them forth quickly; we will do so.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	Holla! approach.

	[Re-enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD,
	and others]

	This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring;
	the one maintained by the owl, the other by the
	cuckoo. Ver, begin.

	[THE SONG]
	
	SPRING.
	When daisies pied and violets blue
	And lady-smocks all silver-white
	And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
	Do paint the meadows with delight,
	The cuckoo then, on every tree,
	Mocks married men; for thus sings he, 	Cuckoo;
	Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
	Unpleasing to a married ear!

	When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
	And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
	When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
	And maidens bleach their summer smocks
	The cuckoo then, on every tree,
	Mocks married men; for thus sings he, 	Cuckoo;
	Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
	Unpleasing to a married ear!
	
	WINTER.
	When icicles hang by the wall
	And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
	And Tom bears logs into the hall
	And milk comes frozen home in pail,
	When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
	Then nightly sings the staring owl, 	Tu-whit;
	Tu-who, a merry note,
	While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

	When all aloud the wind doth blow
	And coughing drowns the parson's saw
	And birds sit brooding in the snow
	And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
	When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
	Then nightly sings the staring owl, 	Tu-whit;
	Tu-who, a merry note,
	While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

DON
ADRIANO DE ARMADO	The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of
	Apollo. You that way: we this way.

	[Exeunt]
	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


VINCENTIO	the Duke. (DUKE VINCENTIO:)

ANGELO	Deputy.

ESCALUS	an ancient Lord.

CLAUDIO	a young gentleman.

LUCIO	a fantastic.

	Two other gentlemen.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)
	Provost.


PETER	(FRIAR PETER:)	|
		|  two friars.
THOMAS	(FRIAR THOMAS:)	|


	A Justice.

VARRIUS:

ELBOW	a simple constable.

FROTH	a foolish gentleman.

POMPEY	servant to Mistress Overdone.

ABHORSON	an executioner.

BARNARDINE	a dissolute prisoner.

ISABELLA	sister to Claudio.

MARIANA	betrothed to Angelo.

JULIET	beloved of Claudio.

FRANCISCA	a nun.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	a bawd.

	Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendant.
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Vienna.




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE I	An apartment in the DUKE'S palace.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, ESCALUS, Lords and
	Attendants]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Escalus.

ESCALUS	My lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Of government the properties to unfold,
	Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse;
	Since I am put to know that your own science
	Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
	My strength can give you: then no more remains,
	But that to your sufficiency [           ]
	[                  ] as your Worth is able,
	And let them work. The nature of our people,
	Our city's institutions, and the terms
	For common justice, you're as pregnant in
	As art and practise hath enriched any
	That we remember. There is our commission,
	From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
	I say, bid come before us Angelo.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	What figure of us think you he will bear?
	For you must know, we have with special soul
	Elected him our absence to supply,
	Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,
	And given his deputation all the organs
	Of our own power: what think you of it?

ESCALUS	If any in Vienna be of worth
	To undergo such ample grace and honour,
	It is Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  Look where he comes.

	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	Always obedient to your grace's will,
	I come to know your pleasure.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Angelo,
	There is a kind of character in thy life,
	That to the observer doth thy history
	Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
	Are not thine own so proper as to waste
	Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
	Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
	Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
	Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
	As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
	But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends
	The smallest scruple of her excellence
	But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
	Herself the glory of a creditor,
	Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
	To one that can my part in him advertise;
	Hold therefore, Angelo:--
	In our remove be thou at full ourself;
	Mortality and mercy in Vienna
	Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus,
	Though first in question, is thy secondary.
	Take thy commission.

ANGELO	Now, good my lord,
	Let there be some more test made of my metal,
	Before so noble and so great a figure
	Be stamp'd upon it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	No more evasion:
	We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
	Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
	Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
	That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd
	Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
	As time and our concernings shall importune,
	How it goes with us, and do look to know
	What doth befall you here. So, fare you well;
	To the hopeful execution do I leave you
	Of your commissions.

ANGELO	Yet give leave, my lord,
	That we may bring you something on the way.

DUKE VINCENTIO	My haste may not admit it;
	Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
	With any scruple; your scope is as mine own
	So to enforce or qualify the laws
	As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand:
	I'll privily away. I love the people,
	But do not like to stage me to their eyes:
	Through it do well, I do not relish well
	Their loud applause and Aves vehement;
	Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
	That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

ANGELO	The heavens give safety to your purposes!

ESCALUS	Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!

DUKE	I thank you. Fare you well.

	[Exit]

ESCALUS	I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
	To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
	To look into the bottom of my place:
	A power I have, but of what strength and nature
	I am not yet instructed.

ANGELO	'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,
	And we may soon our satisfaction have
	Touching that point.

ESCALUS	I'll wait upon your honour.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE II	A Street.


	[Enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO	If the duke with the other dukes come not to
	composition with the King of Hungary, why then all
	the dukes fall upon the king.

First Gentleman	Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
	Hungary's!

Second Gentleman	Amen.

LUCIO	Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that
	went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped
	one out of the table.

Second Gentleman	'Thou shalt not steal'?

LUCIO	Ay, that he razed.

First Gentleman	Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and
	all the rest from their functions: they put forth
	to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in
	the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition
	well that prays for peace.

Second Gentleman	I never heard any soldier dislike it.

LUCIO	I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where
	grace was said.

Second Gentleman	No? a dozen times at least.

First Gentleman	What, in metre?

LUCIO	In any proportion or in any language.

First Gentleman	I think, or in any religion.

LUCIO	Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all
	controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a
	wicked villain, despite of all grace.

First Gentleman	Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.

LUCIO	I grant; as there may between the lists and the
	velvet. Thou art the list.

First Gentleman	And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt
	a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief
	be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou
	art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak
	feelingly now?

LUCIO	I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful
	feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own
	confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I
	live, forget to drink after thee.

First Gentleman	I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?

Second Gentleman	Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free.

LUCIO	Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I
	have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to--

Second Gentleman	To what, I pray?

LUCIO	Judge.

Second Gentleman	To three thousand dolours a year.

First Gentleman	Ay, and more.

LUCIO	A French crown more.

First Gentleman	Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou
	art full of error; I am sound.

LUCIO	Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as
	things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow;
	impiety has made a feast of thee.

	[Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE]

First Gentleman	How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried
	to prison was worth five thousand of you all.

Second Gentleman	Who's that, I pray thee?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

First Gentleman	Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw
	him carried away; and, which is more, within these
	three days his head to be chopped off.

LUCIO	But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so.
	Art thou sure of this?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam
	Julietta with child.

LUCIO	Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two
	hours since, and he was ever precise in
	promise-keeping.

Second Gentleman	Besides, you know, it draws something near to the
	speech we had to such a purpose.

First Gentleman	But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation.

LUCIO	Away! let's go learn the truth of it.

	[Exeunt LUCIO and Gentlemen]

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
	with the gallows and what with poverty, I am
	custom-shrunk.

	[Enter POMPEY]

	How now! what's the news with you?

POMPEY	Yonder man is carried to prison.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Well; what has he done?

POMPEY	A woman.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	But what's his offence?

POMPEY	Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What, is there a maid with child by him?

POMPEY	No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have
	not heard of the proclamation, have you?

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What proclamation, man?

POMPEY	All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	And what shall become of those in the city?

POMPEY	They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too,
	but that a wise burgher put in for them.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be
	pulled down?

POMPEY	To the ground, mistress.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!
	What shall become of me?

POMPEY	Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no
	clients: though you change your place, you need not
	change your trade; I'll be your tapster still.
	Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that
	have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you
	will be considered.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw.

POMPEY	Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to
	prison; and there's Madam Juliet.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter Provost, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers]

CLAUDIO	Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world?
	Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Provost	I do it not in evil disposition,
	But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

CLAUDIO	Thus can the demigod Authority
	Make us pay down for our offence by weight
	The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will;
	On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.

	[Re-enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO	Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint?

CLAUDIO	From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
	As surfeit is the father of much fast,
	So every scope by the immoderate use
	Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,
	Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
	A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

LUCIO	If could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would
	send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say
	the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom
	as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy
	offence, Claudio?

CLAUDIO	What but to speak of would offend again.

LUCIO	What, is't murder?

CLAUDIO	No.

LUCIO	Lechery?

CLAUDIO	Call it so.

Provost	Away, sir! you must go.

CLAUDIO	One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.

LUCIO	A hundred, if they'll do you any good.
	Is lechery so look'd after?

CLAUDIO	Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract
	I got possession of Julietta's bed:
	You know the lady; she is fast my wife,
	Save that we do the denunciation lack
	Of outward order: this we came not to,
	Only for propagation of a dower
	Remaining in the coffer of her friends,
	From whom we thought it meet to hide our love
	Till time had made them for us. But it chances
	The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
	With character too gross is writ on Juliet.

LUCIO	With child, perhaps?

CLAUDIO	Unhappily, even so.
	And the new deputy now for the duke--
	Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
	Or whether that the body public be
	A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
	Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
	He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
	Whether the tyranny be in his place,
	Or in his emmence that fills it up,
	I stagger in:--but this new governor
	Awakes me all the enrolled penalties
	Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
	So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round
	And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
	Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
	Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name.

LUCIO	I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on
	thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love,
	may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to
	him.

CLAUDIO	I have done so, but he's not to be found.
	I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
	This day my sister should the cloister enter
	And there receive her approbation:
	Acquaint her with the danger of my state:
	Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
	To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him:
	I have great hope in that; for in her youth
	There is a prone and speechless dialect,
	Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art
	When she will play with reason and discourse,
	And well she can persuade.

LUCIO	I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the
	like, which else would stand under grievous
	imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I
	would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a
	game of tick-tack. I'll to her.

CLAUDIO	I thank you, good friend Lucio.

LUCIO	Within two hours.

CLAUDIO	                  Come, officer, away!

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE III	A monastery.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO and FRIAR THOMAS]

DUKE VINCENTIO	No, holy father; throw away that thought;
	Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
	Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
	To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
	More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
	Of burning youth.

FRIAR THOMAS	                  May your grace speak of it?

DUKE VINCENTIO	My holy sir, none better knows than you
	How I have ever loved the life removed
	And held in idle price to haunt assemblies
	Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
	I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,
	A man of stricture and firm abstinence,
	My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
	And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
	For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
	And so it is received. Now, pious sir,
	You will demand of me why I do this?

FRIAR THOMAS	Gladly, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	We have strict statutes and most biting laws.
	The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds,
	Which for this nineteen years we have let slip;
	Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
	That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,
	Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
	Only to stick it in their children's sight
	For terror, not to use, in time the rod
	Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,
	Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
	And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
	The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
	Goes all decorum.

FRIAR THOMAS	                  It rested in your grace
	To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased:
	And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd
	Than in Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I do fear, too dreadful:
	Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
	'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
	For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done,
	When evil deeds have their permissive pass
	And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father,
	I have on Angelo imposed the office;
	Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
	And yet my nature never in the fight
	To do in slander. And to behold his sway,
	I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
	Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee,
	Supply me with the habit and instruct me
	How I may formally in person bear me
	Like a true friar. More reasons for this action
	At our more leisure shall I render you;
	Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;
	Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
	That his blood flows, or that his appetite
	Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
	If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE IV	A nunnery.


	[Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA]

ISABELLA	And have you nuns no farther privileges?

FRANCISCA	Are not these large enough?

ISABELLA	Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more;
	But rather wishing a more strict restraint
	Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

LUCIO	[Within]  Ho! Peace be in this place!

ISABELLA	Who's that which calls?

FRANCISCA	It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,
	Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
	You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.
	When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men
	But in the presence of the prioress:
	Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,
	Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
	He calls again; I pray you, answer him.

	[Exit]

ISABELLA	Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls

	[Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO	Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses
	Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me
	As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
	A novice of this place and the fair sister
	To her unhappy brother Claudio?

ISABELLA	Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask,
	The rather for I now must make you know
	I am that Isabella and his sister.

LUCIO	Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
	Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

ISABELLA	Woe me! for what?

LUCIO	For that which, if myself might be his judge,
	He should receive his punishment in thanks:
	He hath got his friend with child.

ISABELLA	Sir, make me not your story.

LUCIO	It is true.
	I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin
	With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,
	Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so:
	I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
	By your renouncement an immortal spirit,
	And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
	As with a saint.

ISABELLA	You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

LUCIO	Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
	Your brother and his lover have embraced:
	As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time
	That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
	To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
	Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

ISABELLA	Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?

LUCIO	Is she your cousin?

ISABELLA	Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names
	By vain though apt affection.

LUCIO	She it is.

ISABELLA	O, let him marry her.

LUCIO	This is the point.
	The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
	Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
	In hand and hope of action: but we do learn
	By those that know the very nerves of state,
	His givings-out were of an infinite distance
	From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
	And with full line of his authority,
	Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood
	Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
	The wanton stings and motions of the sense,
	But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
	With profits of the mind, study and fast.
	He--to give fear to use and liberty,
	Which have for long run by the hideous law,
	As mice by lions--hath pick'd out an act,
	Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
	Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
	And follows close the rigour of the statute,
	To make him an example. All hope is gone,
	Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
	To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business
	'Twixt you and your poor brother.

ISABELLA	Doth he so seek his life?

LUCIO	Has censured him
	Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
	A warrant for his execution.

ISABELLA	Alas! what poor ability's in me
	To do him good?

LUCIO	                  Assay the power you have.

ISABELLA	My power? Alas, I doubt--

LUCIO	Our doubts are traitors
	And make us lose the good we oft might win
	By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,
	And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
	Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,
	All their petitions are as freely theirs
	As they themselves would owe them.

ISABELLA	I'll see what I can do.

LUCIO	But speedily.

ISABELLA	I will about it straight;
	No longer staying but to give the mother
	Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
	Commend me to my brother: soon at night
	I'll send him certain word of my success.

LUCIO	I take my leave of you.

ISABELLA	Good sir, adieu.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE I	A hall In ANGELO's house.


	[Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, and a Justice, Provost,
	Officers, and other Attendants, behind]

ANGELO	We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
	Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
	And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
	Their perch and not their terror.

ESCALUS	Ay, but yet
	Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
	Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman
	Whom I would save, had a most noble father!
	Let but your honour know,
	Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
	That, in the working of your own affections,
	Had time cohered with place or place with wishing,
	Or that the resolute acting of your blood
	Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose,
	Whether you had not sometime in your life
	Err'd in this point which now you censure him,
	And pull'd the law upon you.

ANGELO	'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
	Another thing to fall. I not deny,
	The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
	May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
	Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice,
	That justice seizes: what know the laws
	That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,
	The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't
	Because we see it; but what we do not see
	We tread upon, and never think of it.
	You may not so extenuate his offence
	For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,
	When I, that censure him, do so offend,
	Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
	And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

ESCALUS	Be it as your wisdom will.

ANGELO	Where is the provost?

Provost	Here, if it like your honour.

ANGELO	See that Claudio
	Be executed by nine to-morrow morning:
	Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared;
	For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.

	[Exit Provost]

ESCALUS	[Aside]  Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!
	Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall:
	Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none:
	And some condemned for a fault alone.

	[Enter ELBOW, and Officers with FROTH and POMPEY]

ELBOW	Come, bring them away: if these be good people in
	a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in
	common houses, I know no law: bring them away.

ANGELO	How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter?

ELBOW	If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's
	constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon
	justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good
	honour two notorious benefactors.

ANGELO	Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are
	they not malefactors?

ELBOW	If it? please your honour, I know not well what they
	are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure
	of; and void of all profanation in the world that
	good Christians ought to have.

ESCALUS	This comes off well; here's a wise officer.

ANGELO	Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your
	name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow?

POMPEY	He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.

ANGELO	What are you, sir?

ELBOW	He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that
	serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they
	say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she
	professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too.

ESCALUS	How know you that?

ELBOW	My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,--

ESCALUS	How? thy wife?

ELBOW	Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,--

ESCALUS	Dost thou detest her therefore?

ELBOW	I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as
	she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
	it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

ESCALUS	How dost thou know that, constable?

ELBOW	Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman
	cardinally given, might have been accused in
	fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there.

ESCALUS	By the woman's means?

ELBOW	Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: but as she
	spit in his face, so she defied him.

POMPEY	Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

ELBOW	Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable
	man; prove it.

ESCALUS	Do you hear how he misplaces?

POMPEY	Sir, she came in great with child; and longing,
	saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes;
	sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very
	distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a
	dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen
	such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very
	good dishes,--

ESCALUS	Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir.

POMPEY	No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in
	the right: but to the point. As I say, this
	Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and
	being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for
	prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,
	Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the
	rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very
	honestly; for, as you know, Master Froth, I could
	not give you three-pence again.

FROTH	No, indeed.

POMPEY	Very well: you being then, if you be remembered,
	cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes,--

FROTH	Ay, so I did indeed.

POMPEY	Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be
	remembered, that such a one and such a one were past
	cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very
	good diet, as I told you,--

FROTH	All this is true.

POMPEY	Why, very well, then,--

ESCALUS	Come, you are a tedious fool: to the purpose. What
	was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to
	complain of? Come me to what was done to her.

POMPEY	Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

ESCALUS	No, sir, nor I mean it not.

POMPEY	Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's
	leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth
	here, sir; a man of four-score pound a year; whose
	father died at Hallowmas: was't not at Hallowmas,
	Master Froth?

FROTH	All-hallond eve.

POMPEY	Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir,
	sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in
	the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight
	to sit, have you not?

FROTH	I have so; because it is an open room and good for winter.

POMPEY	Why, very well, then; I hope here be truths.

ANGELO	This will last out a night in Russia,
	When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave.
	And leave you to the hearing of the cause;
	Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.

ESCALUS	I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.

	[Exit ANGELO]

	Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?

POMPEY	Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once.

ELBOW	I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

POMPEY	I beseech your honour, ask me.

ESCALUS	Well, sir; what did this gentleman to her?

POMPEY	I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face.
	Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a
	good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face?

ESCALUS	Ay, sir, very well.

POMPEY	Nay; I beseech you, mark it well.

ESCALUS	Well, I do so.

POMPEY	Doth your honour see any harm in his face?

ESCALUS	Why, no.

POMPEY	I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst
	thing about him. Good, then; if his face be the
	worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the
	constable's wife any harm? I would know that of
	your honour.

ESCALUS	He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it?

ELBOW	First, an it like you, the house is a respected
	house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his
	mistress is a respected woman.

POMPEY	By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected
	person than any of us all.

ELBOW	Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet! the
	time has yet to come that she was ever respected
	with man, woman, or child.

POMPEY	Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.

ESCALUS	Which is the wiser here? Justice or Iniquity? Is
	this true?

ELBOW	O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked
	Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married
	to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she
	with me, let not your worship think me the poor
	duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or
	I'll have mine action of battery on thee.

ESCALUS	If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your
	action of slander too.

ELBOW	Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't
	your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?

ESCALUS	Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him
	that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him
	continue in his courses till thou knowest what they
	are.

ELBOW	Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou
	wicked varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art
	to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue.

ESCALUS	Where were you born, friend?

FROTH	Here in Vienna, sir.

ESCALUS	Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

FROTH	Yes, an't please you, sir.

ESCALUS	So. What trade are you of, sir?

POMPHEY	Tapster; a poor widow's tapster.

ESCALUS	Your mistress' name?

POMPHEY	Mistress Overdone.

ESCALUS	Hath she had any more than one husband?

POMPEY	Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.

ESCALUS	Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master
	Froth, I would not have you acquainted with
	tapsters: they will draw you, Master Froth, and you
	will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no
	more of you.

FROTH	I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never
	come into any room in a tap-house, but I am drawn
	in.

ESCALUS	Well, no more of it, Master Froth: farewell.

	[Exit FROTH]

	Come you hither to me, Master tapster. What's your
	name, Master tapster?

POMPEY	Pompey.

ESCALUS	What else?

POMPEY	Bum, sir.

ESCALUS	Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you;
	so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the
	Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey,
	howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you
	not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you.

POMPEY	Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.

ESCALUS	How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What
	do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

POMPEY	If the law would allow it, sir.

ESCALUS	But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall
	not be allowed in Vienna.

POMPEY	Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the
	youth of the city?

ESCALUS	No, Pompey.

POMPEY	Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then.
	If your worship will take order for the drabs and
	the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

ESCALUS	There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you:
	it is but heading and hanging.

POMPEY	If you head and hang all that offend that way but
	for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a
	commission for more heads: if this law hold in
	Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it
	after three-pence a bay: if you live to see this
	come to pass, say Pompey told you so.

ESCALUS	Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your
	prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find
	you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever;
	no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey,
	I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd
	Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall
	have you whipt: so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

POMPEY	I thank your worship for your good counsel:

	[Aside]

	but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall
	better determine.
	Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade:
	The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade.

	[Exit]

ESCALUS	Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master
	constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

ELBOW	Seven year and a half, sir.

ESCALUS	I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had
	continued in it some time. You say, seven years together?

ELBOW	And a half, sir.

ESCALUS	Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you
	wrong to put you so oft upon 't: are there not men
	in your ward sufficient to serve it?

ELBOW	Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they
	are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I
	do it for some piece of money, and go through with
	all.

ESCALUS	Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven,
	the most sufficient of your parish.

ELBOW	To your worship's house, sir?

ESCALUS	To my house. Fare you well.

	[Exit ELBOW]

	What's o'clock, think you?

Justice	Eleven, sir.

ESCALUS	I pray you home to dinner with me.

Justice	I humbly thank you.

ESCALUS	It grieves me for the death of Claudio;
	But there's no remedy.

Justice	Lord Angelo is severe.

ESCALUS	It is but needful:
	Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so;
	Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
	But yet,--poor Claudio! There is no remedy.
	Come, sir.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE II	Another room in the same.


	[Enter Provost and a Servant]

Servant	He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight
	I'll tell him of you.

Provost	Pray you, do.

	[Exit Servant]

		                  I'll know
	His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,
	He hath but as offended in a dream!
	All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
	To die for't!

	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	                  Now, what's the matter. Provost?

Provost	Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow?

ANGELO	Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order?
	Why dost thou ask again?

Provost	Lest I might be too rash:
	Under your good correction, I have seen,
	When, after execution, judgment hath
	Repented o'er his doom.

ANGELO	Go to; let that be mine:
	Do you your office, or give up your place,
	And you shall well be spared.

Provost	I crave your honour's pardon.
	What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
	She's very near her hour.

ANGELO	Dispose of her
	To some more fitter place, and that with speed.

	[Re-enter Servant]

Servant	Here is the sister of the man condemn'd
	Desires access to you.

ANGELO	Hath he a sister?

Provost	Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,
	And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
	If not already.

ANGELO	                  Well, let her be admitted.

	[Exit Servant]

	See you the fornicatress be removed:
	Let have needful, but not lavish, means;
	There shall be order for't.

	[Enter ISABELLA and LUCIO]

Provost	God save your honour!

ANGELO	Stay a little while.

	[To ISABELLA]

		You're welcome: what's your will?

ISABELLA	I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
	Please but your honour hear me.

ANGELO	Well; what's your suit?

ISABELLA	There is a vice that most I do abhor,
	And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
	For which I would not plead, but that I must;
	For which I must not plead, but that I am
	At war 'twixt will and will not.

ANGELO	Well; the matter?

ISABELLA	I have a brother is condemn'd to die:
	I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
	And not my brother.

Provost	[Aside]  Heaven give thee moving graces!

ANGELO	Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?
	Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done:
	Mine were the very cipher of a function,
	To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,
	And let go by the actor.

ISABELLA	O just but severe law!
	I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  Give't not o'er so: to him
	again, entreat him;
	Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown:
	You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
	You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:
	To him, I say!

ISABELLA	Must he needs die?

ANGELO	                  Maiden, no remedy.

ISABELLA	Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
	And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

ANGELO	I will not do't.

ISABELLA	                  But can you, if you would?

ANGELO	Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

ISABELLA	But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
	If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
	As mine is to him?

ANGELO	                  He's sentenced; 'tis too late.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  You are too cold.

ISABELLA	Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word.
	May call it back again. Well, believe this,
	No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
	Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
	The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
	Become them with one half so good a grace
	As mercy does.
	If he had been as you and you as he,
	You would have slipt like him; but he, like you,
	Would not have been so stern.

ANGELO	Pray you, be gone.

ISABELLA	I would to heaven I had your potency,
	And you were Isabel! should it then be thus?
	No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
	And what a prisoner.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]

		Ay, touch him; there's the vein.

ANGELO	Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
	And you but waste your words.

ISABELLA	Alas, alas!
	Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
	And He that might the vantage best have took
	Found out the remedy. How would you be,
	If He, which is the top of judgment, should
	But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
	And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
	Like man new made.

ANGELO	                  Be you content, fair maid;
	It is the law, not I condemn your brother:
	Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
	It should be thus with him: he must die tomorrow.

ISABELLA	To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him!
	He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens
	We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven
	With less respect than we do minister
	To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you;
	Who is it that hath died for this offence?
	There's many have committed it.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]           Ay, well said.

ANGELO	The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:
	Those many had not dared to do that evil,
	If the first that did the edict infringe
	Had answer'd for his deed: now 'tis awake
	Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
	Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
	Either new, or by remissness new-conceived,
	And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
	Are now to have no successive degrees,
	But, ere they live, to end.

ISABELLA	Yet show some pity.

ANGELO	I show it most of all when I show justice;
	For then I pity those I do not know,
	Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
	And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,
	Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;
	Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

ISABELLA	So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
	And he, that suffer's. O, it is excellent
	To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
	To use it like a giant.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]   That's well said.

ISABELLA	Could great men thunder
	As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
	For every pelting, petty officer
	Would use his heaven for thunder;
	Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven,
	Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
	Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
	Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man,
	Drest in a little brief authority,
	Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
	His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
	Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
	As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
	Would all themselves laugh mortal.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  O, to him, to him, wench! he
	will relent;
	He's coming; I perceive 't.

Provost	[Aside]  Pray heaven she win him!

ISABELLA	We cannot weigh our brother with ourself:
	Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them,
	But in the less foul profanation.

LUCIO	Thou'rt i' the right, girl; more o, that.

ISABELLA	That in the captain's but a choleric word,
	Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  Art avised o' that? more on 't.

ANGELO	Why do you put these sayings upon me?

ISABELLA	Because authority, though it err like others,
	Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
	That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom;
	Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
	That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
	A natural guiltiness such as is his,
	Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
	Against my brother's life.

ANGELO	[Aside]                  She speaks, and 'tis
	Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well.

ISABELLA	Gentle my lord, turn back.

ANGELO	I will bethink me: come again tomorrow.

ISABELLA	Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn back.

ANGELO	How! bribe me?

ISABELLA	Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  You had marr'd all else.

ISABELLA	Not with fond shekels of the tested gold,
	Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor
	As fancy values them; but with true prayers
	That shall be up at heaven and enter there
	Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,
	From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate
	To nothing temporal.

ANGELO	Well; come to me to-morrow.

LUCIO	[Aside to ISABELLA]  Go to; 'tis well; away!

ISABELLA	Heaven keep your honour safe!

ANGELO	[Aside]	Amen:
	For I am that way going to temptation,
	Where prayers cross.

ISABELLA	At what hour to-morrow
	Shall I attend your lordship?

ANGELO	At any time 'fore noon.

ISABELLA	'Save your honour!

	[Exeunt ISABELLA, LUCIO, and Provost]

ANGELO	                  From thee, even from thy virtue!
	What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?
	The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
	Ha!
	Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I
	That, lying by the violet in the sun,
	Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
	Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
	That modesty may more betray our sense
	Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
	Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
	And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
	What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
	Dost thou desire her foully for those things
	That make her good? O, let her brother live!
	Thieves for their robbery have authority
	When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,
	That I desire to hear her speak again,
	And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
	O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
	With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
	Is that temptation that doth goad us on
	To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
	With all her double vigour, art and nature,
	Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
	Subdues me quite. Even till now,
	When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE III	A room in a prison.


	[Enter, severally, DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as a
	friar, and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Hail to you, provost! so I think you are.

Provost	I am the provost. What's your will, good friar?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Bound by my charity and my blest order,
	I come to visit the afflicted spirits
	Here in the prison. Do me the common right
	To let me see them and to make me know
	The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
	To them accordingly.

Provost	I would do more than that, if more were needful.

	[Enter JULIET]

	Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine,
	Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,
	Hath blister'd her report: she is with child;
	And he that got it, sentenced; a young man
	More fit to do another such offence
	Than die for this.

DUKE VINCENTIO	When must he die?

Provost	                  As I do think, to-morrow.
	I have provided for you: stay awhile,

	[To JULIET]

	And you shall be conducted.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?

JULIET	I do; and bear the shame most patiently.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
	And try your penitence, if it be sound,
	Or hollowly put on.

JULIET	I'll gladly learn.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Love you the man that wrong'd you?

JULIET	Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	So then it seems your most offenceful act
	Was mutually committed?

JULIET	Mutually.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

JULIET	I do confess it, and repent it, father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis meet so, daughter: but lest you do repent,
	As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,
	Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven,
	Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,
	But as we stand in fear,--

JULIET	I do repent me, as it is an evil,
	And take the shame with joy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	There rest.
	Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
	And I am going with instruction to him.
	Grace go with you, Benedicite!

	[Exit]

JULIET	Must die to-morrow! O injurious love,
	That respites me a life, whose very comfort
	Is still a dying horror!

Provost	'Tis pity of him.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE IV	A room in ANGELO's house.


	[Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO	When I would pray and think, I think and pray
	To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words;
	Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
	Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth,
	As if I did but only chew his name;
	And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
	Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied
	Is like a good thing, being often read,
	Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity,
	Wherein--let no man hear me--I take pride,
	Could I with boot change for an idle plume,
	Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,
	How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
	Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls
	To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood:
	Let's write good angel on the devil's horn:
	'Tis not the devil's crest.

	[Enter a Servant]

		      How now! who's there?

Servant	One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.

ANGELO	Teach her the way.

	[Exit Servant]

	O heavens!
	Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
	Making both it unable for itself,
	And dispossessing all my other parts
	Of necessary fitness?
	So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
	Come all to help him, and so stop the air
	By which he should revive: and even so
	The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,
	Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
	Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
	Must needs appear offence.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

		     How now, fair maid?

ISABELLA	I am come to know your pleasure.

ANGELO	That you might know it, would much better please me
	Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

ISABELLA	Even so. Heaven keep your honour!

ANGELO	Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be,
	As long as you or I	yet he must die.

ISABELLA	Under your sentence?

ANGELO	Yea.

ISABELLA	When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,
	Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted
	That his soul sicken not.

ANGELO	Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good
	To pardon him that hath from nature stolen
	A man already made, as to remit
	Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image
	In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
	Falsely to take away a life true made
	As to put metal in restrained means
	To make a false one.

ISABELLA	'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.

ANGELO	Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly.
	Which had you rather, that the most just law
	Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
	Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness
	As she that he hath stain'd?

ISABELLA	Sir, believe this,
	I had rather give my body than my soul.

ANGELO	I talk not of your soul: our compell'd sins
	Stand more for number than for accompt.

ISABELLA	How say you?

ANGELO	Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
	Against the thing I say. Answer to this:
	I, now the voice of the recorded law,
	Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
	Might there not be a charity in sin
	To save this brother's life?

ISABELLA	Please you to do't,
	I'll take it as a peril to my soul,
	It is no sin at all, but charity.

ANGELO	Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul,
	Were equal poise of sin and charity.

ISABELLA	That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
	Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit,
	If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
	To have it added to the faults of mine,
	And nothing of your answer.

ANGELO	Nay, but hear me.
	Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,
	Or seem so craftily; and that's not good.

ISABELLA	Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,
	But graciously to know I am no better.

ANGELO	Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright
	When it doth tax itself; as these black masks
	Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder
	Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me;
	To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
	Your brother is to die.

ISABELLA	So.

ANGELO	And his offence is so, as it appears,
	Accountant to the law upon that pain.

ISABELLA	True.

ANGELO	Admit no other way to save his life,--
	As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
	But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister,
	Finding yourself desired of such a person,
	Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
	Could fetch your brother from the manacles
	Of the all-building law; and that there were
	No earthly mean to save him, but that either
	You must lay down the treasures of your body
	To this supposed, or else to let him suffer;
	What would you do?

ISABELLA	As much for my poor brother as myself:
	That is, were I under the terms of death,
	The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies,
	And strip myself to death, as to a bed
	That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield
	My body up to shame.

ANGELO	Then must your brother die.

ISABELLA	And 'twere the cheaper way:
	Better it were a brother died at once,
	Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
	Should die for ever.

ANGELO	Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
	That you have slander'd so?

ISABELLA	Ignomy in ransom and free pardon
	Are of two houses: lawful mercy
	Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANGELO	You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;
	And rather proved the sliding of your brother
	A merriment than a vice.

ISABELLA	O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out,
	To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:
	I something do excuse the thing I hate,
	For his advantage that I dearly love.

ANGELO	We are all frail.

ISABELLA	                  Else let my brother die,
	If not a feodary, but only he
	Owe and succeed thy weakness.

ANGELO	Nay, women are frail too.

ISABELLA	Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
	Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
	Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar
	In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;
	For we are soft as our complexions are,
	And credulous to false prints.

ANGELO	I think it well:
	And from this testimony of your own sex,--
	Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger
	Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold;
	I do arrest your words. Be that you are,
	That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
	If you be one, as you are well express'd
	By all external warrants, show it now,
	By putting on the destined livery.

ISABELLA	I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,
	Let me entreat you speak the former language.

ANGELO	Plainly conceive, I love you.

ISABELLA	My brother did love Juliet,
	And you tell me that he shall die for it.

ANGELO	He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

ISABELLA	I know your virtue hath a licence in't,
	Which seems a little fouler than it is,
	To pluck on others.

ANGELO	Believe me, on mine honour,
	My words express my purpose.

ISABELLA	Ha! little honour to be much believed,
	And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!
	I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
	Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
	Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud
	What man thou art.

ANGELO	                  Who will believe thee, Isabel?
	My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
	My vouch against you, and my place i' the state,
	Will so your accusation overweigh,
	That you shall stifle in your own report
	And smell of calumny. I have begun,
	And now I give my sensual race the rein:
	Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
	Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
	That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother
	By yielding up thy body to my will;
	Or else he must not only die the death,
	But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
	To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,
	Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
	I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
	Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true.

	[Exit]

ISABELLA	To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,
	Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,
	That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
	Either of condemnation or approof;
	Bidding the law make court'sy to their will:
	Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite,
	To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother:
	Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood,
	Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour.
	That, had he twenty heads to tender down
	On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up,
	Before his sister should her body stoop
	To such abhorr'd pollution.
	Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
	More than our brother is our chastity.
	I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
	And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT III


SCENE I	A room in the prison.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before, CLAUDIO,
	and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO	So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

CLAUDIO	The miserable have no other medicine
	But only hope:
	I've hope to live, and am prepared to die.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Be absolute for death; either death or life
	Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:
	If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
	That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
	Servile to all the skyey influences,
	That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
	Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
	For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun
	And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;
	For all the accommodations that thou bear'st
	Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant;
	For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
	Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
	And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st
	Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
	For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
	That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
	For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
	And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain;
	For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
	After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
	For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
	Thou bear's thy heavy riches but a journey,
	And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
	For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
	The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
	Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
	For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,
	But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
	Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
	Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
	Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,
	Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
	To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
	That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
	Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
	That makes these odds all even.

CLAUDIO	I humbly thank you.
	To sue to live, I find I seek to die;
	And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.

ISABELLA	[Within]  What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!

Provost	Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

CLAUDIO	Most holy sir, I thank you.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

ISABELLA	My business is a word or two with Claudio.

Provost	And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Provost, a word with you.

Provost	As many as you please.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed.

	[Exeunt DUKE VINCENTIO and Provost]

CLAUDIO	Now, sister, what's the comfort?

ISABELLA	Why,
	As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed.
	Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
	Intends you for his swift ambassador,
	Where you shall be an everlasting leiger:
	Therefore your best appointment make with speed;
	To-morrow you set on.

CLAUDIO	Is there no remedy?

ISABELLA	None, but such remedy as, to save a head,
	To cleave a heart in twain.

CLAUDIO	But is there any?

ISABELLA	Yes, brother, you may live:
	There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
	If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
	But fetter you till death.

CLAUDIO	Perpetual durance?

ISABELLA	Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
	Though all the world's vastidity you had,
	To a determined scope.

CLAUDIO	But in what nature?

ISABELLA	In such a one as, you consenting to't,
	Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
	And leave you naked.

CLAUDIO	Let me know the point.

ISABELLA	O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
	Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,
	And six or seven winters more respect
	Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die?
	The sense of death is most in apprehension;
	And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
	In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
	As when a giant dies.

CLAUDIO	Why give you me this shame?
	Think you I can a resolution fetch
	From flowery tenderness? If I must die,
	I will encounter darkness as a bride,
	And hug it in mine arms.

ISABELLA	There spake my brother; there my father's grave
	Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
	Thou art too noble to conserve a life
	In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
	Whose settled visage and deliberate word
	Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew
	As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil
	His filth within being cast, he would appear
	A pond as deep as hell.

CLAUDIO	The prenzie Angelo!

ISABELLA	O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
	The damned'st body to invest and cover
	In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio?
	If I would yield him my virginity,
	Thou mightst be freed.

CLAUDIO	O heavens! it cannot be.

ISABELLA	Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence,
	So to offend him still. This night's the time
	That I should do what I abhor to name,
	Or else thou diest to-morrow.

CLAUDIO	Thou shalt not do't.

ISABELLA	O, were it but my life,
	I'ld throw it down for your deliverance
	As frankly as a pin.

CLAUDIO	Thanks, dear Isabel.

ISABELLA	Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow.

CLAUDIO	Yes. Has he affections in him,
	That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,
	When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin,
	Or of the deadly seven, it is the least.

ISABELLA	Which is the least?

CLAUDIO	If it were damnable, he being so wise,
	Why would he for the momentary trick
	Be perdurably fined? O Isabel!

ISABELLA	What says my brother?

CLAUDIO	Death is a fearful thing.

ISABELLA	And shamed life a hateful.

CLAUDIO	Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
	To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
	This sensible warm motion to become
	A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
	To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
	In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
	To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
	And blown with restless violence round about
	The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
	Of those that lawless and incertain thought
	Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!
	The weariest and most loathed worldly life
	That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
	Can lay on nature is a paradise
	To what we fear of death.

ISABELLA	Alas, alas!

CLAUDIO	          Sweet sister, let me live:
	What sin you do to save a brother's life,
	Nature dispenses with the deed so far
	That it becomes a virtue.

ISABELLA	O you beast!
	O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!
	Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
	Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
	From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?
	Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!
	For such a warped slip of wilderness
	Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance!
	Die, perish! Might but my bending down
	Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:
	I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
	No word to save thee.

CLAUDIO	Nay, hear me, Isabel.

ISABELLA	O, fie, fie, fie!
	Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.
	Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
	'Tis best thou diest quickly.

CLAUDIO	O hear me, Isabella!

	[Re-enter DUKE VINCENTIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

ISABELLA	What is your will?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and
	by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I
	would require is likewise your own benefit.

ISABELLA	I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be
	stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.

	[Walks apart]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you
	and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to
	corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her
	virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition
	of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her,
	hath made him that gracious denial which he is most
	glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I
	know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to
	death: do not satisfy your resolution with hopes
	that are fallible: tomorrow you must die; go to
	your knees and make ready.

CLAUDIO	Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love
	with life that I will sue to be rid of it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Hold you there: farewell.

	[Exit CLAUDIO]

	Provost, a word with you!

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	What's your will, father

DUKE VINCENTIO	That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me
	awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my
	habit no loss shall touch her by my company.

Provost	In good time.

	[Exit Provost. ISABELLA comes forward]

DUKE VINCENTIO	The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good:
	the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty
	brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of
	your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever
	fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,
	fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but
	that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should
	wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this
	substitute, and to save your brother?

ISABELLA	I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my
	brother die by the law than my son should be
	unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke
	deceived in Angelo! If ever he return and I can
	speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or
	discover his government.

DUKE VINCENTIO	That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the matter
	now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made
	trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my
	advisings: to the love I have in doing good a
	remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe
	that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged
	lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from
	the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious
	person; and much please the absent duke, if
	peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of
	this business.

ISABELLA	Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do
	anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have
	you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of
	Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

ISABELLA	I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

DUKE VINCENTIO	She should this Angelo have married; was affianced
	to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between
	which time of the contract and limit of the
	solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea,
	having in that perished vessel the dowry of his
	sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the
	poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and
	renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most
	kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of
	her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her
	combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

ISABELLA	Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them
	with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole,
	pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few,
	bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet
	wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears,
	is washed with them, but relents not.

ISABELLA	What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid
	from the world! What corruption in this life, that
	it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail?

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the
	cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps
	you from dishonour in doing it.

ISABELLA	Show me how, good father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance
	of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that
	in all reason should have quenched her love, hath,
	like an impediment in the current, made it more
	violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his
	requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with
	his demands to the point; only refer yourself to
	this advantage, first, that your stay with him may
	not be long; that the time may have all shadow and
	silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.
	This being granted in course,--and now follows
	all,--we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up
	your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter
	acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to
	her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother
	saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana
	advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid
	will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you
	think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness
	of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof.
	What think you of it?

ISABELLA	The image of it gives me content already; and I
	trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily
	to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his
	bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will
	presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the moated
	grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that
	place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that
	it may be quickly.

ISABELLA	I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.

	[Exeunt severally]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT III



SCENE II	The street before the prison.


	[Enter, on one side, DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as
	before; on the other, ELBOW, and Officers with POMPEY]

ELBOW	Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will
	needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we
	shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O heavens! what stuff is here

POMPEY	'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the
	merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by
	order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and
	furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that
	craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

ELBOW	Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good father friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	And you, good brother father. What offence hath
	this man made you, sir?

ELBOW	Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we
	take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found
	upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have
	sent to the deputy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd!
	The evil that thou causest to be done,
	That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
	What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back
	From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,
	From their abominable and beastly touches
	I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
	Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
	So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.

POMPEY	Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet,
	sir, I would prove--

DUKE VINCENTIO	Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,
	Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer:
	Correction and instruction must both work
	Ere this rude beast will profit.

ELBOW	He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him
	warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if
	he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were
	as good go a mile on his errand.

DUKE VINCENTIO	That we were all, as some would seem to be,
	From our faults, as faults from seeming, free!

ELBOW	His neck will come to your waist,--a cord, sir.

POMPEY	I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman and a
	friend of mine.

	[Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO	How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of
	Caesar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there
	none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be
	had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and
	extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What
	sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is't
	not drowned i' the last rain, ha? What sayest
	thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is
	the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The
	trick of it?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Still thus, and thus; still worse!

LUCIO	How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she
	still, ha?

POMPEY	Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she
	is herself in the tub.

LUCIO	Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be
	so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd:
	an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going
	to prison, Pompey?

POMPEY	Yes, faith, sir.

LUCIO	Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I
	sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?

ELBOW	For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

LUCIO	Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the
	due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: bawd is he
	doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born.
	Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison,
	Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you
	will keep the house.

POMPEY	I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

LUCIO	No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear.
	I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: If
	you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the
	more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	And you.

LUCIO	Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?

ELBOW	Come your ways, sir; come.

POMPEY	You will not bail me, then, sir?

LUCIO	Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar?
	what news?

ELBOW	Come your ways, sir; come.

LUCIO	Go to kennel, Pompey; go.

	[Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and Officers]

	What news, friar, of the duke?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I know none. Can you tell me of any?

LUCIO	Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other
	some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.

LUCIO	It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from
	the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born
	to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he
	puts transgression to 't.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He does well in 't.

LUCIO	A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in
	him: something too crabbed that way, friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

LUCIO	Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred;
	it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp
	it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put
	down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and
	woman after this downright way of creation: is it
	true, think you?

DUKE VINCENTIO	How should he be made, then?

LUCIO	Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he
	was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is
	certain that when he makes water his urine is
	congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a
	motion generative; that's infallible.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.

LUCIO	Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the
	rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a
	man! Would the duke that is absent have done this?
	Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a
	hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing
	a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport: he
	knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I never heard the absent duke much detected for
	women; he was not inclined that way.

LUCIO	O, sir, you are deceived.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis not possible.

LUCIO	Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and
	his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the
	duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too;
	that let me inform you.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You do him wrong, surely.

LUCIO	Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the
	duke: and I believe I know the cause of his
	withdrawing.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What, I prithee, might be the cause?

LUCIO	No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be locked within the
	teeth and the lips: but this I can let you
	understand, the greater file of the subject held the
	duke to be wise.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Wise! why, no question but he was.

LUCIO	A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Either this is the envy in you, folly, or mistaking:
	the very stream of his life and the business he hath
	helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better
	proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own
	bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the
	envious a scholar, a statesman and a soldier.
	Therefore you speak unskilfully: or if your
	knowledge be more it is much darkened in your malice.

LUCIO	Sir, I know him, and I love him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with
	dearer love.

LUCIO	Come, sir, I know what I know.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I can hardly believe that, since you know not what
	you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our
	prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your
	answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke,
	you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call
	upon you; and, I pray you, your name?

LUCIO	Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to
	report you.

LUCIO	I fear you not.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you
	imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I
	can do you little harm; you'll forswear this again.

LUCIO	I'll be hanged first: thou art deceived in me,
	friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if
	Claudio die to-morrow or no?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Why should he die, sir?

LUCIO	Why? For filling a bottle with a tundish. I would
	the duke we talk of were returned again: the
	ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with
	continency; sparrows must not build in his
	house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke
	yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would
	never bring them to light: would he were returned!
	Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing.
	Farewell, good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The
	duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on
	Fridays. He's not past it yet, and I say to thee,
	he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown
	bread and garlic: say that I said so. Farewell.

	[Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO	No might nor greatness in mortality
	Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny
	The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong
	Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
	But who comes here?

	[Enter ESCALUS, Provost, and Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE]

ESCALUS	Go; away with her to prison!

MISTRESS OVERDONE	Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted
	a merciful man; good my lord.

ESCALUS	Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in
	the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play
	the tyrant.

Provost	A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please
	your honour.

MISTRESS OVERDONE	My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me.
	Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the
	duke's time; he promised her marriage: his child
	is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob:
	I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me!

ESCALUS	That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be
	called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to;
	no more words.

	[Exeunt Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE]

	Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered;
	Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be furnished
	with divines, and have all charitable preparation.
	if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be
	so with him.

Provost	So please you, this friar hath been with him, and
	advised him for the entertainment of death.

ESCALUS	Good even, good father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Bliss and goodness on you!

ESCALUS	Of whence are you?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not of this country, though my chance is now
	To use it for my time: I am a brother
	Of gracious order, late come from the See
	In special business from his holiness.

ESCALUS	What news abroad i' the world?

DUKE VINCENTIO	None, but that there is so great a fever on
	goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it:
	novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous
	to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous
	to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce
	truth enough alive to make societies secure; but
	security enough to make fellowships accurst: much
	upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This
	news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I
	pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke?

ESCALUS	One that, above all other strifes, contended
	especially to know himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What pleasure was he given to?

ESCALUS	Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at
	any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a
	gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to
	his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous;
	and let me desire to know how you find Claudio
	prepared. I am made to understand that you have
	lent him visitation.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He professes to have received no sinister measure
	from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself
	to the determination of justice: yet had he framed
	to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many
	deceiving promises of life; which I by my good
	leisure have discredited to him, and now is he
	resolved to die.

ESCALUS	You have paid the heavens your function, and the
	prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have
	laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest
	shore of my modesty: but my brother justice have I
	found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him
	he is indeed Justice.

DUKE VINCENTIO	If his own life answer the straitness of his
	proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he
	chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself.

ESCALUS	I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Peace be with you!

	[Exeunt ESCALUS and Provost]

	He who the sword of heaven will bear
	Should be as holy as severe;
	Pattern in himself to know,
	Grace to stand, and virtue go;
	More nor less to others paying
	Than by self-offences weighing.
	Shame to him whose cruel striking
	Kills for faults of his own liking!
	Twice treble shame on Angelo,
	To weed my vice and let his grow!
	O, what may man within him hide,
	Though angel on the outward side!
	How may likeness made in crimes,
	Making practise on the times,
	To draw with idle spiders' strings
	Most ponderous and substantial things!
	Craft against vice I must apply:
	With Angelo to-night shall lie
	His old betrothed but despised;
	So disguise shall, by the disguised,
	Pay with falsehood false exacting,
	And perform an old contracting.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE I	The moated grange at ST. LUKE's.


	[Enter MARIANA and a Boy]

	[Boy sings]

	Take, O, take those lips away,
	That so sweetly were forsworn;
	And those eyes, the break of day,
	Lights that do mislead the morn:
	But my kisses bring again, bring again;
	Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

MARIANA	Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away:
	Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
	Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.

	[Exit Boy]

	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

	I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish
	You had not found me here so musical:
	Let me excuse me, and believe me so,
	My mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm
	To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
	I pray, you, tell me, hath any body inquired
	for me here to-day? much upon this time have
	I promised here to meet.

MARIANA	You have not been inquired after:
	I have sat here all day.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO	I do constantly believe you. The time is come even
	now. I shall crave your forbearance a little: may
	be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself.

MARIANA	I am always bound to you.

	[Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Very well met, and well come.
	What is the news from this good deputy?

ISABELLA	He hath a garden circummured with brick,
	Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
	And to that vineyard is a planched gate,
	That makes his opening with this bigger key:
	This other doth command a little door
	Which from the vineyard to the garden leads;
	There have I made my promise
	Upon the heavy middle of the night
	To call upon him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	But shall you on your knowledge find this way?

ISABELLA	I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't:
	With whispering and most guilty diligence,
	In action all of precept, he did show me
	The way twice o'er.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Are there no other tokens
	Between you 'greed concerning her observance?

ISABELLA	No, none, but only a repair i' the dark;
	And that I have possess'd him my most stay
	Can be but brief; for I have made him know
	I have a servant comes with me along,
	That stays upon me, whose persuasion is
	I come about my brother.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis well borne up.
	I have not yet made known to Mariana
	A word of this. What, ho! within! come forth!

	[Re-enter MARIANA]

	I pray you, be acquainted with this maid;
	She comes to do you good.

ISABELLA	I do desire the like.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?

MARIANA	Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Take, then, this your companion by the hand,
	Who hath a story ready for your ear.
	I shall attend your leisure: but make haste;
	The vaporous night approaches.

MARIANA	Will't please you walk aside?

	[Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO	O place and greatness! millions of false eyes
	Are stuck upon thee: volumes of report
	Run with these false and most contrarious quests
	Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit
	Make thee the father of their idle dreams
	And rack thee in their fancies.

	[Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA]

		          Welcome, how agreed?

ISABELLA	She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
	If you advise it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  It is not my consent,
	But my entreaty too.

ISABELLA	Little have you to say
	When you depart from him, but, soft and low,
	'Remember now my brother.'

MARIANA	Fear me not.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.
	He is your husband on a pre-contract:
	To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin,
	Sith that the justice of your title to him
	Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go:
	Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE II	A room in the prison.


	[Enter Provost and POMPEY]

Provost	Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?

POMPEY	If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a
	married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never
	cut off a woman's head.

Provost	Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a
	direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio
	and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common
	executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if
	you will take it on you to assist him, it shall
	redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have
	your full time of imprisonment and your deliverance
	with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a
	notorious bawd.

POMPEY	Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind;
	but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I
	would be glad to receive some instruction from my
	fellow partner.

Provost	What, ho! Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there?

	[Enter ABHORSON]

ABHORSON	Do you call, sir?

Provost	Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in
	your execution. If you think it meet, compound with
	him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if
	not, use him for the present and dismiss him. He
	cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd.

ABHORSON	A bawd, sir? fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery.

Provost	Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn
	the scale.

	[Exit]

POMPEY	Pray, sir, by your good favour,--for surely, sir, a
	good favour you have, but that you have a hanging
	look,--do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery?

ABHORSON	Ay, sir; a mystery

POMPEY	Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and
	your whores, sir, being members of my occupation,
	using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery:
	but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I
	should be hanged, I cannot imagine.

ABHORSON	Sir, it is a mystery.

POMPEY	Proof?

ABHORSON	Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be
	too little for your thief, your true man thinks it
	big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your
	thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's
	apparel fits your thief.

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	Are you agreed?

POMPEY	Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is
	a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth
	oftener ask forgiveness.

Provost	You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe
	to-morrow four o'clock.

ABHORSON	Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.

POMPEY	I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you have
	occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find
	me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you
	a good turn.

Provost	Call hither Barnardine and Claudio:

	[Exeunt POMPEY and ABHORSON]

	The one has my pity; not a jot the other,
	Being a murderer, though he were my brother.

	[Enter CLAUDIO]

	Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death:
	'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow
	Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?

CLAUDIO	As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour
	When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones:
	He will not wake.

Provost	                  Who can do good on him?
	Well, go, prepare yourself.

	[Knocking within]

		      But, hark, what noise?
	Heaven give your spirits comfort!

	[Exit CLAUDIO]

		                  By and by.
	I hope it is some pardon or reprieve
	For the most gentle Claudio.

	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

		       Welcome father.

DUKE VINCENTIO	The best and wholesomest spirts of the night
	Envelope you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late?

Provost	None, since the curfew rung.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not Isabel?

Provost	          No.

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  They will, then, ere't be long.

Provost	What comfort is for Claudio?

DUKE VINCENTIO	There's some in hope.

Provost	It is a bitter deputy.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd
	Even with the stroke and line of his great justice:
	He doth with holy abstinence subdue
	That in himself which he spurs on his power
	To qualify in others: were he meal'd with that
	Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;
	But this being so, he's just.

	[Knocking within]

		        Now are they come.

	[Exit Provost]

	This is a gentle provost: seldom when
	The steeled gaoler is the friend of men.

	[Knocking within]

	How now! what noise? That spirit's possessed with haste
	That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes.

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	There he must stay until the officer
	Arise to let him in: he is call'd up.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,
	But he must die to-morrow?

Provost	None, sir, none.

DUKE VINCENTIO	As near the dawning, provost, as it is,
	You shall hear more ere morning.

Provost	Happily
	You something know; yet I believe there comes
	No countermand; no such example have we:
	Besides, upon the very siege of justice
	Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
	Profess'd the contrary.

	[Enter a Messenger]

		  This is his lordship's man.

DUKE VINCENTIO	And here comes Claudio's pardon.

Messenger	[Giving a paper]

	My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this
	further charge, that you swerve not from the
	smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or
	other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it,
	it is almost day.

Provost	I shall obey him.

	[Exit Messenger]

DUKE VINCENTIO	[Aside]  This is his pardon, purchased by such sin
	For which the pardoner himself is in.
	Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
	When it is born in high authority:
	When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended,
	That for the fault's love is the offender friended.
	Now, sir, what news?

Provost	I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss
	in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted
	putting-on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Pray you, let's hear.

Provost	[Reads]

	'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let
	Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and in the
	afternoon Barnardine: for my better satisfaction,
	let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let
	this be duly performed; with a thought that more
	depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail
	not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'
	What say you to this, sir?

DUKE VINCENTIO	What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in the
	afternoon?

Provost	A Bohemian born, but here nursed un and bred; one
	that is a prisoner nine years old.

DUKE VINCENTIO	How came it that the absent duke had not either
	delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I
	have heard it was ever his manner to do so.

Provost	His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and,
	indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord
	Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is now apparent?

Provost	Most manifest, and not denied by himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Hath he born himself penitently in prison? how
	seems he to be touched?

Provost	A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but
	as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless
	of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of
	mortality, and desperately mortal.

DUKE VINCENTIO	He wants advice.

Provost	He will hear none: he hath evermore had the liberty
	of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he
	would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days
	entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if
	to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming
	warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all.

DUKE VINCENTIO	More of him anon. There is written in your brow,
	provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not
	truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the
	boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard.
	Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is
	no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath
	sentenced him. To make you understand this in a
	manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite;
	for the which you are to do me both a present and a
	dangerous courtesy.

Provost	Pray, sir, in what?

DUKE VINCENTIO	In the delaying death.

Provost	A lack, how may I do it, having the hour limited,
	and an express command, under penalty, to deliver
	his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case
	as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest.

DUKE VINCENTIO	By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my
	instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine
	be this morning executed, and his head born to Angelo.

Provost	Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it.
	Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was
	the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his
	death: you know the course is common. If any thing
	fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good
	fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead
	against it with my life.

Provost	Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy?

Provost	To him, and to his substitutes.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You will think you have made no offence, if the duke
	avouch the justice of your dealing?

Provost	But what likelihood is in that?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see
	you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor
	persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go
	further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you.
	Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the
	duke: you know the character, I doubt not; and the
	signet is not strange to you.

Provost	I know them both.

DUKE VINCENTIO	The contents of this is the return of the duke: you
	shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you
	shall find, within these two days he will be here.
	This is a thing that Angelo knows not; for he this
	very day receives letters of strange tenor;
	perchance of the duke's death; perchance entering
	into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what
	is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the
	shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these
	things should be: all difficulties are but easy
	when they are known. Call your executioner, and off
	with Barnardine's head: I will give him a present
	shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you
	are amazed; but this shall absolutely resolve you.
	Come away; it is almost clear dawn.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE III	Another room in the same.


	[Enter POMPEY]

POMPEY	I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house
	of profession: one would think it were Mistress
	Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old
	customers. First, here's young Master Rash; he's in
	for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,
	ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made
	five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not
	much in request, for the old women were all dead.
	Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of
	Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of
	peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a
	beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young
	Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master
	Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young
	Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master
	Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the
	great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed
	Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in
	our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.'

	[Enter ABHORSON]

ABHORSON	Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

POMPEY	Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged.
	Master Barnardine!

ABHORSON	What, ho, Barnardine!

BARNARDINE	[Within]  A pox o' your throats! Who makes that
	noise there? What are you?

POMPEY	Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so
	good, sir, to rise and be put to death.

BARNARDINE	[Within]  Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy.

ABHORSON	Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.

POMPEY	Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are
	executed, and sleep afterwards.

ABHORSON	Go in to him, and fetch him out.

POMPEY	He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.

ABHORSON	Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?

POMPEY	Very ready, sir.

	[Enter BARNARDINE]

BARNARDINE	How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you?

ABHORSON	Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your
	prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come.

BARNARDINE	You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not
	fitted for 't.

POMPEY	O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night,
	and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the
	sounder all the next day.

ABHORSON	Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do
	we jest now, think you?

	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily
	you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort
	you and pray with you.

BARNARDINE	Friar, not I	I have been drinking hard all night,
	and I will have more time to prepare me, or they
	shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not
	consent to die this day, that's certain.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you
	Look forward on the journey you shall go.

BARNARDINE	I swear I will not die to-day for any man's
	persuasion.

DUKE VINCENTIO	But hear you.

BARNARDINE	Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me,
	come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day.

	[Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Unfit to live or die: O gravel heart!
	After him, fellows; bring him to the block.

	[Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY]

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?

DUKE VINCENTIO	A creature unprepared, unmeet for death;
	And to transport him in the mind he is
	Were damnable.

Provost	                  Here in the prison, father,
	There died this morning of a cruel fever
	One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,
	A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head
	Just of his colour. What if we do omit
	This reprobate till he were well inclined;
	And satisfy the deputy with the visage
	Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!
	Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on
	Prefix'd by Angelo: see this be done,
	And sent according to command; whiles I
	Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.

Provost	This shall be done, good father, presently.
	But Barnardine must die this afternoon:
	And how shall we continue Claudio,
	To save me from the danger that might come
	If he were known alive?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Let this be done.
	Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio:
	Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting
	To the under generation, you shall find
	Your safety manifested.

Provost	I am your free dependant.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.

	[Exit Provost]

	Now will I write letters to Angelo,--
	The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents
	Shall witness to him I am near at home,
	And that, by great injunctions, I am bound
	To enter publicly: him I'll desire
	To meet me at the consecrated fount
	A league below the city; and from thence,
	By cold gradation and well-balanced form,
	We shall proceed with Angelo.

	[Re-enter Provost]

Provost	Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Convenient is it. Make a swift return;
	For I would commune with you of such things
	That want no ear but yours.

Provost	I'll make all speed.

	[Exit]

ISABELLA	[Within]  Peace, ho, be here!

DUKE VINCENTIO	The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know
	If yet her brother's pardon be come hither:
	But I will keep her ignorant of her good,
	To make her heavenly comforts of despair,
	When it is least expected.

	[Enter ISABELLA]

ISABELLA	Ho, by your leave!

DUKE VINCENTIO	Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

ISABELLA	The better, given me by so holy a man.
	Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?

DUKE VINCENTIO	He hath released him, Isabel, from the world:
	His head is off and sent to Angelo.

ISABELLA	Nay, but it is not so.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter,
	In your close patience.

ISABELLA	O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!

DUKE VINCENTIO	You shall not be admitted to his sight.

ISABELLA	Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel!
	Injurious world! most damned Angelo!

DUKE VINCENTIO	This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;
	Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven.
	Mark what I say, which you shall find
	By every syllable a faithful verity:
	The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes;
	One of our convent, and his confessor,
	Gives me this instance: already he hath carried
	Notice to Escalus and Angelo,
	Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
	There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom
	In that good path that I would wish it go,
	And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,
	Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart,
	And general honour.

ISABELLA	                  I am directed by you.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;
	'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return:
	Say, by this token, I desire his company
	At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours
	I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you
	Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo
	Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,
	I am combined by a sacred vow
	And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter:
	Command these fretting waters from your eyes
	With a light heart; trust not my holy order,
	If I pervert your course. Who's here?

	[Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO	Good even. Friar, where's the provost?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Not within, sir.

LUCIO	O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see
	thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain
	to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for
	my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set
	me to 't. But they say the duke will be here
	to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother:
	if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been
	at home, he had lived.

	[Exit ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your
	reports; but the best is, he lives not in them.

LUCIO	Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do:
	he's a better woodman than thou takest him for.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well.

LUCIO	Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee
	I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You have told me too many of him already, sir, if
	they be true; if not true, none were enough.

LUCIO	I was once before him for getting a wench with child.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Did you such a thing?

LUCIO	Yes, marry, did I	but I was fain to forswear it;
	they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.

LUCIO	By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end:
	if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of
	it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE IV	A room in ANGELO's house.


	[Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS]

ESCALUS	Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other.

ANGELO	In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions
	show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be
	not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and
	redeliver our authorities there

ESCALUS	I guess not.

ANGELO	And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his
	entering, that if any crave redress of injustice,
	they should exhibit their petitions in the street?

ESCALUS	He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of
	complaints, and to deliver us from devices
	hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand
	against us.

ANGELO	Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes
	i' the morn; I'll call you at your house: give
	notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet
	him.

ESCALUS	I shall, sir. Fare you well.

ANGELO	Good night.

	[Exit ESCALUS]

	This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant
	And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid!
	And by an eminent body that enforced
	The law against it! But that her tender shame
	Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
	How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;
	For my authority bears of a credent bulk,
	That no particular scandal once can touch
	But it confounds the breather. He should have lived,
	Save that riotous youth, with dangerous sense,
	Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,
	By so receiving a dishonour'd life
	With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived!
	A lack, when once our grace we have forgot,
	Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not.

	[Exit]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE V	Fields without the town.


	[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO in his own habit, and FRIAR PETER]

DUKE VINCENTIO	These letters at fit time deliver me

	[Giving letters]

	The provost knows our purpose and our plot.
	The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,
	And hold you ever to our special drift;
	Though sometimes you do blench from this to that,
	As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house,
	And tell him where I stay: give the like notice
	To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
	And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;
	But send me Flavius first.

FRIAR PETER	It shall be speeded well.

	[Exit]

	[Enter VARRIUS]

DUKE VINCENTIO	I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste:
	Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends
	Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE VI	Street near the city gate.


	[Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA]

ISABELLA	To speak so indirectly I am loath:
	I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,
	That is your part: yet I am advised to do it;
	He says, to veil full purpose.

MARIANA	Be ruled by him.

ISABELLA	Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure
	He speak against me on the adverse side,
	I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic
	That's bitter to sweet end.

MARIANA	I would Friar Peter--

ISABELLA	O, peace! the friar is come.

	[Enter FRIAR PETER]

FRIAR PETER	Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,
	Where you may have such vantage on the duke,
	He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;
	The generous and gravest citizens
	Have hent the gates, and very near upon
	The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away!

	[Exeunt]




	MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT V


SCENE I	The city gate.


	[MARIANA veiled, ISABELLA, and FRIAR PETER, at their
	stand. Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, VARRIUS, Lords,
	ANGELO, ESCALUS, LUCIO, Provost, Officers, and
	Citizens, at several doors]

DUKE VINCENTIO	My very worthy cousin, fairly met!
	Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.


ANGELO	|
	|  Happy return be to your royal grace!
ESCALUS	|


DUKE VINCENTIO	Many and hearty thankings to you both.
	We have made inquiry of you; and we hear
	Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
	Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
	Forerunning more requital.

ANGELO	You make my bonds still greater.

DUKE VINCENTIO	O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,
	To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
	When it deserves, with characters of brass,
	A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time
	And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand,
	And let the subject see, to make them know
	That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
	Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,
	You must walk by us on our other hand;
	And good supporters are you.

	[FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA come forward]

FRIAR PETER	Now is your time: speak loud and kneel before him.

ISABELLA	Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard
	Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid!
	O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye
	By throwing it on any other object
	Till you have heard me in my true complaint
	And given me justice, justice, justice, justice!

DUKE VINCENTIO	Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief.
	Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice:
	Reveal yourself to him.

ISABELLA	O worthy duke,
	You bid me seek redemption of the devil:
	Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak
	Must either punish me, not being believed,
	Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here!

ANGELO	My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:
	She hath been a suitor to me for her brother
	Cut off by course of justice,--

ISABELLA	By course of justice!

ANGELO	And she will speak most bitterly and strange.

ISABELLA	Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak:
	That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange?
	That Angelo's a murderer; is 't not strange?
	That Angelo is an adulterous thief,
	An hypocrite, a virgin-violator;
	Is it not strange and strange?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Nay, it is ten times strange.

ISABELLA	It is not truer he is Angelo
	Than this is all as true as it is strange:
	Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
	To the end of reckoning.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Away with her! Poor soul,
	She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

ISABELLA	O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest
	There is another comfort than this world,
	That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
	That I am touch'd with madness! Make not impossible
	That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible
	But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
	May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute
	As Angelo; even so may Angelo,
	In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,
	Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince:
	If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,
	Had I more name for badness.

DUKE VINCENTIO	By mine honesty,
	If she be mad,--as I believe no other,--
	Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,
	Such a dependency of thing on thing,
	As e'er I heard in madness.

ISABELLA	O gracious duke,
	Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason
	For inequality; but let your reason serve
	To make the truth appear where it seems hid,
	And hide the false seems true.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Many that are not mad
	Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?

ISABELLA	I am the sister of one Claudio,
	Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
	To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
	I, in probation of a sisterhood,
	Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio
	As then the messenger,--

LUCIO	That's I, an't like your grace:
	I came to her from Claudio, and desired her
	To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo
	For her poor brother's pardon.

ISABELLA	That's he indeed.

DUKE VINCENTIO	You were not bid to speak.

LUCIO	No, my good lord;
	Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I wish you now, then;
	Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
	A business for yourself, pray heaven you then
	Be perfect.

LUCIO	I warrant your honour.

DUKE VINCENTIO	The warrants for yourself; take heed to't.

ISABELLA	This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,--

LUCIO	Right.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It may be right; but you are i' the wrong
	To speak before your time. Proceed.

ISABELLA	I went
	To this pernicious caitiff deputy,--

DUKE VINCENTIO	That's somewhat madly spoken.

ISABELLA	Pardon it;
	The phrase is to the matter.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Mended again. The matter; proceed.

ISABELLA	In brief, to set the needless process by,
	How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,
	How he refell'd me, and how I replied,--
	For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion
	I now begin with grief and shame to utter:
	He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
	To his concupiscible intemperate lust,
	Release my brother; and, after much debatement,
	My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,
	And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes,
	His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
	For my poor brother's head.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This is most likely!

ISABELLA	O, that it were as like as it is true!

DUKE VINCENTIO	By heaven, fond wretch, thou knowist not what thou speak'st,
	Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour
	In hateful practise. First, his integrity
	Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason
	That with such vehemency he should pursue
	Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,
	He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself
	And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on:
	Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
	Thou camest here to complain.

ISABELLA	And is this all?
	Then, O you blessed ministers above,
	Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time
	Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
	In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from woe,
	As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

DUKE VINCENTIO	I know you'ld fain be gone. An officer!
	To prison with her! Shall we thus permit
	A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
	On him so near us? This needs must be a practise.
	Who knew of Your intent and coming hither?

ISABELLA	One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.

DUKE VINCENTIO	A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?

LUCIO	My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar;
	I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord
	For certain words he spake against your grace
	In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Words against me? this is a good friar, belike!
	And to set on this wretched woman here
	Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.

LUCIO	But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,
	I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,
	A very scurvy fellow.

FRIAR PETER	Blessed be your royal grace!
	I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
	Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman
	Most wrongfully accused your substitute,
	Who is as free from touch or soil with her
	As she from one ungot.

DUKE VINCENTIO	We did believe no less.
	Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?

FRIAR PETER	I know him for a man divine and holy;
	Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,
	As he's reported by this gentleman;
	And, on my trust, a man that never yet
	Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

LUCIO	My lord, most villanously; believe it.

FRIAR PETER	Well, he in time may come to clear himself;
	But at this instant he is sick my lord,
	Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,
	Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
	Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither,
	To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
	Is true and false; and what he with his oath
	And all probation will make up full clear,
	Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman.
	To justify this worthy nobleman,
	So vulgarly and personally accused,
	Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
	Till she herself confess it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Good friar, let's hear it.

	[ISABELLA is carried off guarded; and MARIANA comes forward]

	Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?
	O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!
	Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;
	In this I'll be impartial; be you judge
	Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar?
	First, let her show her face, and after speak.

MARIANA	Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face
	Until my husband bid me.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What, are you married?

MARIANA	No, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Are you a maid?

MARIANA	No, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	A widow, then?

MARIANA	Neither, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife?

LUCIO	My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are
	neither maid, widow, nor wife.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause
	To prattle for himself.

LUCIO	Well, my lord.

MARIANA	My lord; I do confess I ne'er was married;
	And I confess besides I am no maid:
	I have known my husband; yet my husband
	Knows not that ever he knew me.

LUCIO	He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better.

DUKE VINCENTIO	For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!

LUCIO	Well, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	This is no witness for Lord Angelo.

MARIANA	Now I come to't my lord
	She that accuses him of fornication,
	In self-same manner doth accuse my husband,
	And charges him my lord, with such a time
	When I'll depose I had him in mine arms
	With all the effect of love.

ANGELO	Charges she more than me?

MARIANA	Not that I know.

DUKE VINCENTIO	No? you say your husband.

MARIANA	Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,
	Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body,
	But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's.

ANGELO	This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face.

MARIANA	My husband bids me; now I will unmask.

	[Unveiling]

	This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
	Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on;
	This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract,
	Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body
	That took away the match from Isabel,
	And did supply thee at thy garden-house
	In her imagined person.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Know you this woman?

LUCIO	Carnally, she says.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Sirrah, no more!

LUCIO	Enough, my lord.

ANGELO	My lord, I must confess I know this woman:
	And five years since there was some speech of marriage
	Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,
	Partly for that her promised proportions
	Came short of composition, but in chief
	For that her reputation was disvalued
	In levity: since which time of five years
	I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,
	Upon my faith and honour.

MARIANA	Noble prince,
	As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,
	As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,
	I am affianced this man's wife as strongly
	As words could make up vows: and, my good lord,
	But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house
	He knew me as a wife. As this is true,
	Let me in safety raise me from my knees
	Or else for ever be confixed here,
	A marble monument!

ANGELO	                  I did but smile till now:
	Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice
	My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive
	These poor informal women are no more
	But instruments of some more mightier member
	That sets them on: let me have way, my lord,
	To find this practise out.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Ay, with my heart
	And punish them to your height of pleasure.
	Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,
	Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths,
	Though they would swear down each particular saint,
	Were testimonies against his worth and credit
	That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,
	Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains
	To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived.
	There is another friar that set them on;
	Let him be sent for.

FRIAR PETER	Would he were here, my lord! for he indeed
	Hath set the women on to this complaint:
	Your provost knows the place where he abides
	And he may fetch him.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Go do it instantly.

	[Exit Provost]

	And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,
	Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,
	Do with your injuries as seems you best,
	In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you;
	But stir not you till you have well determined
	Upon these slanderers.

ESCALUS	My lord, we'll do it throughly.

	[Exit DUKE]

	Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that
	Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person?

LUCIO	'Cucullus non facit monachum:' honest in nothing
	but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most
	villanous speeches of the duke.

ESCALUS	We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and
	enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a
	notable fellow.

LUCIO	As any in Vienna, on my word.

ESCALUS	Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with her.

	[Exit an Attendant]

	Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you
	shall see how I'll handle her.

LUCIO	Not better than he, by her own report.

ESCALUS	Say you?

LUCIO	Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately,
	she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly,
	she'll be ashamed.

ESCALUS	I will go darkly to work with her.

LUCIO	That's the way; for women are light at midnight.

	[Re-enter Officers with ISABELLA; and Provost with
	the DUKE VINCENTIO in his friar's habit]

ESCALUS	Come on, mistress: here's a gentlewoman denies all
	that you have said.

LUCIO	My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with
	the provost.

ESCALUS	In very good time: speak not you to him till we
	call upon you.

LUCIO	Mum.

ESCALUS	Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander
	Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did.

DUKE VINCENTIO	'Tis false.

ESCALUS	How! know you where you are?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Respect to your great place! and let the devil
	Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne!
	Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak.

ESCALUS	The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak:
	Look you speak justly.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,
	Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox?
	Good night to your redress! Is the duke gone?
	Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust,
	Thus to retort your manifest appeal,
	And put your trial in the villain's mouth
	Which here you come to accuse.

LUCIO	This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.

ESCALUS	Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar,
	Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women
	To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth
	And in the witness of his proper ear,
	To call him villain? and then to glance from him
	To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice?
	Take him hence; to the rack with him! We'll touse you
	Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.
	What 'unjust'!

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  Be not so hot; the duke
	Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he
	Dare rack his own: his subject am I not,
	Nor here provincial. My business in this state
	Made me a looker on here in Vienna,
	Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble
	Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults,
	But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes
	Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop,
	As much in mock as mark.

ESCALUS	Slander to the state! Away with him to prison!

ANGELO	What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?
	Is this the man that you did tell us of?

LUCIO	'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate:
	do you know me?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I
	met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke.

LUCIO	O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke?

DUKE VINCENTIO	Most notedly, sir.

LUCIO	Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a
	fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?

DUKE VINCENTIO	You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make
	that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and
	much more, much worse.

LUCIO	O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the
	nose for thy speeches?

DUKE VINCENTIO	I protest I love the duke as I love myself.

ANGELO	Hark, how the villain would close now, after his
	treasonable abuses!

ESCALUS	Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with
	him to prison! Where is the provost? Away with him
	to prison! lay bolts enough upon him: let him
	speak no more. Away with those giglots too, and
	with the other confederate companion!

DUKE VINCENTIO	[To Provost]  Stay, sir; stay awhile.

ANGELO	What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.

LUCIO	Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you
	bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must
	you? Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you!
	show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour!
	Will't not off?

	[Pulls off the friar's hood, and discovers DUKE
	VINCENTIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Thou art the first knave that e'er madest a duke.
	First, provost, let me bail these gentle three.

	[To LUCIO]

	Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you
	Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.

LUCIO	This may prove worse than hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO	[To ESCALUS]  What you have spoke I pardon: sit you down:
	We'll borrow place of him.

	[To ANGELO]

		     Sir, by your leave.
	Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
	That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,
	Rely upon it till my tale be heard,
	And hold no longer out.

ANGELO	O my dread lord,
	I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
	To think I can be undiscernible,
	When I perceive your grace, like power divine,
	Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince,
	No longer session hold upon my shame,
	But let my trial be mine own confession:
	Immediate sentence then and sequent death
	Is all the grace I beg.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Come hither, Mariana.
	Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?

ANGELO	I was, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Go take her hence, and marry her instantly.
	Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
	Return him here again. Go with him, provost.

	[Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER and Provost]

ESCALUS	My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour
	Than at the strangeness of it.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Come hither, Isabel.
	Your friar is now your prince: as I was then
	Advertising and holy to your business,
	Not changing heart with habit, I am still
	Attorney'd at your service.

ISABELLA	O, give me pardon,
	That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd
	Your unknown sovereignty!

DUKE VINCENTIO	You are pardon'd, Isabel:
	And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
	Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;
	And you may marvel why I obscured myself,
	Labouring to save his life, and would not rather
	Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power
	Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,
	It was the swift celerity of his death,
	Which I did think with slower foot came on,
	That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him!
	That life is better life, past fearing death,
	Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort,
	So happy is your brother.

ISABELLA	I do, my lord.

	[Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO	For this new-married man approaching here,
	Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
	Your well defended honour, you must pardon
	For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother,--
	Being criminal, in double violation
	Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach
	Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,--
	The very mercy of the law cries out
	Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
	'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!'
	Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;
	Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE.
	Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested;
	Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.
	We do condemn thee to the very block
	Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.
	Away with him!

MARIANA	                  O my most gracious lord,
	I hope you will not mock me with a husband.

DUKE VINCENTIO	It is your husband mock'd you with a husband.
	Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
	I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
	For that he knew you, might reproach your life
	And choke your good to come; for his possessions,
	Although by confiscation they are ours,
	We do instate and widow you withal,
	To buy you a better husband.

MARIANA	O my dear lord,
	I crave no other, nor no better man.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Never crave him; we are definitive.

MARIANA	Gentle my liege,--

	[Kneeling]

DUKE VINCENTIO	                  You do but lose your labour.
	Away with him to death!

	[To LUCIO]

		  Now, sir, to you.

MARIANA	O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;
	Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
	I'll lend you all my life to do you service.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Against all sense you do importune her:
	Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,
	Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,
	And take her hence in horror.

MARIANA	Isabel,
	Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;
	Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all.
	They say, best men are moulded out of faults;
	And, for the most, become much more the better
	For being a little bad: so may my husband.
	O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?

DUKE VINCENTIO	He dies for Claudio's death.

ISABELLA	Most bounteous sir,

	[Kneeling]

	Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd,
	As if my brother lived: I partly think
	A due sincerity govern'd his deeds,
	Till he did look on me: since it is so,
	Let him not die. My brother had but justice,
	In that he did the thing for which he died:
	For Angelo,
	His act did not o'ertake his bad intent,
	And must be buried but as an intent
	That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects;
	Intents but merely thoughts.

MARIANA	Merely, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.
	I have bethought me of another fault.
	Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded
	At an unusual hour?

Provost	It was commanded so.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Had you a special warrant for the deed?

Provost	No, my good lord; it was by private message.

DUKE VINCENTIO	For which I do discharge you of your office:
	Give up your keys.

Provost	                  Pardon me, noble lord:
	I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
	Yet did repent me, after more advice;
	For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
	That should by private order else have died,
	I have reserved alive.

DUKE VINCENTIO	What's he?

Provost	His name is Barnardine.

DUKE VINCENTIO	I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.
	Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him.

	[Exit Provost]

ESCALUS	I am sorry, one so learned and so wise
	As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd,
	Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood.
	And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

ANGELO	I am sorry that such sorrow I procure:
	And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart
	That I crave death more willingly than mercy;
	'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.

	[Re-enter Provost, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO muffled,
	and JULIET]

DUKE VINCENTIO	Which is that Barnardine?

Provost	This, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO	There was a friar told me of this man.
	Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul.
	That apprehends no further than this world,
	And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd:
	But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all;
	And pray thee take this mercy to provide
	For better times to come. Friar, advise him;
	I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that?

Provost	This is another prisoner that I saved.
	Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;
	As like almost to Claudio as himself.

	[Unmuffles CLAUDIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO	[To ISABELLA]  If he be like your brother, for his sake
	Is he pardon'd; and, for your lovely sake,
	Give me your hand and say you will be mine.
	He is my brother too: but fitter time for that.
	By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe;
	Methinks I see a quickening in his eye.
	Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well:
	Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.
	I find an apt remission in myself;
	And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.

	[To LUCIO]

	You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,
	One all of luxury, an ass, a madman;
	Wherein have I so deserved of you,
	That you extol me thus?

LUCIO	'Faith, my lord. I spoke it but according to the
	trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I
	had rather it would please you I might be whipt.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Whipt first, sir, and hanged after.
	Proclaim it, provost, round about the city.
	Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
	As I have heard him swear himself there's one
	Whom he begot with child, let her appear,
	And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd,
	Let him be whipt and hang'd.

LUCIO	I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore.
	Your highness said even now, I made you a duke:
	good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
	Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal
	Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;
	And see our pleasure herein executed.

LUCIO	Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death,
	whipping, and hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO	Slandering a prince deserves it.

	[Exit Officers with LUCIO]

	She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.
	Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo:
	I have confess'd her and I know her virtue.
	Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness:
	There's more behind that is more gratulate.
	Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy:
	We shill employ thee in a worthier place.
	Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
	The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:
	The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,
	I have a motion much imports your good;
	Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
	What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine.
	So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
	What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.

	[Exeunt]
	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


The DUKE OF VENICE. (DUKE:)


The PRINCE OF		|
MOROCCO	(MOROCCO:)	|
		|  suitors to Portia.
The PRINCE OF		|
ARRAGON	(ARRAGON:)	|


ANTONIO	a merchant of Venice.

BASSANIO	his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.


SALANIO	|
	|
SALARINO	|
	|  friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
GRATIANO	|
	|
SALERIO	|


LORENZO	in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK	a rich Jew.

TUBAL	a Jew, his friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO	the clown, servant to SHYLOCK. (LAUNCELOT:)

OLD GOBBO	father to Launcelot. (GOBBO:)

LEONARDO	servant to BASSANIO.


BALTHASAR	|
	|  servants to PORTIA.
STEPHANO	|


PORTIA	a rich heiress.

NERISSA	her waiting-maid.

JESSICA	daughter to SHYLOCK.

	Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,
	Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.
	(Servant:)
	(Clerk:)

SCENE	Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont,
	the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

ANTONIO	In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
	It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
	But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
	What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
	I am to learn;
	And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
	That I have much ado to know myself.

SALARINO	Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
	There, where your argosies with portly sail,
	Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
	Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
	Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
	That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
	As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIO	Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
	The better part of my affections would
	Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
	Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
	Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
	And every object that might make me fear
	Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
	Would make me sad.

SALARINO	                  My wind cooling my broth
	Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
	What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
	I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
	But I should think of shallows and of flats,
	And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
	Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
	To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
	And see the holy edifice of stone,
	And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
	Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
	Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
	Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
	And, in a word, but even now worth this,
	And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
	To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
	That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
	But tell not me; I know, Antonio
	Is sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIO	Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
	My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
	Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
	Upon the fortune of this present year:
	Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINO	Why, then you are in love.

ANTONIO	Fie, fie!

SALARINO	Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
	Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
	For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
	Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
	Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
	Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
	And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
	And other of such vinegar aspect
	That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
	Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

	[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]

SALANIO	Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
	Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
	We leave you now with better company.

SALARINO	I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
	If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIO	Your worth is very dear in my regard.
	I take it, your own business calls on you
	And you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINO	Good morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIO	Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
	You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINO	We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

	[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]

LORENZO	My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
	We two will leave you: but at dinner-time,
	I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIO	I will not fail you.

GRATIANO	You look not well, Signior Antonio;
	You have too much respect upon the world:
	They lose it that do buy it with much care:
	Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

ANTONIO	I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
	A stage where every man must play a part,
	And mine a sad one.

GRATIANO	Let me play the fool:
	With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
	And let my liver rather heat with wine
	Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
	Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
	Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
	Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice
	By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio--
	I love thee, and it is my love that speaks--
	There are a sort of men whose visages
	Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
	And do a wilful stillness entertain,
	With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
	Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
	As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
	And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
	O my Antonio, I do know of these
	That therefore only are reputed wise
	For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
	If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
	Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
	I'll tell thee more of this another time:
	But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
	For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
	Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
	I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZO	Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
	I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
	For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANO	Well, keep me company but two years moe,
	Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIO	Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANO	Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
	In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

	[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]

ANTONIO	Is that any thing now?

BASSANIO	Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
	than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two
	grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you
	shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you
	have them, they are not worth the search.

ANTONIO	Well, tell me now what lady is the same
	To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
	That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO	'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
	How much I have disabled mine estate,
	By something showing a more swelling port
	Than my faint means would grant continuance:
	Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
	From such a noble rate; but my chief care
	Is to come fairly off from the great debts
	Wherein my time something too prodigal
	Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
	I owe the most, in money and in love,
	And from your love I have a warranty
	To unburden all my plots and purposes
	How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIO	I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
	And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
	Within the eye of honour, be assured,
	My purse, my person, my extremest means,
	Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIO	In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
	I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
	The self-same way with more advised watch,
	To find the other forth, and by adventuring both
	I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
	Because what follows is pure innocence.
	I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,
	That which I owe is lost; but if you please
	To shoot another arrow that self way
	Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
	As I will watch the aim, or to find both
	Or bring your latter hazard back again
	And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIO	You know me well, and herein spend but time
	To wind about my love with circumstance;
	And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
	In making question of my uttermost
	Than if you had made waste of all I have:
	Then do but say to me what I should do
	That in your knowledge may by me be done,
	And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIO	In Belmont is a lady richly left;
	And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
	Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
	I did receive fair speechless messages:
	Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
	To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
	Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
	For the four winds blow in from every coast
	Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
	Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
	Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
	And many Jasons come in quest of her.
	O my Antonio, had I but the means
	To hold a rival place with one of them,
	I have a mind presages me such thrift,
	That I should questionless be fortunate!

ANTONIO	Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
	Neither have I money nor commodity
	To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
	Try what my credit can in Venice do:
	That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
	To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
	Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
	Where money is, and I no question make
	To have it of my trust or for my sake.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of
	this great world.

NERISSA	You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in
	the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and
	yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit
	with too much as they that starve with nothing. It
	is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
	mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
	competency lives longer.

PORTIA	Good sentences and well pronounced.

NERISSA	They would be better, if well followed.

PORTIA	If to do were as easy as to know what were good to
	do, chapels had been churches and poor men's
	cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that
	follows his own instructions: I can easier teach
	twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the
	twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may
	devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps
	o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the
	youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the
	cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to
	choose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose!' I may
	neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I
	dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed
	by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,
	Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

NERISSA	Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their
	death have good inspirations: therefore the lottery,
	that he hath devised in these three chests of gold,
	silver and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning
	chooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by any
	rightly but one who shall rightly love. But what
	warmth is there in your affection towards any of
	these princely suitors that are already come?

PORTIA	I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest
	them, I will describe them; and, according to my
	description, level at my affection.

NERISSA	First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

PORTIA	Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but
	talk of his horse; and he makes it a great
	appropriation to his own good parts, that he can
	shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his
	mother played false with a smith.

NERISSA	Then there is the County Palatine.

PORTIA	He doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'If you
	will not have me, choose:' he hears merry tales and
	smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping
	philosopher when he grows old, being so full of
	unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be
	married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth
	than to either of these. God defend me from these
	two!

NERISSA	How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

PORTIA	God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man.
	In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but,
	he! why, he hath a horse better than the
	Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning than
	the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if a
	throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he will
	fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, I
	should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me
	I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I
	shall never requite him.

NERISSA	What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron
	of England?

PORTIA	You know I say nothing to him, for he understands
	not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French,
	nor Italian, and you will come into the court and
	swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English.
	He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who can
	converse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited!
	I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round
	hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his
	behavior every where.

NERISSA	What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

PORTIA	That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he
	borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman and
	swore he would pay him again when he was able: I
	think the Frenchman became his surety and sealed
	under for another.

NERISSA	How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

PORTIA	Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and
	most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when
	he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and
	when he is worst, he is little better than a beast:
	and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall
	make shift to go without him.

NERISSA	If he should offer to choose, and choose the right
	casket, you should refuse to perform your father's
	will, if you should refuse to accept him.

PORTIA	Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a
	deep glass of rhenish wine on the contrary casket,
	for if the devil be within and that temptation
	without, I know he will choose it. I will do any
	thing, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.

NERISSA	You need not fear, lady, the having any of these
	lords: they have acquainted me with their
	determinations; which is, indeed, to return to their
	home and to trouble you with no more suit, unless
	you may be won by some other sort than your father's
	imposition depending on the caskets.

PORTIA	If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as
	chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner
	of my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooers
	are so reasonable, for there is not one among them
	but I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant
	them a fair departure.

NERISSA	Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a
	Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither
	in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

PORTIA	Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.

NERISSA	True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolish
	eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

PORTIA	I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of
	thy praise.

	[Enter a Serving-man]

	How now! what news?

Servant	The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take
	their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a
	fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the
	prince his master will be here to-night.

PORTIA	If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a
	heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should
	be glad of his approach: if he have the condition
	of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had
	rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come,
	Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
	Whiles we shut the gates
	upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT I



SCENE III	Venice. A public place.


	[Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK]

SHYLOCK	Three thousand ducats; well.

BASSANIO	Ay, sir, for three months.

SHYLOCK	For three months; well.

BASSANIO	For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

SHYLOCK	Antonio shall become bound; well.

BASSANIO	May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall I
	know your answer?

SHYLOCK	Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.

BASSANIO	Your answer to that.

SHYLOCK	Antonio is a good man.

BASSANIO	Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

SHYLOCK	Oh, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a
	good man is to have you understand me that he is
	sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition: he
	hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the
	Indies; I understand moreover, upon the Rialto, he
	hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and
	other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships
	are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats
	and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I
	mean pirates, and then there is the peril of waters,
	winds and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,
	sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I may
	take his bond.

BASSANIO	Be assured you may.

SHYLOCK	I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,
	I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

BASSANIO	If it please you to dine with us.

SHYLOCK	Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which
	your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I
	will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you,
	walk with you, and so following, but I will not eat
	with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What
	news on the Rialto? Who is he comes here?

	[Enter ANTONIO]

BASSANIO	This is Signior Antonio.

SHYLOCK	[Aside]  How like a fawning publican he looks!
	I hate him for he is a Christian,
	But more for that in low simplicity
	He lends out money gratis and brings down
	The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
	If I can catch him once upon the hip,
	I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
	He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,
	Even there where merchants most do congregate,
	On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,
	Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
	If I forgive him!

BASSANIO	                  Shylock, do you hear?

SHYLOCK	I am debating of my present store,
	And, by the near guess of my memory,
	I cannot instantly raise up the gross
	Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
	Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
	Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
	Do you desire?

	[To ANTONIO]

	Rest you fair, good signior;
	Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

ANTONIO	Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow
	By taking nor by giving of excess,
	Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
	I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'd
	How much ye would?

SHYLOCK	                  Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.

ANTONIO	And for three months.

SHYLOCK	I had forgot; three months; you told me so.
	Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
	Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
	Upon advantage.

ANTONIO	                  I do never use it.

SHYLOCK	When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep--
	This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
	As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
	The third possessor; ay, he was the third--

ANTONIO	And what of him? did he take interest?

SHYLOCK	No, not take interest, not, as you would say,
	Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
	When Laban and himself were compromised
	That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied
	Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,
	In the end of autumn turned to the rams,
	And, when the work of generation was
	Between these woolly breeders in the act,
	The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands,
	And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
	He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
	Who then conceiving did in eaning time
	Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
	This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:
	And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.

ANTONIO	This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;
	A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
	But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.
	Was this inserted to make interest good?
	Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?

SHYLOCK	I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
	But note me, signior.

ANTONIO	Mark you this, Bassanio,
	The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
	An evil soul producing holy witness
	Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
	A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
	O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

SHYLOCK	Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum.
	Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate--

ANTONIO	Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCK	Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
	In the Rialto you have rated me
	About my moneys and my usances:
	Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
	For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
	You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
	And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
	And all for use of that which is mine own.
	Well then, it now appears you need my help:
	Go to, then; you come to me, and you say
	'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you say so;
	You, that did void your rheum upon my beard
	And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
	Over your threshold: moneys is your suit
	What should I say to you? Should I not say
	'Hath a dog money? is it possible
	A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or
	Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key,
	With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;
	'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
	You spurn'd me such a day; another time
	You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies
	I'll lend you thus much moneys'?

ANTONIO	I am as like to call thee so again,
	To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
	If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
	As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
	A breed for barren metal of his friend?
	But lend it rather to thine enemy,
	Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
	Exact the penalty.

SHYLOCK	                  Why, look you, how you storm!
	I would be friends with you and have your love,
	Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
	Supply your present wants and take no doit
	Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me:
	This is kind I offer.


BASSANIO	This were kindness.

SHYLOCK	This kindness will I show.
	Go with me to a notary, seal me there
	Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
	If you repay me not on such a day,
	In such a place, such sum or sums as are
	Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
	Be nominated for an equal pound
	Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
	In what part of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIO	Content, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bond
	And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIO	You shall not seal to such a bond for me:
	I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIO	Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:
	Within these two months, that's a month before
	This bond expires, I do expect return
	Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

SHYLOCK	O father Abram, what these Christians are,
	Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
	The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
	If he should break his day, what should I gain
	By the exaction of the forfeiture?
	A pound of man's flesh taken from a man
	Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
	As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
	To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
	If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
	And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

ANTONIO	Yes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCK	Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
	Give him direction for this merry bond,
	And I will go and purse the ducats straight,
	See to my house, left in the fearful guard
	Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
	I will be with you.

ANTONIO	Hie thee, gentle Jew.

	[Exit Shylock]

	The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIO	I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

ANTONIO	Come on: in this there can be no dismay;
	My ships come home a month before the day.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE I	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCO
	and his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and others
	attending]

MOROCCO	Mislike me not for my complexion,
	The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
	To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
	Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
	Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
	And let us make incision for your love,
	To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
	I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
	Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love I swear
	The best-regarded virgins of our clime
	Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
	Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIA	In terms of choice I am not solely led
	By nice direction of a maiden's eyes;
	Besides, the lottery of my destiny
	Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
	But if my father had not scanted me
	And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
	His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
	Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair
	As any comer I have look'd on yet
	For my affection.

MOROCCO	                  Even for that I thank you:
	Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets
	To try my fortune. By this scimitar
	That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince
	That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
	I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
	Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
	Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
	Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,
	To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
	If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
	Which is the better man, the greater throw
	May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
	So is Alcides beaten by his page;
	And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
	Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
	And die with grieving.

PORTIA	You must take your chance,
	And either not attempt to choose at all
	Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong
	Never to speak to lady afterward
	In way of marriage: therefore be advised.

MOROCCO	Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIA	First, forward to the temple: after dinner
	Your hazard shall be made.

MOROCCO	Good fortune then!
	To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

	[Cornets, and exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE II	Venice. A street.


	[Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOT	Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from
	this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and
	tempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
	Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good Launcelot
	Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My
	conscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot;
	take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honest
	Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
	heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
	pack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the
	fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,'
	says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience,
	hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
	to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
	man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for,
	indeed, my father did something smack, something
	grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
	says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
	fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
	'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'
	say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my
	conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
	who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
	run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
	fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
	himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
	incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
	but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
	me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
	friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
	at your command; I will run.

	[Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]

GOBBO	Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way
	to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT	[Aside]  O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!
	who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
	knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

GOBBO	Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way
	to master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT	Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but,
	at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at
	the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn
	down indirectly to the Jew's house.

GOBBO	By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can
	you tell me whether one Launcelot,
	that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

LAUNCELOT	Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

	[Aside]

	Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you
	of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO	No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,
	though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man
	and, God be thanked, well to live.

LAUNCELOT	Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of
	young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO	Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOT	But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,
	talk you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO	Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

LAUNCELOT	Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master
	Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman,
	according to Fates and Destinies and such odd
	sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of
	learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say
	in plain terms, gone to heaven.

GOBBO	Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my
	age, my very prop.

LAUNCELOT	Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or
	a prop? Do you know me, father?

GOBBO	Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:
	but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his
	soul, alive or dead?

LAUNCELOT	Do you not know me, father?

GOBBO	Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

LAUNCELOT	Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of
	the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his
	own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of
	your son: give me your blessing: truth will come
	to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son
	may, but at the length truth will out.

GOBBO	Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
	Launcelot, my boy.

LAUNCELOT	Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but
	give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy
	that was, your son that is, your child that shall
	be.

GOBBO	I cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOT	I know not what I shall think of that: but I am
	Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your
	wife is my mother.

GOBBO	Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou
	be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
	Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou
	got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than
	Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

LAUNCELOT	It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows
	backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail
	than I have of my face when I last saw him.

GOBBO	Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy
	master agree? I have brought him a present. How
	'gree you now?

LAUNCELOT	Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have set
	up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I
	have run some ground. My master's a very Jew: give
	him a present! give him a halter: I am famished in
	his service; you may tell every finger I have with
	my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me
	your present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed,
	gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I
	will run as far as God has any ground. O rare
	fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I
	am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

	[Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers]

BASSANIO	You may do so; but let it be so hasted that supper
	be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See
	these letters delivered; put the liveries to making,
	and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

	[Exit a Servant]

LAUNCELOT	To him, father.

GOBBO	God bless your worship!

BASSANIO	Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?

GOBBO	Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,--

LAUNCELOT	Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; that
	would, sir, as my father shall specify--

GOBBO	He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve--

LAUNCELOT	Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,
	and have a desire, as my father shall specify--

GOBBO	His master and he, saving your worship's reverence,
	are scarce cater-cousins--

LAUNCELOT	To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having
	done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, I
	hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you--

GOBBO	I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon
	your worship, and my suit is--

LAUNCELOT	In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as
	your worship shall know by this honest old man; and,
	though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.

BASSANIO	One speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOT	Serve you, sir.

GOBBO	That is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIO	I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit:
	Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
	And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment
	To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
	The follower of so poor a gentleman.

LAUNCELOT	The old proverb is very well parted between my
	master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of
	God, sir, and he hath enough.

BASSANIO	Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
	Take leave of thy old master and inquire
	My lodging out. Give him a livery
	More guarded than his fellows': see it done.

LAUNCELOT	Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have
	ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in
	Italy have a fairer table which doth offer to swear
	upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to,
	here's a simple line of life: here's a small trifle
	of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! eleven
	widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for one
	man: and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be
	in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
	here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a
	woman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father,
	come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

	[Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo]

BASSANIO	I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:
	These things being bought and orderly bestow'd,
	Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
	My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go.

LEONARDO	My best endeavours shall be done herein.

	[Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANO	Where is your master?

LEONARDO	Yonder, sir, he walks.

	[Exit]

GRATIANO	Signior Bassanio!

BASSANIO	Gratiano!

GRATIANO	I have a suit to you.

BASSANIO	You have obtain'd it.

GRATIANO	You must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIO	Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano;
	Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;
	Parts that become thee happily enough
	And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
	But where thou art not known, why, there they show
	Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
	To allay with some cold drops of modesty
	Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior
	I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
	And lose my hopes.

GRATIANO	                  Signior Bassanio, hear me:
	If I do not put on a sober habit,
	Talk with respect and swear but now and then,
	Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,
	Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
	Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,'
	Use all the observance of civility,
	Like one well studied in a sad ostent
	To please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIO	Well, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANO	Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me
	By what we do to-night.

BASSANIO	No, that were pity:
	I would entreat you rather to put on
	Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
	That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
	I have some business.

GRATIANO	And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:
	But we will visit you at supper-time.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE III	The same. A room in SHYLOCK'S house.


	[Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT]

JESSICA	I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
	Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
	Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
	But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee:
	And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
	Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:
	Give him this letter; do it secretly;
	And so farewell: I would not have my father
	See me in talk with thee.

LAUNCELOT	Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful
	pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play
	the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But,
	adieu: these foolish drops do something drown my
	manly spirit: adieu.

JESSICA	Farewell, good Launcelot.

	[Exit Launcelot]

	Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
	To be ashamed to be my father's child!
	But though I am a daughter to his blood,
	I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
	If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,
	Become a Christian and thy loving wife.

	[Exit]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE IV	The same. A street.


	[Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

LORENZO	Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
	Disguise us at my lodging and return,
	All in an hour.

GRATIANO	We have not made good preparation.

SALARINO	We have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SALANIO	'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd,
	And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO	'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hours
	To furnish us.

	[Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter]

	Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

LAUNCELOT	An it shall please you to break up
	this, it shall seem to signify.

LORENZO	I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
	And whiter than the paper it writ on
	Is the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANO	Love-news, in faith.

LAUNCELOT	By your leave, sir.

LORENZO	Whither goest thou?

LAUNCELOT	Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
	Jew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.

LORENZO	Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
	I will not fail her; speak it privately.
	Go, gentlemen,

	[Exit Launcelot]

	Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?
	I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALANIO	Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

SALANIO	And so will I.

LORENZO	                  Meet me and Gratiano
	At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

SALARINO	'Tis good we do so.

	[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO]

GRATIANO	Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZO	I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
	How I shall take her from her father's house,
	What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,
	What page's suit she hath in readiness.
	If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
	It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
	And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
	Unless she do it under this excuse,
	That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
	Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:
	Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE V	The same. Before SHYLOCK'S house.


	[Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT]

SHYLOCK	Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
	The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:--
	What, Jessica!--thou shalt not gormandise,
	As thou hast done with me:--What, Jessica!--
	And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;--
	Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOT	Why, Jessica!

SHYLOCK	Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

LAUNCELOT	Your worship was wont to tell me that
	I could do nothing without bidding.

	[Enter Jessica]

JESSICA	Call you? what is your will?

SHYLOCK	I am bid forth to supper, Jessica:
	There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
	I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
	But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
	The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
	Look to my house. I am right loath to go:
	There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
	For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

LAUNCELOT	I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect
	your reproach.

SHYLOCK	So do I his.

LAUNCELOT	An they have conspired together, I will not say you
	shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not
	for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on
	Black-Monday last at six o'clock i' the morning,
	falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four
	year, in the afternoon.

SHYLOCK	What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
	Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum
	And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,
	Clamber not you up to the casements then,
	Nor thrust your head into the public street
	To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,
	But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:
	Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
	My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
	I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:
	But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
	Say I will come.

LAUNCELOT	I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at
	window, for all this, There will come a Christian
	boy, will be worth a Jewess' eye.

	[Exit]

SHYLOCK	What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?


JESSICA	His words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else.

SHYLOCK	The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;
	Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
	More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
	Therefore I part with him, and part with him
	To one that would have him help to waste
	His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in;
	Perhaps I will return immediately:
	Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
	Fast bind, fast find;
	A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

	[Exit]

JESSICA	Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
	I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

	[Exit]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VI	The same.


	[Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued]

GRATIANO	This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
	Desired us to make stand.

SALARINO	His hour is almost past.

GRATIANO	And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
	For lovers ever run before the clock.

SALARINO	O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
	To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont
	To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANO	That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
	With that keen appetite that he sits down?
	Where is the horse that doth untread again
	His tedious measures with the unbated fire
	That he did pace them first? All things that are,
	Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
	How like a younker or a prodigal
	The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
	Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
	How like the prodigal doth she return,
	With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,
	Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

SALARINO	Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

	[Enter LORENZO]

LORENZO	Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
	Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
	When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
	I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;
	Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?

	[Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes]

JESSICA	Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
	Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO	Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA	Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,
	For who love I so much? And now who knows
	But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO	Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA	Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
	I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,
	For I am much ashamed of my exchange:
	But love is blind and lovers cannot see
	The pretty follies that themselves commit;
	For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
	To see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZO	Descend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICA	What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
	They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.
	Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
	And I should be obscured.

LORENZO	So are you, sweet,
	Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
	But come at once;
	For the close night doth play the runaway,
	And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

JESSICA	I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
	With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

	[Exit above]

GRATIANO	Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

LORENZO	Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
	For she is wise, if I can judge of her,
	And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
	And true she is, as she hath proved herself,
	And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,
	Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

	[Enter JESSICA, below]

	What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
	Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

	[Exit with Jessica and Salarino]

	[Enter ANTONIO]

ANTONIO	Who's there?

GRATIANO	Signior Antonio!

ANTONIO	Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
	'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you.
	No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
	Bassanio presently will go aboard:
	I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

GRATIANO	I am glad on't: I desire no more delight
	Than to be under sail and gone to-night.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VII	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the
	PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains]

PORTIA	Go draw aside the curtains and discover
	The several caskets to this noble prince.
	Now make your choice.

MOROCCO	The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
	'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;'
	The second, silver, which this promise carries,
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;'
	This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
	'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
	How shall I know if I do choose the right?

PORTIA	The one of them contains my picture, prince:
	If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCO	Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
	I will survey the inscriptions back again.
	What says this leaden casket?
	'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
	Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead?
	This casket threatens. Men that hazard all
	Do it in hope of fair advantages:
	A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
	I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
	What says the silver with her virgin hue?
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
	As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,
	And weigh thy value with an even hand:
	If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
	Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
	May not extend so far as to the lady:
	And yet to be afeard of my deserving
	Were but a weak disabling of myself.
	As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady:
	I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
	In graces and in qualities of breeding;
	But more than these, in love I do deserve.
	What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
	Let's see once more this saying graved in gold
	'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
	Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her;
	From the four corners of the earth they come,
	To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:
	The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
	Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now
	For princes to come view fair Portia:
	The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
	Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
	To stop the foreign spirits, but they come,
	As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
	One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
	Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation
	To think so base a thought: it were too gross
	To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
	Or shall I think in silver she's immured,
	Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
	O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
	Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
	A coin that bears the figure of an angel
	Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon;
	But here an angel in a golden bed
	Lies all within. Deliver me the key:
	Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

PORTIA	There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
	Then I am yours.

	[He unlocks the golden casket]

MOROCCO	                  O hell! what have we here?
	A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
	There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.

	[Reads]

	All that glitters is not gold;
	Often have you heard that told:
	Many a man his life hath sold
	But my outside to behold:
	Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
	Had you been as wise as bold,
	Young in limbs, in judgment old,
	Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
	Fare you well; your suit is cold.
	Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
	Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
	Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
	To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

	[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets]

PORTIA	A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
	Let all of his complexion choose me so.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE VIII	Venice. A street.


	[Enter SALARINO and SALANIO]

SALARINO	Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
	With him is Gratiano gone along;
	And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIO	The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke,
	Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

SALARINO	He came too late, the ship was under sail:
	But there the duke was given to understand
	That in a gondola were seen together
	Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica:
	Besides, Antonio certified the duke
	They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SALANIO	I never heard a passion so confused,
	So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
	As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:
	'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!
	Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
	Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
	A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
	Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter!
	And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
	Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;
	She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.'

SALARINO	Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
	Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIO	Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
	Or he shall pay for this.

SALARINO	Marry, well remember'd.
	I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
	Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
	The French and English, there miscarried
	A vessel of our country richly fraught:
	I thought upon Antonio when he told me;
	And wish'd in silence that it were not his.

SALANIO	You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
	Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALARINO	A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
	I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
	Bassanio told him he would make some speed
	Of his return: he answer'd, 'Do not so;
	Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio
	But stay the very riping of the time;
	And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,
	Let it not enter in your mind of love:
	Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
	To courtship and such fair ostents of love
	As shall conveniently become you there:'
	And even there, his eye being big with tears,
	Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
	And with affection wondrous sensible
	He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

SALANIO	I think he only loves the world for him.
	I pray thee, let us go and find him out
	And quicken his embraced heaviness
	With some delight or other.

SALARINO	Do we so.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT II



SCENE IX	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter NERISSA with a Servitor]

NERISSA	Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:
	The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
	And comes to his election presently.

	[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON,
	PORTIA, and their trains]

PORTIA	Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:
	If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
	Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
	But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
	You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGON	I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
	First, never to unfold to any one
	Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
	Of the right casket, never in my life
	To woo a maid in way of marriage: Lastly,
	If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
	Immediately to leave you and be gone.

PORTIA	To these injunctions every one doth swear
	That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGON	And so have I address'd me. Fortune now
	To my heart's hope! Gold; silver; and base lead.
	'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.'
	You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard.
	What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:
	'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.'
	What many men desire! that 'many' may be meant
	By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
	Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
	Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
	Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
	Even in the force and road of casualty.
	I will not choose what many men desire,
	Because I will not jump with common spirits
	And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
	Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
	Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:'
	And well said too; for who shall go about
	To cozen fortune and be honourable
	Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
	To wear an undeserved dignity.
	O, that estates, degrees and offices
	Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
	Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
	How many then should cover that stand bare!
	How many be commanded that command!
	How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
	From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
	Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times
	To be new-varnish'd! Well, but to my choice:
	'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.'
	I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
	And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

	[He opens the silver casket]

PORTIA	Too long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGON	What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
	Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.
	How much unlike art thou to Portia!
	How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
	'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.'
	Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
	Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIA	To offend, and judge, are distinct offices
	And of opposed natures.

ARRAGON	What is here?

	[Reads]

	The fire seven times tried this:
	Seven times tried that judgment is,
	That did never choose amiss.
	Some there be that shadows kiss;
	Such have but a shadow's bliss:
	There be fools alive, I wis,
	Silver'd o'er; and so was this.
	Take what wife you will to bed,
	I will ever be your head:
	So be gone: you are sped.
	Still more fool I shall appear
	By the time I linger here
	With one fool's head I came to woo,
	But I go away with two.
	Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,
	Patiently to bear my wroth.

	[Exeunt Arragon and train]

PORTIA	Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
	O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
	They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSA	The ancient saying is no heresy,
	Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIA	Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	Where is my lady?

PORTIA	                  Here: what would my lord?

Servant	Madam, there is alighted at your gate
	A young Venetian, one that comes before
	To signify the approaching of his lord;
	From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,
	To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,
	Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
	So likely an ambassador of love:
	A day in April never came so sweet,
	To show how costly summer was at hand,
	As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIA	No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard
	Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
	Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.
	Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see
	Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSA	Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE I	Venice. A street.


	[Enter SALANIO and SALARINO]

SALANIO	Now, what news on the Rialto?

SALARINO	Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hath
	a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas;
	the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very
	dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many
	a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip
	Report be an honest woman of her word.

SALANIO	I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever
	knapped ginger or made her neighbours believe she
	wept for the death of a third husband. But it is
	true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the
	plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the
	honest Antonio,--O that I had a title good enough
	to keep his name company!--

SALARINO	Come, the full stop.

SALANIO	Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath
	lost a ship.

SALARINO	I would it might prove the end of his losses.

SALANIO	Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil cross my
	prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

	[Enter SHYLOCK]

	How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?

SHYLOCK	You know, none so well, none so well as you, of my
	daughter's flight.

SALARINO	That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor
	that made the wings she flew withal.

SALANIO	And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was
	fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all
	to leave the dam.

SHYLOCK	She is damned for it.

SALANIO	That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.

SHYLOCK	My own flesh and blood to rebel!

SALANIO	Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

SHYLOCK	I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALARINO	There is more difference between thy flesh and hers
	than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods
	than there is between red wine and rhenish. But
	tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any
	loss at sea or no?

SHYLOCK	There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a
	prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the
	Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon
	the mart; let him look to his bond: he was wont to
	call me usurer; let him look to his bond: he was
	wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him
	look to his bond.

SALARINO	Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take
	his flesh: what's that good for?

SHYLOCK	To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
	it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
	hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
	mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
	bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
	enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath
	not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
	dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
	the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
	to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
	warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as
	a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
	if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
	us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
	revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
	resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
	what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
	wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
	Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
	teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
	will better the instruction.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house and
	desires to speak with you both.

SALARINO	We have been up and down to seek him.

	[Enter TUBAL]

SALANIO	Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be
	matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

	[Exeunt SALANIO, SALARINO, and Servant]

SHYLOCK	How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thou
	found my daughter?

TUBAL	I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

SHYLOCK	Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,
	cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse
	never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it
	till now: two thousand ducats in that; and other
	precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter
	were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!
	would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in
	her coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I know
	not what's spent in the search: why, thou loss upon
	loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to
	find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge:
	nor no in luck stirring but what lights on my
	shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears
	but of my shedding.

TUBAL	Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I
	heard in Genoa,--

SHYLOCK	What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

TUBAL	Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

SHYLOCK	I thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true?

TUBAL	I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

SHYLOCK	I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news!
	ha, ha! where? in Genoa?

TUBAL	Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in one
	night fourscore ducats.

SHYLOCK	Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see my
	gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!
	fourscore ducats!

TUBAL	There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my
	company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.

SHYLOCK	I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torture
	him: I am glad of it.

TUBAL	One of them showed me a ring that he had of your
	daughter for a monkey.

SHYLOCK	Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was my
	turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:
	I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

TUBAL	But Antonio is certainly undone.

SHYLOCK	Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee
	me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I
	will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were
	he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I
	will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue;
	go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE II	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, and
	Attendants]

PORTIA	I pray you, tarry: pause a day or two
	Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
	I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.
	There's something tells me, but it is not love,
	I would not lose you; and you know yourself,
	Hate counsels not in such a quality.
	But lest you should not understand me well,--
	And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,--
	I would detain you here some month or two
	Before you venture for me. I could teach you
	How to choose right, but I am then forsworn;
	So will I never be: so may you miss me;
	But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
	That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,
	They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;
	One half of me is yours, the other half yours,
	Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
	And so all yours. O, these naughty times
	Put bars between the owners and their rights!
	And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
	Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
	I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time,
	To eke it and to draw it out in length,
	To stay you from election.

BASSANIO	Let me choose
	For as I am, I live upon the rack.

PORTIA	Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess
	What treason there is mingled with your love.

BASSANIO	None but that ugly treason of mistrust,
	Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
	There may as well be amity and life
	'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

PORTIA	Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
	Where men enforced do speak anything.

BASSANIO	Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

PORTIA	Well then, confess and live.

BASSANIO	'Confess' and 'love'
	Had been the very sum of my confession:
	O happy torment, when my torturer
	Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
	But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

PORTIA	Away, then! I am lock'd in one of them:
	If you do love me, you will find me out.
	Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.
	Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
	Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
	Fading in music: that the comparison
	May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream
	And watery death-bed for him. He may win;
	And what is music then? Then music is
	Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
	To a new-crowned monarch: such it is
	As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
	That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
	And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
	With no less presence, but with much more love,
	Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
	The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
	To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice
	The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
	With bleared visages, come forth to view
	The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules!
	Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismay
	I view the fight than thou that makest the fray.

	[Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself]
	
	SONG.
	Tell me where is fancy bred,
	Or in the heart, or in the head?
	How begot, how nourished?
	Reply, reply.
	It is engender'd in the eyes,
	With gazing fed; and fancy dies
	In the cradle where it lies.
	Let us all ring fancy's knell
	I'll begin it,--Ding, dong, bell.

ALL	Ding, dong, bell.

BASSANIO	So may the outward shows be least themselves:
	The world is still deceived with ornament.
	In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
	But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
	Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
	What damned error, but some sober brow
	Will bless it and approve it with a text,
	Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
	There is no vice so simple but assumes
	Some mark of virtue on his outward parts:
	How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
	As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
	The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;
	Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk;
	And these assume but valour's excrement
	To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,
	And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight;
	Which therein works a miracle in nature,
	Making them lightest that wear most of it:
	So are those crisped snaky golden locks
	Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
	Upon supposed fairness, often known
	To be the dowry of a second head,
	The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
	Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
	To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
	Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
	The seeming truth which cunning times put on
	To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
	Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;
	Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
	'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
	Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,
	Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;
	And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

PORTIA	[Aside]  How all the other passions fleet to air,
	As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
	And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,
	Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,
	In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.
	I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,
	For fear I surfeit.

BASSANIO	What find I here?

	[Opening the leaden casket]

	Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god
	Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
	Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
	Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,
	Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
	Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
	The painter plays the spider and hath woven
	A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
	Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes,--
	How could he see to do them? having made one,
	Methinks it should have power to steal both his
	And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far
	The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
	In underprizing it, so far this shadow
	Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,
	The continent and summary of my fortune.

	[Reads]

	You that choose not by the view,
	Chance as fair and choose as true!
	Since this fortune falls to you,
	Be content and seek no new,
	If you be well pleased with this
	And hold your fortune for your bliss,
	Turn you where your lady is
	And claim her with a loving kiss.
	A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;
	I come by note, to give and to receive.
	Like one of two contending in a prize,
	That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
	Hearing applause and universal shout,
	Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
	Whether these pearls of praise be his or no;
	So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;
	As doubtful whether what I see be true,
	Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

PORTIA	You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
	Such as I am: though for myself alone
	I would not be ambitious in my wish,
	To wish myself much better; yet, for you
	I would be trebled twenty times myself;
	A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;
	That only to stand high in your account,
	I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends,
	Exceed account; but the full sum of me
	Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,
	Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised;
	Happy in this, she is not yet so old
	But she may learn; happier than this,
	She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
	Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit
	Commits itself to yours to be directed,
	As from her lord, her governor, her king.
	Myself and what is mine to you and yours
	Is now converted: but now I was the lord
	Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
	Queen o'er myself: and even now, but now,
	This house, these servants and this same myself
	Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring;
	Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
	Let it presage the ruin of your love
	And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

BASSANIO	Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
	Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
	And there is such confusion in my powers,
	As after some oration fairly spoke
	By a beloved prince, there doth appear
	Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
	Where every something, being blent together,
	Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
	Express'd and not express'd. But when this ring
	Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence:
	O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

NERISSA	My lord and lady, it is now our time,
	That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,
	To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!

GRATIANO	My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,
	I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
	For I am sure you can wish none from me:
	And when your honours mean to solemnize
	The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
	Even at that time I may be married too.

BASSANIO	With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

GRATIANO	I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
	My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
	You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
	You loved, I loved for intermission.
	No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
	Your fortune stood upon the casket there,
	And so did mine too, as the matter falls;
	For wooing here until I sweat again,
	And sweating until my very roof was dry
	With oaths of love, at last, if promise last,
	I got a promise of this fair one here
	To have her love, provided that your fortune
	Achieved her mistress.

PORTIA	Is this true, Nerissa?

NERISSA	Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.

BASSANIO	And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

GRATIANO	Yes, faith, my lord.

BASSANIO	Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.

GRATIANO	We'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

NERISSA	What, and stake down?

GRATIANO	No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down.
	But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? What,
	and my old Venetian friend Salerio?

	[Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a Messenger
	from Venice]

BASSANIO	Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither;
	If that the youth of my new interest here
	Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,
	I bid my very friends and countrymen,
	Sweet Portia, welcome.

PORTIA	So do I, my lord:
	They are entirely welcome.

LORENZO	I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,
	My purpose was not to have seen you here;
	But meeting with Salerio by the way,
	He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
	To come with him along.

SALERIO	I did, my lord;
	And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
	Commends him to you.

	[Gives Bassanio a letter]

BASSANIO	Ere I ope his letter,
	I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

SALERIO	Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
	Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
	Will show you his estate.

GRATIANO	Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.
	Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice?
	How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
	I know he will be glad of our success;
	We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

SALERIO	I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

PORTIA	There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,
	That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek:
	Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world
	Could turn so much the constitution
	Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!
	With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,
	And I must freely have the half of anything
	That this same paper brings you.

BASSANIO	O sweet Portia,
	Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
	That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
	When I did first impart my love to you,
	I freely told you, all the wealth I had
	Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
	And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,
	Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
	How much I was a braggart. When I told you
	My state was nothing, I should then have told you
	That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,
	I have engaged myself to a dear friend,
	Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,
	To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;
	The paper as the body of my friend,
	And every word in it a gaping wound,
	Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
	Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
	From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,
	From Lisbon, Barbary and India?
	And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
	Of merchant-marring rocks?

SALERIO	Not one, my lord.
	Besides, it should appear, that if he had
	The present money to discharge the Jew,
	He would not take it. Never did I know
	A creature, that did bear the shape of man,
	So keen and greedy to confound a man:
	He plies the duke at morning and at night,
	And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
	If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,
	The duke himself, and the magnificoes
	Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
	But none can drive him from the envious plea
	Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond.

JESSICA	When I was with him I have heard him swear
	To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,
	That he would rather have Antonio's flesh
	Than twenty times the value of the sum
	That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,
	If law, authority and power deny not,
	It will go hard with poor Antonio.

PORTIA	Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

BASSANIO	The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
	The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit
	In doing courtesies, and one in whom
	The ancient Roman honour more appears
	Than any that draws breath in Italy.

PORTIA	What sum owes he the Jew?

BASSANIO	For me three thousand ducats.

PORTIA	What, no more?
	Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
	Double six thousand, and then treble that,
	Before a friend of this description
	Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
	First go with me to church and call me wife,
	And then away to Venice to your friend;
	For never shall you lie by Portia's side
	With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
	To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
	When it is paid, bring your true friend along.
	My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
	Will live as maids and widows. Come, away!
	For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
	Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer:
	Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
	But let me hear the letter of your friend.

BASSANIO	[Reads]  Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
	miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is
	very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since
	in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all
	debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but
	see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your
	pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,
	let not my letter.

PORTIA	O love, dispatch all business, and be gone!

BASSANIO	Since I have your good leave to go away,
	I will make haste: but, till I come again,
	No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,
	No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE III	Venice. A street.


	[Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler]

SHYLOCK	Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;
	This is the fool that lent out money gratis:
	Gaoler, look to him.

ANTONIO	Hear me yet, good Shylock.

SHYLOCK	I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond:
	I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.
	Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause;
	But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs:
	The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,
	Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
	To come abroad with him at his request.

ANTONIO	I pray thee, hear me speak.

SHYLOCK	I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
	I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
	I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
	To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
	To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
	I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond.

	[Exit]

SALARINO	It is the most impenetrable cur
	That ever kept with men.

ANTONIO	Let him alone:
	I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
	He seeks my life; his reason well I know:
	I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
	Many that have at times made moan to me;
	Therefore he hates me.

SALARINO	I am sure the duke
	Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.

ANTONIO	The duke cannot deny the course of law:
	For the commodity that strangers have
	With us in Venice, if it be denied,
	Will much impeach the justice of his state;
	Since that the trade and profit of the city
	Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
	These griefs and losses have so bated me,
	That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
	To-morrow to my bloody creditor.
	Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come
	To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE IV	Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and
	BALTHASAR]

LORENZO	Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
	You have a noble and a true conceit
	Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly
	In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
	But if you knew to whom you show this honour,
	How true a gentleman you send relief,
	How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
	I know you would be prouder of the work
	Than customary bounty can enforce you.

PORTIA	I never did repent for doing good,
	Nor shall not now: for in companions
	That do converse and waste the time together,
	Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love,
	There must be needs a like proportion
	Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;
	Which makes me think that this Antonio,
	Being the bosom lover of my lord,
	Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
	How little is the cost I have bestow'd
	In purchasing the semblance of my soul
	From out the state of hellish misery!
	This comes too near the praising of myself;
	Therefore no more of it: hear other things.
	Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
	The husbandry and manage of my house
	Until my lord's return: for mine own part,
	I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow
	To live in prayer and contemplation,
	Only attended by Nerissa here,
	Until her husband and my lord's return:
	There is a monastery two miles off;
	And there will we abide. I do desire you
	Not to deny this imposition;
	The which my love and some necessity
	Now lays upon you.

LORENZO	                  Madam, with all my heart;
	I shall obey you in all fair commands.

PORTIA	My people do already know my mind,
	And will acknowledge you and Jessica
	In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
	And so farewell, till we shall meet again.

LORENZO	Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

JESSICA	I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

PORTIA	I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased
	To wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica.

	[Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO]

	Now, Balthasar,
	As I have ever found thee honest-true,
	So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
	And use thou all the endeavour of a man
	In speed to Padua: see thou render this
	Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario;
	And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
	Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
	Unto the tranect, to the common ferry
	Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
	But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.

BALTHASAR	Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

	[Exit]

PORTIA	Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand
	That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands
	Before they think of us.

NERISSA	Shall they see us?

PORTIA	They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,
	That they shall think we are accomplished
	With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,
	When we are both accoutred like young men,
	I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
	And wear my dagger with the braver grace,
	And speak between the change of man and boy
	With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps
	Into a manly stride, and speak of frays
	Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies,
	How honourable ladies sought my love,
	Which I denying, they fell sick and died;
	I could not do withal; then I'll repent,
	And wish for all that, that I had not killed them;
	And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,
	That men shall swear I have discontinued school
	Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
	A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
	Which I will practise.

NERISSA	Why, shall we turn to men?

PORTIA	Fie, what a question's that,
	If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!
	But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device
	When I am in my coach, which stays for us
	At the park gate; and therefore haste away,
	For we must measure twenty miles to-day.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT III



SCENE V	The same. A garden.


	[Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA]

LAUNCELOT	Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father
	are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I
	promise ye, I fear you. I was always plain with
	you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter:
	therefore be of good cheer, for truly I think you
	are damned. There is but one hope in it that can do
	you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard
	hope neither.

JESSICA	And what hope is that, I pray thee?

LAUNCELOT	Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you
	not, that you are not the Jew's daughter.

JESSICA	That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the
	sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

LAUNCELOT	Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and
	mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I
	fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are
	gone both ways.

JESSICA	I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a
	Christian.

LAUNCELOT	Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians
	enow before; e'en as many as could well live, one by
	another. This making Christians will raise the
	price of hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we
	shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

	[Enter LORENZO]

JESSICA	I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes.

LORENZO	I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if
	you thus get my wife into corners.

JESSICA	Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Launcelot and I
	are out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy for
	me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: and he
	says, you are no good member of the commonwealth,
	for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the
	price of pork.

LORENZO	I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than
	you can the getting up of the negro's belly: the
	Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.

LAUNCELOT	It is much that the Moor should be more than reason:
	but if she be less than an honest woman, she is
	indeed more than I took her for.

LORENZO	How every fool can play upon the word! I think the
	best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence,
	and discourse grow commendable in none only but
	parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

LAUNCELOT	That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

LORENZO	Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid
	them prepare dinner.

LAUNCELOT	That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word.

LORENZO	Will you cover then, sir?

LAUNCELOT	Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

LORENZO	Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show
	the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray
	tree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning:
	go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve
	in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

LAUNCELOT	For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the
	meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in
	to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and
	conceits shall govern.

	[Exit]

LORENZO	O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
	The fool hath planted in his memory
	An army of good words; and I do know
	A many fools, that stand in better place,
	Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
	Defy the matter. How cheerest thou, Jessica?
	And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
	How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?

JESSICA	Past all expressing. It is very meet
	The Lord Bassanio live an upright life;
	For, having such a blessing in his lady,
	He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
	And if on earth he do not mean it, then
	In reason he should never come to heaven
	Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match
	And on the wager lay two earthly women,
	And Portia one, there must be something else
	Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world
	Hath not her fellow.

LORENZO	Even such a husband
	Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.

JESSICA	Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.

LORENZO	I will anon: first, let us go to dinner.

JESSICA	Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.

LORENZO	No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
'	Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
	I shall digest it.

JESSICA	                  Well, I'll set you forth.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT IV



SCENE I	Venice. A court of justice.


	[Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO,
	GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others]

DUKE	What, is Antonio here?

ANTONIO	Ready, so please your grace.

DUKE	I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer
	A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
	uncapable of pity, void and empty
	From any dram of mercy.

ANTONIO	I have heard
	Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
	His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate
	And that no lawful means can carry me
	Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
	My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
	To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
	The very tyranny and rage of his.

DUKE	Go one, and call the Jew into the court.

SALERIO	He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

	[Enter SHYLOCK]

DUKE	Make room, and let him stand before our face.
	Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
	That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
	To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought
	Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
	Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
	And where thou now exact'st the penalty,
	Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,
	Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
	But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
	Forgive a moiety of the principal;
	Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
	That have of late so huddled on his back,
	Enow to press a royal merchant down
	And pluck commiseration of his state
	From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
	From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd
	To offices of tender courtesy.
	We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

SHYLOCK	I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
	And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
	To have the due and forfeit of my bond:
	If you deny it, let the danger light
	Upon your charter and your city's freedom.
	You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
	A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
	Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
	But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd?
	What if my house be troubled with a rat
	And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
	To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
	Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
	Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
	And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose,
	Cannot contain their urine: for affection,
	Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
	Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:
	As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
	Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
	Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
	Why he, a woollen bagpipe; but of force
	Must yield to such inevitable shame
	As to offend, himself being offended;
	So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
	More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing
	I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
	A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?

BASSANIO	This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
	To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

SHYLOCK	I am not bound to please thee with my answers.

BASSANIO	Do all men kill the things they do not love?

SHYLOCK	Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

BASSANIO	Every offence is not a hate at first.

SHYLOCK	What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

ANTONIO	I pray you, think you question with the Jew:
	You may as well go stand upon the beach
	And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
	You may as well use question with the wolf
	Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
	You may as well forbid the mountain pines
	To wag their high tops and to make no noise,
	When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
	You may as well do anything most hard,
	As seek to soften that--than which what's harder?--
	His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,
	Make no more offers, use no farther means,
	But with all brief and plain conveniency
	Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.

BASSANIO	For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

SHYLOCK	What judgment shall I dread, doing
	Were in six parts and every part a ducat,
	I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

DUKE	How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

SHYLOCK	What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
	You have among you many a purchased slave,
	Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,
	You use in abject and in slavish parts,
	Because you bought them: shall I say to you,
	Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
	Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds
	Be made as soft as yours and let their palates
	Be season'd with such viands? You will answer
	'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:
	The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
	Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it.
	If you deny me, fie upon your law!
	There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
	I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?

DUKE	Upon my power I may dismiss this court,
	Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
	Whom I have sent for to determine this,
	Come here to-day.

SALERIO	                  My lord, here stays without
	A messenger with letters from the doctor,
	New come from Padua.

DUKE	Bring us the letter; call the messenger.

BASSANIO	Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!
	The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all,
	Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

ANTONIO	I am a tainted wether of the flock,
	Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit
	Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me
	You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
	Than to live still and write mine epitaph.

	[Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk]

DUKE	Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

NERISSA	From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

	[Presenting a letter]

BASSANIO	Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

SHYLOCK	To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

GRATIANO	Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
	Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can,
	No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness
	Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

SHYLOCK	No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

GRATIANO	O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
	And for thy life let justice be accused.
	Thou almost makest me waver in my faith
	To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
	That souls of animals infuse themselves
	Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit
	Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
	Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
	And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,
	Infused itself in thee; for thy desires
	Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

SHYLOCK	Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
	Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud:
	Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
	To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

DUKE	This letter from Bellario doth commend
	A young and learned doctor to our court.
	Where is he?

NERISSA	                  He attendeth here hard by,
	To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

DUKE	With all my heart. Some three or four of you
	Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
	Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

Clerk	[Reads]

	Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of
	your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that
	your messenger came, in loving visitation was with
	me a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I
	acquainted him with the cause in controversy between
	the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er
	many books together: he is furnished with my
	opinion; which, bettered with his own learning, the
	greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes
	with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's
	request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of
	years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend
	estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so
	old a head. I leave him to your gracious
	acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his
	commendation.

DUKE	You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes:
	And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

	[Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws]

	Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

PORTIA	I did, my lord.

DUKE	                  You are welcome: take your place.
	Are you acquainted with the difference
	That holds this present question in the court?

PORTIA	I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
	Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

DUKE	Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

PORTIA	Is your name Shylock?

SHYLOCK	Shylock is my name.

PORTIA	Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
	Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
	Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
	You stand within his danger, do you not?

ANTONIO	Ay, so he says.

PORTIA	                  Do you confess the bond?

ANTONIO	I do.

PORTIA	    Then must the Jew be merciful.

SHYLOCK	On what compulsion must I? tell me that.

PORTIA	The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
	It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
	Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
	It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
	'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
	The throned monarch better than his crown;
	His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
	The attribute to awe and majesty,
	Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
	But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
	It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
	It is an attribute to God himself;
	And earthly power doth then show likest God's
	When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
	Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
	That, in the course of justice, none of us
	Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
	And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
	The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
	To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
	Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
	Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHYLOCK	My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
	The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIA	Is he not able to discharge the money?

BASSANIO	Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
	Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,
	I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,
	On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
	If this will not suffice, it must appear
	That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
	Wrest once the law to your authority:
	To do a great right, do a little wrong,
	And curb this cruel devil of his will.

PORTIA	It must not be; there is no power in Venice
	Can alter a decree established:
	'Twill be recorded for a precedent,
	And many an error by the same example
	Will rush into the state: it cannot be.

SHYLOCK	A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
	O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

PORTIA	I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

SHYLOCK	Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

PORTIA	Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

SHYLOCK	An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
	Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
	No, not for Venice.

PORTIA	Why, this bond is forfeit;
	And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
	A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
	Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful:
	Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

SHYLOCK	When it is paid according to the tenor.
	It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
	You know the law, your exposition
	Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,
	Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
	Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear
	There is no power in the tongue of man
	To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

ANTONIO	Most heartily I do beseech the court
	To give the judgment.

PORTIA	Why then, thus it is:
	You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

SHYLOCK	O noble judge! O excellent young man!

PORTIA	For the intent and purpose of the law
	Hath full relation to the penalty,
	Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK	'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
	How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

PORTIA	Therefore lay bare your bosom.

SHYLOCK	Ay, his breast:
	So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?
	'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words.

PORTIA	It is so. Are there balance here to weigh
	The flesh?

SHYLOCK	         I have them ready.

PORTIA	Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
	To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCK	Is it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIA	It is not so express'd: but what of that?
	'Twere good you do so much for charity.

SHYLOCK	I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

PORTIA	You, merchant, have you any thing to say?

ANTONIO	But little: I am arm'd and well prepared.
	Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!
	Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
	For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
	Than is her custom: it is still her use
	To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
	To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
	An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
	Of such misery doth she cut me off.
	Commend me to your honourable wife:
	Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
	Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;
	And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
	Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
	Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,
	And he repents not that he pays your debt;
	For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
	I'll pay it presently with all my heart.

BASSANIO	Antonio, I am married to a wife
	Which is as dear to me as life itself;
	But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
	Are not with me esteem'd above thy life:
	I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
	Here to this devil, to deliver you.

PORTIA	Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
	If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

GRATIANO	I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:
	I would she were in heaven, so she could
	Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

NERISSA	'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
	The wish would make else an unquiet house.

SHYLOCK	These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;
	Would any of the stock of Barrabas
	Had been her husband rather than a Christian!

	[Aside]

	We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.

PORTIA	A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
	The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCK	Most rightful judge!

PORTIA	And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
	The law allows it, and the court awards it.

SHYLOCK	Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!

PORTIA	Tarry a little; there is something else.
	This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
	The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:'
	Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
	But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
	One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
	Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
	Unto the state of Venice.

GRATIANO	O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

SHYLOCK	Is that the law?

PORTIA	                  Thyself shalt see the act:
	For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
	Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.

GRATIANO	O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!

SHYLOCK	I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice
	And let the Christian go.

BASSANIO	Here is the money.

PORTIA	Soft!
	The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
	He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANO	O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

PORTIA	Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
	Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
	But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st more
	Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
	As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
	Or the division of the twentieth part
	Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn
	But in the estimation of a hair,
	Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANO	A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
	Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

PORTIA	Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

SHYLOCK	Give me my principal, and let me go.

BASSANIO	I have it ready for thee; here it is.

PORTIA	He hath refused it in the open court:
	He shall have merely justice and his bond.

GRATIANO	A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!
	I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

SHYLOCK	Shall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIA	Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
	To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

SHYLOCK	Why, then the devil give him good of it!
	I'll stay no longer question.

PORTIA	Tarry, Jew:
	The law hath yet another hold on you.
	It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
	If it be proved against an alien
	That by direct or indirect attempts
	He seek the life of any citizen,
	The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
	Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
	Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
	And the offender's life lies in the mercy
	Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
	In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;
	For it appears, by manifest proceeding,
	That indirectly and directly too
	Thou hast contrived against the very life
	Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
	The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
	Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.

GRATIANO	Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:
	And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
	Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
	Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.

DUKE	That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,
	I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
	For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;
	The other half comes to the general state,
	Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

PORTIA	Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

SHYLOCK	Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
	You take my house when you do take the prop
	That doth sustain my house; you take my life
	When you do take the means whereby I live.

PORTIA	What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

GRATIANO	A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.

ANTONIO	So please my lord the duke and all the court
	To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
	I am content; so he will let me have
	The other half in use, to render it,
	Upon his death, unto the gentleman
	That lately stole his daughter:
	Two things provided more, that, for this favour,
	He presently become a Christian;
	The other, that he do record a gift,
	Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
	Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.

DUKE	He shall do this, or else I do recant
	The pardon that I late pronounced here.

PORTIA	Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

SHYLOCK	I am content.

PORTIA	                  Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

SHYLOCK	I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;
	I am not well: send the deed after me,
	And I will sign it.

DUKE	Get thee gone, but do it.

GRATIANO	In christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:
	Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
	To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

	[Exit SHYLOCK]

DUKE	Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

PORTIA	I humbly do desire your grace of pardon:
	I must away this night toward Padua,
	And it is meet I presently set forth.

DUKE	I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
	Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
	For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

	[Exeunt Duke and his train]

BASSANIO	Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
	Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
	Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,
	Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
	We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

ANTONIO	And stand indebted, over and above,
	In love and service to you evermore.

PORTIA	He is well paid that is well satisfied;
	And I, delivering you, am satisfied
	And therein do account myself well paid:
	My mind was never yet more mercenary.
	I pray you, know me when we meet again:
	I wish you well, and so I take my leave.

BASSANIO	Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further:
	Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
	Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
	Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

PORTIA	You press me far, and therefore I will yield.

	[To ANTONIO]

	Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;

	[To BASSANIO]

	And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you:
	Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more;
	And you in love shall not deny me this.

BASSANIO	This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!
	I will not shame myself to give you this.

PORTIA	I will have nothing else but only this;
	And now methinks I have a mind to it.

BASSANIO	There's more depends on this than on the value.
	The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,
	And find it out by proclamation:
	Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

PORTIA	I see, sir, you are liberal in offers
	You taught me first to beg; and now methinks
	You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.

BASSANIO	Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
	And when she put it on, she made me vow
	That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.

PORTIA	That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
	An if your wife be not a mad-woman,
	And know how well I have deserved the ring,
	She would not hold out enemy for ever,
	For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

	[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa]

ANTONIO	My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:
	Let his deservings and my love withal
	Be valued against your wife's commandment.

BASSANIO	Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
	Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,
	Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste.

	[Exit Gratiano]

	Come, you and I will thither presently;
	And in the morning early will we both
	Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT IV



SCENE II	The same. A street.


	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed
	And let him sign it: we'll away to-night
	And be a day before our husbands home:
	This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

	[Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANO	Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en
	My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
	Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
	Your company at dinner.

PORTIA	That cannot be:
	His ring I do accept most thankfully:
	And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,
	I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

GRATIANO	That will I do.

NERISSA	                  Sir, I would speak with you.

	[Aside to PORTIA]

	I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,
	Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

PORTIA	[Aside to NERISSA]  Thou mayst, I warrant.
	We shall have old swearing
	That they did give the rings away to men;
	But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.

	[Aloud]

	Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.

NERISSA	Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


ACT V



SCENE I	Belmont. Avenue to PORTIA'S house.


	[Enter LORENZO and JESSICA]

LORENZO	The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,
	When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
	And they did make no noise, in such a night
	Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls
	And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
	Where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICA	In such a night
	Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew
	And saw the lion's shadow ere himself
	And ran dismay'd away.

LORENZO	In such a night
	Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
	Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love
	To come again to Carthage.

JESSICA	In such a night
	Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
	That did renew old AEson.

LORENZO	In such a night
	Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew
	And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
	As far as Belmont.

JESSICA	                  In such a night
	Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
	Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
	And ne'er a true one.

LORENZO	In such a night
	Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
	Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

JESSICA	I would out-night you, did no body come;
	But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

	[Enter STEPHANO]

LORENZO	Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

STEPHANO	A friend.

LORENZO	A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANO	Stephano is my name; and I bring word
	My mistress will before the break of day
	Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about
	By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
	For happy wedlock hours.

LORENZO	Who comes with her?

STEPHANO	None but a holy hermit and her maid.
	I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

LORENZO	He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
	But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
	And ceremoniously let us prepare
	Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

	[Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOT	Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

LORENZO	Who calls?

LAUNCELOT	Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo?
	Master Lorenzo, sola, sola!

LORENZO	Leave hollaing, man: here.

LAUNCELOT	Sola! where? where?

LORENZO	Here.

LAUNCELOT	Tell him there's a post come from my master, with
	his horn full of good news: my master will be here
	ere morning.

	[Exit]

LORENZO	Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
	And yet no matter: why should we go in?
	My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
	Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
	And bring your music forth into the air.

	[Exit Stephano]

	How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
	Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
	Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
	Become the touches of sweet harmony.
	Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
	Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
	There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
	But in his motion like an angel sings,
	Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
	Such harmony is in immortal souls;
	But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
	Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

	[Enter Musicians]

	Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn!
	With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
	And draw her home with music.

	[Music]

JESSICA	I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

LORENZO	The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
	For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
	Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
	Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
	Which is the hot condition of their blood;
	If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
	Or any air of music touch their ears,
	You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
	Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
	By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
	Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;
	Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
	But music for the time doth change his nature.
	The man that hath no music in himself,
	Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
	Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
	The motions of his spirit are dull as night
	And his affections dark as Erebus:
	Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

	[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIA	That light we see is burning in my hall.
	How far that little candle throws his beams!
	So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

NERISSA	When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

PORTIA	So doth the greater glory dim the less:
	A substitute shines brightly as a king
	Unto the king be by, and then his state
	Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
	Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

NERISSA	It is your music, madam, of the house.

PORTIA	Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
	Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSA	Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIA	The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
	When neither is attended, and I think
	The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
	When every goose is cackling, would be thought
	No better a musician than the wren.
	How many things by season season'd are
	To their right praise and true perfection!
	Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion
	And would not be awaked.

	[Music ceases]

LORENZO	That is the voice,
	Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

PORTIA	He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
	By the bad voice.

LORENZO	                  Dear lady, welcome home.

PORTIA	We have been praying for our husbands' healths,
	Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
	Are they return'd?

LORENZO	                  Madam, they are not yet;
	But there is come a messenger before,
	To signify their coming.

PORTIA	Go in, Nerissa;
	Give order to my servants that they take
	No note at all of our being absent hence;
	Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.

	[A tucket sounds]

LORENZO	Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:
	We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

PORTIA	This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
	It looks a little paler: 'tis a day,
	Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

	[Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and
	their followers]

BASSANIO	We should hold day with the Antipodes,
	If you would walk in absence of the sun.

PORTIA	Let me give light, but let me not be light;
	For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
	And never be Bassanio so for me:
	But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

BASSANIO	I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
	This is the man, this is Antonio,
	To whom I am so infinitely bound.

PORTIA	You should in all sense be much bound to him.
	For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

ANTONIO	No more than I am well acquitted of.

PORTIA	Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
	It must appear in other ways than words,
	Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

GRATIANO	[To NERISSA]  By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;
	In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
	Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
	Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

PORTIA	A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?

GRATIANO	About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
	That she did give me, whose posy was
	For all the world like cutler's poetry
	Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'

NERISSA	What talk you of the posy or the value?
	You swore to me, when I did give it you,
	That you would wear it till your hour of death
	And that it should lie with you in your grave:
	Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
	You should have been respective and have kept it.
	Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge,
	The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.

GRATIANO	He will, an if he live to be a man.

NERISSA	Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

GRATIANO	Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
	A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
	No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk,
	A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
	I could not for my heart deny it him.

PORTIA	You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
	To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:
	A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger
	And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
	I gave my love a ring and made him swear
	Never to part with it; and here he stands;
	I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it
	Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
	That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
	You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief:
	An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

BASSANIO	[Aside]  Why, I were best to cut my left hand off
	And swear I lost the ring defending it.

GRATIANO	My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
	Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed
	Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
	That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;
	And neither man nor master would take aught
	But the two rings.

PORTIA	What ring gave you my lord?
	Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

BASSANIO	If I could add a lie unto a fault,
	I would deny it; but you see my finger
	Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.

PORTIA	Even so void is your false heart of truth.
	By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
	Until I see the ring.

NERISSA	Nor I in yours
	Till I again see mine.

BASSANIO	Sweet Portia,
	If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
	If you did know for whom I gave the ring
	And would conceive for what I gave the ring
	And how unwillingly I left the ring,
	When nought would be accepted but the ring,
	You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

PORTIA	If you had known the virtue of the ring,
	Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
	Or your own honour to contain the ring,
	You would not then have parted with the ring.
	What man is there so much unreasonable,
	If you had pleased to have defended it
	With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
	To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
	Nerissa teaches me what to believe:
	I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.

BASSANIO	No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,
	No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
	Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me
	And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him
	And suffer'd him to go displeased away;
	Even he that did uphold the very life
	Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
	I was enforced to send it after him;
	I was beset with shame and courtesy;
	My honour would not let ingratitude
	So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;
	For, by these blessed candles of the night,
	Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd
	The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

PORTIA	Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:
	Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
	And that which you did swear to keep for me,
	I will become as liberal as you;
	I'll not deny him any thing I have,
	No, not my body nor my husband's bed:
	Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:
	Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:
	If you do not, if I be left alone,
	Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
	I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

NERISSA	And I his clerk; therefore be well advised
	How you do leave me to mine own protection.

GRATIANO	Well, do you so; let not me take him, then;
	For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

ANTONIO	I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

PORTIA	Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.

BASSANIO	Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
	And, in the hearing of these many friends,
	I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
	Wherein I see myself--

PORTIA	Mark you but that!
	In both my eyes he doubly sees himself;
	In each eye, one: swear by your double self,
	And there's an oath of credit.

BASSANIO	Nay, but hear me:
	Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
	I never more will break an oath with thee.

ANTONIO	I once did lend my body for his wealth;
	Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
	Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
	My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
	Will never more break faith advisedly.

PORTIA	Then you shall be his surety. Give him this
	And bid him keep it better than the other.

ANTONIO	Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

BASSANIO	By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

PORTIA	I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;
	For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

NERISSA	And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
	For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
	In lieu of this last night did lie with me.

GRATIANO	Why, this is like the mending of highways
	In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
	What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?

PORTIA	Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed:
	Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;
	It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
	There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,
	Nerissa there her clerk: Lorenzo here
	Shall witness I set forth as soon as you
	And even but now return'd; I have not yet
	Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome;
	And I have better news in store for you
	Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
	There you shall find three of your argosies
	Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
	You shall not know by what strange accident
	I chanced on this letter.

ANTONIO	I am dumb.

BASSANIO	Were you the doctor and I knew you not?

GRATIANO	Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

NERISSA	Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
	Unless he live until he be a man.

BASSANIO	Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow:
	When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

ANTONIO	Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
	For here I read for certain that my ships
	Are safely come to road.

PORTIA	How now, Lorenzo!
	My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

NERISSA	Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.
	There do I give to you and Jessica,
	From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
	After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

LORENZO	Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
	Of starved people.

PORTIA	                  It is almost morning,
	And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
	Of these events at full. Let us go in;
	And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
	And we will answer all things faithfully.

GRATIANO	Let it be so: the first inter'gatory
	That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,
	Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
	Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:
	But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
	That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
	Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing
	So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

	[Exeunt]
	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

FENTON	a gentleman.

SHALLOW	a country justice.

SLENDER	cousin to Shallow.


FORD	|
	|  two gentlemen dwelling at Windsor.
PAGE	|


WILLIAM PAGE	a boy, son to Page.

SIR HUGH EVANS	a Welsh parson.

DOCTOR CAIUS	a French physician.

	Host of the Garter Inn. (Host:)


BARDOLPH	|
	|
PISTOL	|  sharpers attending on Falstaff.
	|
NYM	|


ROBIN	page to Falstaff.

SIMPLE	servant to Slender.

RUGBY	servant to Doctor Caius.

MISTRESS FORD:

MISTRESS PAGE:

ANNE PAGE	her daughter.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	servant to Doctor Caius.

	Servants to Page, Ford, &c.
	(Servant:)
	(First Servant:)
	(Second Servant:)


SCENE	Windsor, and the neighbourhood.




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE I	Windsor. Before PAGE's house.


	[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SHALLOW	Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star-
	chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John
	Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.

SLENDER	In the county of Gloucester, justice of peace and
	'Coram.'

SHALLOW	Ay, cousin Slender, and 'Custalourum.

SLENDER	Ay, and 'Rato-lorum' too; and a gentleman born,
	master parson; who writes himself 'Armigero,' in any
	bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, 'Armigero.'

SHALLOW	Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three
	hundred years.

SLENDER	All his successors gone before him hath done't; and
	all his ancestors that come after him may: they may
	give the dozen white luces in their coat.

SHALLOW	It is an old coat.

SIR HUGH EVANS	The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;
	it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to
	man, and signifies love.

SHALLOW	The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old coat.

SLENDER	I may quarter, coz.

SHALLOW	You may, by marrying.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.

SHALLOW	Not a whit.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Yes, py'r lady; if he has a quarter of your coat,
	there is but three skirts for yourself, in my
	simple conjectures: but that is all one. If Sir
	John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto
	you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my
	benevolence to make atonements and compremises
	between you.

SHALLOW	The council shall bear it; it is a riot.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is not meet the council hear a riot; there is no
	fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, shall
	desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a
	riot; take your vizaments in that.

SHALLOW	Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword
	should end it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it:
	and there is also another device in my prain, which
	peradventure prings goot discretions with it: there
	is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas
	Page, which is pretty virginity.

SLENDER	Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and speaks
	small like a woman.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as
	you will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys,
	and gold and silver, is her grandsire upon his
	death's-bed--Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
	--give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years
	old: it were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles
	and prabbles, and desire a marriage between Master
	Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.

SLENDER	Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.

SLENDER	I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is goot gifts.

SHALLOW	Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do
	despise one that is false, or as I despise one that
	is not true. The knight, Sir John, is there; and, I
	beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will
	peat the door for Master Page.

	[Knocks]

	What, hoa! Got pless your house here!

PAGE	[Within]  Who's there?

	[Enter PAGE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice
	Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that
	peradventures shall tell you another tale, if
	matters grow to your likings.

PAGE	I am glad to see your worships well.
	I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	Master Page, I am glad to see you: much good do it
	your good heart! I wished your venison better; it
	was ill killed. How doth good Mistress Page?--and I
	thank you always with my heart, la! with my heart.

PAGE	Sir, I thank you.

SHALLOW	Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.

PAGE	I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.

SLENDER	How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he
	was outrun on Cotsall.

PAGE	It could not be judged, sir.

SLENDER	You'll not confess, you'll not confess.

SHALLOW	That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis your fault;
	'tis a good dog.

PAGE	A cur, sir.

SHALLOW	Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: can there be
	more said? he is good and fair. Is Sir John
	Falstaff here?

PAGE	Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good
	office between you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.

SHALLOW	He hath wronged me, Master Page.

PAGE	Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.

SHALLOW	If it be confessed, it is not redress'd: is not that
	so, Master Page? He hath wronged me; indeed he
	hath, at a word, he hath, believe me: Robert
	Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wronged.

PAGE	Here comes Sir John.

	[Enter FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL]

FALSTAFF	Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to the king?

SHALLOW	Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and
	broke open my lodge.

FALSTAFF	But not kissed your keeper's daughter?

SHALLOW	Tut, a pin! this shall be answered.

FALSTAFF	I will answer it straight; I have done all this.
	That is now answered.

SHALLOW	The council shall know this.

FALSTAFF	'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:
	you'll be laughed at.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.

FALSTAFF	Good worts! good cabbage. Slender, I broke your
	head: what matter have you against me?

SLENDER	Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;
	and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph,
	Nym, and Pistol.

BARDOLPH	You Banbury cheese!

SLENDER	Ay, it is no matter.

PISTOL	How now, Mephostophilus!

SLENDER	Ay, it is no matter.

NYM	Slice, I say! pauca, pauca: slice! that's my humour.

SLENDER	Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is
	three umpires in this matter, as I understand; that
	is, Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is
	myself, fidelicet myself; and the three party is,
	lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.

PAGE	We three, to hear it and end it between them.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my note-
	book; and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with
	as great discreetly as we can.

FALSTAFF	Pistol!

PISTOL	He hears with ears.

SIR HUGH EVANS	The tevil and his tam! what phrase is this, 'He
	hears with ear'? why, it is affectations.

FALSTAFF	Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?

SLENDER	Ay, by these gloves, did he, or I would I might
	never come in mine own great chamber again else, of
	seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward
	shovel-boards, that cost me two shilling and two
	pence apiece of Yead Miller, by these gloves.

FALSTAFF	Is this true, Pistol?

SIR HUGH EVANS	No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse.

PISTOL	Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and Master mine,
	I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.
	Word of denial in thy labras here!
	Word of denial: froth and scum, thou liest!

SLENDER	By these gloves, then, 'twas he.

NYM	Be avised, sir, and pass good humours: I will say
	'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's
	humour on me; that is the very note of it.

SLENDER	By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for
	though I cannot remember what I did when you made me
	drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.

FALSTAFF	What say you, Scarlet and John?

BARDOLPH	Why, sir, for my part I say the gentleman had drunk
	himself out of his five sentences.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is!

BARDOLPH	And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashiered; and
	so conclusions passed the careires.

SLENDER	Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no
	matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again,
	but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick:
	if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have
	the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.

SIR HUGH EVANS	So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.

FALSTAFF	You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen; you hear it.

	[Enter ANNE PAGE, with wine; MISTRESS FORD
	and MISTRESS PAGE, following]

PAGE	Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.

	[Exit ANNE PAGE]

SLENDER	O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.

PAGE	How now, Mistress Ford!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met:
	by your leave, good mistress.

	[Kisses her]

PAGE	Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a
	hot venison pasty to dinner: come, gentlemen, I hope
	we shall drink down all unkindness.

	[Exeunt all except SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SLENDER	I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of
	Songs and Sonnets here.

	[Enter SIMPLE]

	How now, Simple! where have you been? I must wait
	on myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles
	about you, have you?

SIMPLE	Book of Riddles! why, did you not lend it to Alice
	Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a fortnight
	afore Michaelmas?

SHALLOW	Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word with
	you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a
	tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh
	here. Do you understand me?

SLENDER	Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so,
	I shall do that that is reason.

SHALLOW	Nay, but understand me.

SLENDER	So I do, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Give ear to his motions, Master Slender: I will
	description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.

SLENDER	Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says: I pray
	you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his
	country, simple though I stand here.

SIR HUGH EVANS	But that is not the question: the question is
	concerning your marriage.

SHALLOW	Ay, there's the point, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Marry, is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne Page.

SLENDER	Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any
	reasonable demands.

SIR HUGH EVANS	But can you affection the 'oman? Let us command to
	know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers
	philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the
	mouth. Therefore, precisely, can you carry your
	good will to the maid?

SHALLOW	Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?

SLENDER	I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that
	would do reason.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak
	possitable, if you can carry her your desires
	towards her.

SHALLOW	That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, marry her?

SLENDER	I will do a greater thing than that, upon your
	request, cousin, in any reason.

SHALLOW	Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz: what I do
	is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?

SLENDER	I will marry her, sir, at your request: but if there
	be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may
	decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are
	married and have more occasion to know one another;
	I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt:
	but if you say, 'Marry her,' I will marry her; that
	I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is a fery discretion answer; save the fall is in
	the ort 'dissolutely:' the ort is, according to our
	meaning, 'resolutely:' his meaning is good.

SHALLOW	Ay, I think my cousin meant well.

SLENDER	Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la!

SHALLOW	Here comes fair Mistress Anne.

	[Re-enter ANNE PAGE]

	Would I were young for your sake, Mistress Anne!

ANNE PAGE	The dinner is on the table; my father desires your
	worships' company.

SHALLOW	I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.

	[Exeunt SHALLOW and SIR HUGH EVANS]

ANNE PAGE	Will't please your worship to come in, sir?

SLENDER	No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very well.

ANNE PAGE	The dinner attends you, sir.

SLENDER	I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,
	sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my
	cousin Shallow.

	[Exit SIMPLE]

	A justice of peace sometimes may be beholding to his
	friend for a man. I keep but three men and a boy
	yet, till my mother be dead: but what though? Yet I
	live like a poor gentleman born.

ANNE PAGE	I may not go in without your worship: they will not
	sit till you come.

SLENDER	I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as
	though I did.

ANNE PAGE	I pray you, sir, walk in.

SLENDER	I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruised
	my shin th' other day with playing at sword and
	dagger with a master of fence; three veneys for a
	dish of stewed prunes; and, by my troth, I cannot
	abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do your
	dogs bark so? be there bears i' the town?

ANNE PAGE	I think there are, sir; I heard them talked of.

SLENDER	I love the sport well but I shall as soon quarrel at
	it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see
	the bear loose, are you not?

ANNE PAGE	Ay, indeed, sir.

SLENDER	That's meat and drink to me, now. I have seen
	Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by
	the chain; but, I warrant you, the women have so
	cried and shrieked at it, that it passed: but women,
	indeed, cannot abide 'em; they are very ill-favored
	rough things.

	[Re-enter PAGE]

PAGE	Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.

SLENDER	I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.

PAGE	By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! come, come.

SLENDER	Nay, pray you, lead the way.

PAGE	Come on, sir.

SLENDER	Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.

ANNE PAGE	Not I, sir; pray you, keep on.

SLENDER	I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome.
	You do yourself wrong, indeed, la!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which
	is the way: and there dwells one Mistress Quickly,
	which is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry
	nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and
	his wringer.

SIMPLE	Well, sir.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it
	is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance with
	Mistress Anne Page: and the letter is, to desire
	and require her to solicit your master's desires to
	Mistress Anne Page. I pray you, be gone: I will
	make an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese to come.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE III	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF, Host, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL,
	and ROBIN]

FALSTAFF	Mine host of the Garter!

Host	What says my bully-rook? speak scholarly and wisely.

FALSTAFF	Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my
	followers.

Host	Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them wag; trot, trot.

FALSTAFF	I sit at ten pounds a week.

Host	Thou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and Pheezar. I
	will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall
	tap: said I well, bully Hector?

FALSTAFF	Do so, good mine host.

Host	I have spoke; let him follow.

	[To BARDOLPH]

	Let me see thee froth and lime: I am at a word; follow.

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade:
	an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered
	serving-man a fresh tapster. Go; adieu.

BARDOLPH	It is a life that I have desired: I will thrive.

PISTOL	O base Hungarian wight! wilt thou the spigot wield?

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

NYM	He was gotten in drink: is not the humour conceited?

FALSTAFF	I am glad I am so acquit of this tinderbox: his
	thefts were too open; his filching was like an
	unskilful singer; he kept not time.

NYM	The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.

PISTOL	'Convey,' the wise it call. 'Steal!' foh! a fico
	for the phrase!

FALSTAFF	Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.

PISTOL	Why, then, let kibes ensue.

FALSTAFF	There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must shift.

PISTOL	Young ravens must have food.

FALSTAFF	Which of you know Ford of this town?

PISTOL	I ken the wight: he is of substance good.

FALSTAFF	My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

PISTOL	Two yards, and more.

FALSTAFF	No quips now, Pistol! Indeed, I am in the waist two
	yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about
	thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's
	wife: I spy entertainment in her; she discourses,
	she carves, she gives the leer of invitation: I
	can construe the action of her familiar style; and
	the hardest voice of her behavior, to be Englished
	rightly, is, 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'

PISTOL	He hath studied her will, and translated her will,
	out of honesty into English.

NYM	The anchor is deep: will that humour pass?

FALSTAFF	Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her
	husband's purse: he hath a legion of angels.

PISTOL	As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.

NYM	The humour rises; it is good: humour me the angels.

FALSTAFF	I have writ me here a letter to her: and here
	another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good
	eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious
	oeillades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded my
	foot, sometimes my portly belly.

PISTOL	Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

NYM	I thank thee for that humour.

FALSTAFF	O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a
	greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did
	seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's
	another letter to her: she bears the purse too; she
	is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will
	be cheater to them both, and they shall be
	exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West
	Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go bear thou
	this letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to
	Mistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive.

PISTOL	Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
	And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer take all!

NYM	I will run no base humour: here, take the
	humour-letter: I will keep the havior of reputation.

FALSTAFF	[To ROBIN]  Hold, sirrah, bear you these letters tightly;
	Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.
	Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;
	Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack!
	Falstaff will learn the humour of the age,
	French thrift, you rogues; myself and skirted page.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN]

PISTOL	Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam holds,
	And high and low beguiles the rich and poor:
	Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
	Base Phrygian Turk!

NYM	I have operations which be humours of revenge.

PISTOL	Wilt thou revenge?

NYM	By welkin and her star!

PISTOL	With wit or steel?

NYM	With both the humours, I:
	I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.

PISTOL	     And I to Ford shall eke unfold
	How Falstaff, varlet vile,
	His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
	And his soft couch defile.

NYM	My humour shall not cool: I will incense Page to
	deal with poison; I will possess him with
	yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous:
	that is my true humour.

PISTOL	Thou art the Mars of malecontents: I second thee; troop on.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT I



SCENE IV	A room in DOCTOR CAIUS' house.


	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	What, John Rugby! I pray thee, go to the casement,
	and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor
	Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find any
	body in the house, here will be an old abusing of
	God's patience and the king's English.

RUGBY	I'll go watch.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in
	faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire.

	[Exit RUGBY]

	An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant
	shall come in house withal, and, I warrant you, no
	tell-tale nor no breed-bate: his worst fault is,
	that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish
	that way: but nobody but has his fault; but let
	that pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is?

SIMPLE	Ay, for fault of a better.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And Master Slender's your master?

SIMPLE	Ay, forsooth.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Does he not wear a great round beard, like a
	glover's paring-knife?

SIMPLE	No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, with a
	little yellow beard, a Cain-coloured beard.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	A softly-sprighted man, is he not?

SIMPLE	Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands
	as any is between this and his head; he hath fought
	with a warrener.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	How say you? O, I should remember him: does he not
	hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?

SIMPLE	Yes, indeed, does he.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! Tell
	Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your
	master: Anne is a good girl, and I wish--

	[Re-enter RUGBY]

RUGBY	Out, alas! here comes my master.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man;
	go into this closet: he will not stay long.

	[Shuts SIMPLE in the closet]

	What, John Rugby! John! what, John, I say!
	Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt
	he be not well, that he comes not home.

	[Singing]

	And down, down, adown-a, &c.

	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you,
	go and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert, a box,
	a green-a box: do intend vat I speak? a green-a box.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, forsooth; I'll fetch it you.

	[Aside]

	I am glad he went not in himself: if he had found
	the young man, he would have been horn-mad.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Fe, fe, fe, fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je
	m'en vais a la cour--la grande affaire.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Is it this, sir?

DOCTOR CAIUS	Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere
	is dat knave Rugby?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	What, John Rugby! John!

RUGBY	Here, sir!

DOCTOR CAIUS	You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby. Come,
	take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the court.

RUGBY	'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me!
	Qu'ai-j'oublie! dere is some simples in my closet,
	dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay me, he'll find the young man here, and be mad!

DOCTOR CAIUS	O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villain! larron!

	[Pulling SIMPLE out]

	Rugby, my rapier!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good master, be content.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Wherefore shall I be content-a?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	The young man is an honest man.

DOCTOR CAIUS	What shall de honest man do in my closet? dere is
	no honest man dat shall come in my closet.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. Hear the truth
	of it: he came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vell.

SIMPLE	Ay, forsooth; to desire her to--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Peace, I pray you.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.

SIMPLE	To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to
	speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my
	master in the way of marriage.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my
	finger in the fire, and need not.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baille me some paper.
	Tarry you a little-a while.

	[Writes]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	[Aside to SIMPLE]  I am glad he is so quiet: if he
	had been thoroughly moved, you should have heard him
	so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding,
	man, I'll do you your master what good I can: and
	the very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my
	master,--I may call him my master, look you, for I
	keep his house; and I wash, wring, brew, bake,
	scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds and do
	all myself,--

SIMPLE	[Aside to MISTRESS QUICKLY]  'Tis a great charge to
	come under one body's hand.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	[Aside to SIMPLE]  Are you avised o' that? you
	shall find it a great charge: and to be up early
	and down late; but notwithstanding,--to tell you in
	your ear; I would have no words of it,--my master
	himself is in love with Mistress Anne Page: but
	notwithstanding that, I know Anne's mind,--that's
	neither here nor there.

DOCTOR CAIUS	You jack'nape, give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by
	gar, it is a shallenge: I will cut his troat in dee
	park; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest
	to meddle or make. You may be gone; it is not good
	you tarry here. By gar, I will cut all his two
	stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone to throw
	at his dog:

	[Exit SIMPLE]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Alas, he speaks but for his friend.

DOCTOR CAIUS	It is no matter-a ver dat: do not you tell-a me
	dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I
	vill kill de Jack priest; and I have appointed mine
	host of de Jarteer to measure our weapon. By gar, I
	will myself have Anne Page.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We
	must give folks leave to prate: what, the good-jer!

DOCTOR CAIUS	Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have
	not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my
	door. Follow my heels, Rugby.

	[Exeunt DOCTOR CAIUS and RUGBY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	You shall have An fool's-head of your own. No, I
	know Anne's mind for that: never a woman in Windsor
	knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more
	than I do with her, I thank heaven.

FENTON	[Within]  Who's within there? ho!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Who's there, I trow! Come near the house, I pray you.

	[Enter FENTON]

FENTON	How now, good woman? how dost thou?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	The better that it pleases your good worship to ask.

FENTON	What news? how does pretty Mistress Anne?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and
	gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you
	that by the way; I praise heaven for it.

FENTON	Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? shall I not lose my suit?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but
	notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a
	book, she loves you. Have not your worship a wart
	above your eye?

FENTON	Yes, marry, have I; what of that?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, thereby hangs a tale: good faith, it is such
	another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever
	broke bread: we had an hour's talk of that wart. I
	shall never laugh but in that maid's company! But
	indeed she is given too much to allicholy and
	musing: but for you--well, go to.

FENTON	Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money
	for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf: if
	thou seest her before me, commend me.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Will I? i'faith, that we will; and I will tell your
	worship more of the wart the next time we have
	confidence; and of other wooers.

FENTON	Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Farewell to your worship.

	[Exit FENTON]

	Truly, an honest gentleman: but Anne loves him not;
	for I know Anne's mind as well as another does. Out
	upon't! what have I forgot?

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT II



SCENE I	Before PAGE'S house.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter]

MISTRESS PAGE	What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-
	time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them?
	Let me see.

	[Reads]

	'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though
	Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him
	not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more
	am I; go to then, there's sympathy: you are merry,
	so am I; ha, ha! then there's more sympathy: you
	love sack, and so do I; would you desire better
	sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page,--at
	the least, if the love of soldier can suffice,--
	that I love thee. I will not say, pity me; 'tis
	not a soldier-like phrase: but I say, love me. By me,
	Thine own true knight,
	By day or night,
	Or any kind of light,
	With all his might
	For thee to fight,    JOHN FALSTAFF'
	What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked
	world! One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with
	age to show himself a young gallant! What an
	unweighed behavior hath this Flemish drunkard
	picked--with the devil's name!--out of my
	conversation, that he dares in this manner assay me?
	Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What
	should I say to him? I was then frugal of my
	mirth: Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill
	in the parliament for the putting down of men. How
	shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be,
	as sure as his guts are made of puddings.

	[Enter MISTRESS FORD]

MISTRESS FORD	Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your house.

MISTRESS PAGE	And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very
	ill.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to the contrary.

MISTRESS PAGE	Faith, but you do, in my mind.

MISTRESS FORD	Well, I do then; yet I say I could show you to the
	contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel!

MISTRESS PAGE	What's the matter, woman?

MISTRESS FORD	O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I
	could come to such honour!

MISTRESS PAGE	Hang the trifle, woman! take the honour. What is
	it? dispense with trifles; what is it?

MISTRESS FORD	If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so,
	I could be knighted.

MISTRESS PAGE	What? thou liest! Sir Alice Ford! These knights
	will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the
	article of thy gentry.

MISTRESS FORD	We burn daylight: here, read, read; perceive how I
	might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat
	men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of
	men's liking: and yet he would not swear; praised
	women's modesty; and gave such orderly and
	well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, that I
	would have sworn his disposition would have gone to
	the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere
	and keep place together than the Hundredth Psalm to
	the tune of 'Green Sleeves.' What tempest, I trow,
	threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his
	belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged
	on him? I think the best way were to entertain him
	with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted
	him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like?

MISTRESS PAGE	Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and
	Ford differs! To thy great comfort in this mystery
	of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy
	letter: but let thine inherit first; for, I
	protest, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a
	thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for
	different names--sure, more,--and these are of the
	second edition: he will print them, out of doubt;
	for he cares not what he puts into the press, when
	he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess,
	and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, I will find you
	twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

MISTRESS FORD	Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the very
	words. What doth he think of us?

MISTRESS PAGE	Nay, I know not: it makes me almost ready to
	wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain
	myself like one that I am not acquainted withal;
	for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that I
	know not myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury.

MISTRESS FORD	'Boarding,' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him
	above deck.

MISTRESS PAGE	So will I	if he come under my hatches, I'll never
	to sea again. Let's be revenged on him: let's
	appoint him a meeting; give him a show of comfort in
	his suit and lead him on with a fine-baited delay,
	till he hath pawned his horses to mine host of the Garter.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, I will consent to act any villany against him,
	that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O,
	that my husband saw this letter! it would give
	eternal food to his jealousy.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why, look where he comes; and my good man too: he's
	as far from jealousy as I am from giving him cause;
	and that I hope is an unmeasurable distance.

MISTRESS FORD	You are the happier woman.

MISTRESS PAGE	Let's consult together against this greasy knight.
	Come hither.

	[They retire]

	[Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with NYM]

FORD	Well, I hope it be not so.

PISTOL	Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs:
	Sir John affects thy wife.

FORD	Why, sir, my wife is not young.

PISTOL	He wooes both high and low, both rich and poor,
	Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
	He loves the gallimaufry: Ford, perpend.

FORD	Love my wife!

PISTOL	With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,
	Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels:
	O, odious is the name!

FORD	What name, sir?

PISTOL	The horn, I say. Farewell.
	Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night:
	Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birds do sing.
	Away, Sir Corporal Nym!
	Believe it, Page; he speaks sense.

	[Exit]

FORD	[Aside]  I will be patient; I will find out this.

NYM	[To PAGE]  And this is true; I like not the humour
	of lying. He hath wronged me in some humours: I
	should have borne the humoured letter to her; but I
	have a sword and it shall bite upon my necessity.
	He loves your wife; there's the short and the long.
	My name is Corporal Nym; I speak and I avouch; 'tis
	true: my name is Nym and Falstaff loves your wife.
	Adieu. I love not the humour of bread and cheese,
	and there's the humour of it. Adieu.

	[Exit]

PAGE	'The humour of it,' quoth a'! here's a fellow
	frights English out of his wits.

FORD	I will seek out Falstaff.

PAGE	I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.

FORD	If I do find it: well.

PAGE	I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest
	o' the town commended him for a true man.

FORD	'Twas a good sensible fellow: well.

PAGE	How now, Meg!

	[MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward]

MISTRESS PAGE	Whither go you, George? Hark you.

MISTRESS FORD	How now, sweet Frank! why art thou melancholy?

FORD	I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home, go.

MISTRESS FORD	Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head. Now,
	will you go, Mistress Page?

MISTRESS PAGE	Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George.

	[Aside to MISTRESS FORD]

	Look who comes yonder: she shall be our messenger
	to this paltry knight.

MISTRESS FORD	[Aside to MISTRESS PAGE]  Trust me, I thought on her:
	she'll fit it.

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

MISTRESS PAGE	You are come to see my daughter Anne?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?

MISTRESS PAGE	Go in with us and see: we have an hour's talk with
	you.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and MISTRESS QUICKLY]

PAGE	How now, Master Ford!

FORD	You heard what this knave told me, did you not?

PAGE	Yes: and you heard what the other told me?

FORD	Do you think there is truth in them?

PAGE	Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would
	offer it: but these that accuse him in his intent
	towards our wives are a yoke of his discarded men;
	very rogues, now they be out of service.

FORD	Were they his men?

PAGE	Marry, were they.

FORD	I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at
	the Garter?

PAGE	Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage
	towards my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and
	what he gets more of her than sharp words, let it
	lie on my head.

FORD	I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to
	turn them together. A man may be too confident: I
	would have nothing lie on my head: I cannot be thus satisfied.

PAGE	Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes:
	there is either liquor in his pate or money in his
	purse when he looks so merrily.

	[Enter Host]

	How now, mine host!

Host	How now, bully-rook! thou'rt a gentleman.
	Cavaleiro-justice, I say!

	[Enter SHALLOW]

SHALLOW	I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and
	twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go
	with us? we have sport in hand.

Host	Tell him, cavaleiro-justice; tell him, bully-rook.

SHALLOW	Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh
	the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.

FORD	Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with you.

	[Drawing him aside]

Host	What sayest thou, my bully-rook?

SHALLOW	[To PAGE]  Will you go with us to behold it? My
	merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons;
	and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places;
	for, believe me, I hear the parson is no jester.
	Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be.

	[They converse apart]

Host	Hast thou no suit against my knight, my
	guest-cavaleire?

FORD	None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle of
	burnt sack to give me recourse to him and tell him
	my name is Brook; only for a jest.

Host	My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress;
	--said I well?--and thy name shall be Brook. It is
	a merry knight. Will you go, An-heires?

SHALLOW	Have with you, mine host.

PAGE	I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in
	his rapier.

SHALLOW	Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these times
	you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and
	I know not what: 'tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis
	here, 'tis here. I have seen the time, with my long
	sword I would have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.

Host	Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag?

PAGE	Have with you. I would rather hear them scold than fight.

	[Exeunt Host, SHALLOW, and PAGE]

FORD	Though Page be a secure fool, an stands so firmly
	on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my
	opinion so easily: she was in his company at Page's
	house; and what they made there, I know not. Well,
	I will look further into't: and I have a disguise
	to sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not
	my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestowed.

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT II



SCENE II	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL]


FALSTAFF	I will not lend thee a penny.

PISTOL	Why, then the world's mine oyster.
	Which I with sword will open.

FALSTAFF	Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should
	lay my countenance to pawn; I have grated upon my
	good friends for three reprieves for you and your
	coach-fellow Nym; or else you had looked through
	the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am damned in
	hell for swearing to gentlemen my friends, you were
	good soldiers and tall fellows; and when Mistress
	Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't upon
	mine honour thou hadst it not.

PISTOL	Didst not thou share? hadst thou not fifteen pence?

FALSTAFF	Reason, you rogue, reason: thinkest thou I'll
	endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more
	about me, I am no gibbet for you. Go. A short knife
	and a throng! To your manor of Pickt-hatch! Go.
	You'll not bear a letter for me, you rogue! you
	stand upon your honour! Why, thou unconfinable
	baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep the
	terms of my honour precise: I, I, I myself
	sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand
	and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain to
	shuffle, to hedge and to lurch; and yet you, rogue,
	will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain
	looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your
	bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your
	honour! You will not do it, you!

PISTOL	I do relent: what would thou more of man?

	[Enter ROBIN]

ROBIN	Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.

FALSTAFF	Let her approach.

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Give your worship good morrow.

FALSTAFF	Good morrow, good wife.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Not so, an't please your worship.

FALSTAFF	Good maid, then.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I'll be sworn,
	As my mother was, the first hour I was born.

FALSTAFF	I do believe the swearer. What with me?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?

FALSTAFF	Two thousand, fair woman: and I'll vouchsafe thee
	the hearing.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	There is one Mistress Ford, sir:--I pray, come a
	little nearer this ways:--I myself dwell with master
	Doctor Caius,--

FALSTAFF	Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say,--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Your worship says very true: I pray your worship,
	come a little nearer this ways.

FALSTAFF	I warrant thee, nobody hears; mine own people, mine
	own people.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Are they so? God bless them and make them his servants!

FALSTAFF	Well, Mistress Ford; what of her?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord Lord! your
	worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you and all
	of us, I pray!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford,--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, this is the short and the long of it; you
	have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis
	wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when the
	court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her
	to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and
	lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches, I warrant
	you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift
	after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so
	rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in
	such alligant terms; and in such wine and sugar of
	the best and the fairest, that would have won any
	woman's heart; and, I warrant you, they could never
	get an eye-wink of her: I had myself twenty angels
	given me this morning; but I defy all angels, in
	any such sort, as they say, but in the way of
	honesty: and, I warrant you, they could never get
	her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of
	them all: and yet there has been earls, nay, which
	is more, pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.

FALSTAFF	But what says she to me? be brief, my good
	she-Mercury.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, she hath received your letter, for the which
	she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you
	to notify that her husband will be absence from his
	house between ten and eleven.

FALSTAFF	Ten and eleven?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see the
	picture, she says, that you wot of: Master Ford,
	her husband, will be from home. Alas! the sweet
	woman leads an ill life with him: he's a very
	jealousy man: she leads a very frampold life with
	him, good heart.

FALSTAFF	Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I will
	not fail her.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Why, you say well. But I have another messenger to
	your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty
	commendations to you too: and let me tell you in
	your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, and
	one, I tell you, that will not miss you morning nor
	evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the
	other: and she bade me tell your worship that her
	husband is seldom from home; but she hopes there
	will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote upon
	a man: surely I think you have charms, la; yes, in truth.

FALSTAFF	Not I, I assure thee: setting the attractions of my
	good parts aside I have no other charms.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Blessing on your heart for't!

FALSTAFF	But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and
	Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	That were a jest indeed! they have not so little
	grace, I hope: that were a trick indeed! but
	Mistress Page would desire you to send her your
	little page, of all loves: her husband has a
	marvellous infection to the little page; and truly
	Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in
	Windsor leads a better life than she does: do what
	she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, go
	to bed when she list, rise when she list, all is as
	she will: and truly she deserves it; for if there
	be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must
	send her your page; no remedy.

FALSTAFF	Why, I will.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Nay, but do so, then: and, look you, he may come and
	go between you both; and in any case have a
	nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and
	the boy never need to understand any thing; for
	'tis not good that children should know any
	wickedness: old folks, you know, have discretion,
	as they say, and know the world.

FALSTAFF	Fare thee well: commend me to them both: there's
	my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with
	this woman.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY and ROBIN]

	This news distracts me!

PISTOL	This punk is one of Cupid's carriers:
	Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights:
	Give fire: she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all!

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	Sayest thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'll make
	more of thy old body than I have done. Will they
	yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense
	of so much money, be now a gainer? Good body, I
	thank thee. Let them say 'tis grossly done; so it be
	fairly done, no matter.

	[Enter BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would fain
	speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath
	sent your worship a morning's draught of sack.

FALSTAFF	Brook is his name?

BARDOLPH	Ay, sir.

FALSTAFF	Call him in.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

	Such Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such
	liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress Ford and Mistress Page
	have I encompassed you? go to; via!

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised]

FORD	Bless you, sir!

FALSTAFF	And you, sir! Would you speak with me?

FORD	I make bold to press with so little preparation upon
	you.

FALSTAFF	You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave, drawer.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

FORD	Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much; my name is Brook.

FALSTAFF	Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you.

FORD	Good Sir John, I sue for yours: not to charge you;
	for I must let you understand I think myself in
	better plight for a lender than you are: the which
	hath something embolden'd me to this unseasoned
	intrusion; for they say, if money go before, all
	ways do lie open.

FALSTAFF	Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.

FORD	Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me:
	if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or
	half, for easing me of the carriage.

FALSTAFF	Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your porter.

FORD	I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing.

FALSTAFF	Speak, good Master Brook: I shall be glad to be
	your servant.

FORD	Sir, I hear you are a scholar,--I will be brief
	with you,--and you have been a man long known to me,
	though I had never so good means, as desire, to make
	myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a
	thing to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine
	own imperfection: but, good Sir John, as you have
	one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded,
	turn another into the register of your own; that I
	may pass with a reproof the easier, sith you
	yourself know how easy it is to be such an offender.

FALSTAFF	Very well, sir; proceed.

FORD	There is a gentlewoman in this town; her husband's
	name is Ford.

FALSTAFF	Well, sir.

FORD	I have long loved her, and, I protest to you,
	bestowed much on her; followed her with a doting
	observance; engrossed opportunities to meet her;
	fee'd every slight occasion that could but niggardly
	give me sight of her; not only bought many presents
	to give her, but have given largely to many to know
	what she would have given; briefly, I have pursued
	her as love hath pursued me; which hath been on the
	wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I have
	merited, either in my mind or, in my means, meed,
	I am sure, I have received none; unless experience
	be a jewel that I have purchased at an infinite
	rate, and that hath taught me to say this:

	'Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues;
	Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.'

FALSTAFF	Have you received no promise of satisfaction at her hands?

FORD	Never.

FALSTAFF	Have you importuned her to such a purpose?

FORD	Never.

FALSTAFF	Of what quality was your love, then?

FORD	Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so
	that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place
	where I erected it.

FALSTAFF	To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?

FORD	When I have told you that, I have told you all.
	Some say, that though she appear honest to me, yet in
	other places she enlargeth her mirth so far that
	there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir
	John, here is the heart of my purpose: you are a
	gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable
	discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your
	place and person, generally allowed for your many
	war-like, court-like, and learned preparations.

FALSTAFF	O, sir!

FORD	Believe it, for you know it. There is money; spend
	it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have; only
	give me so much of your time in exchange of it, as
	to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this
	Ford's wife: use your art of wooing; win her to
	consent to you: if any man may, you may as soon as
	any.

FALSTAFF	Would it apply well to the vehemency of your
	affection, that I should win what you would enjoy?
	Methinks you prescribe to yourself very preposterously.

FORD	O, understand my drift. She dwells so securely on
	the excellency of her honour, that the folly of my
	soul dares not present itself: she is too bright to
	be looked against. Now, could I could come to her
	with any detection in my hand, my desires had
	instance and argument to commend themselves: I
	could drive her then from the ward of her purity,
	her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand
	other her defences, which now are too too strongly
	embattled against me. What say you to't, Sir John?

FALSTAFF	Master Brook, I will first make bold with your
	money; next, give me your hand; and last, as I am a
	gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife.

FORD	O good sir!

FALSTAFF	I say you shall.

FORD	Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none.

FALSTAFF	Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want
	none. I shall be with her, I may tell you, by her
	own appointment; even as you came in to me, her
	assistant or go-between parted from me: I say I
	shall be with her between ten and eleven; for at
	that time the jealous rascally knave her husband
	will be forth. Come you to me at night; you shall
	know how I speed.

FORD	I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford,
	sir?

FALSTAFF	Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him not:
	yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the
	jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the
	which his wife seems to me well-favored. I will
	use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer;
	and there's my harvest-home.

FORD	I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him
	if you saw him.

FALSTAFF	Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will
	stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my
	cudgel: it shall hang like a meteor o'er the
	cuckold's horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I
	will predominate over the peasant, and thou shalt
	lie with his wife. Come to me soon at night.
	Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style;
	thou, Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and
	cuckold. Come to me soon at night.

	[Exit]

FORD	What a damned Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is
	ready to crack with impatience. Who says this is
	improvident jealousy? my wife hath sent to him; the
	hour is fixed; the match is made. Would any man
	have thought this? See the hell of having a false
	woman! My bed shall be abused, my coffers
	ransacked, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not
	only receive this villanous wrong, but stand under
	the adoption of abominable terms, and by him that
	does me this wrong. Terms! names! Amaimon sounds
	well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are
	devils' additions, the names of fiends: but
	Cuckold! Wittol!--Cuckold! the devil himself hath
	not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass: he
	will trust his wife; he will not be jealous. I will
	rather trust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh
	the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my
	aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling
	gelding, than my wife with herself; then she plots,
	then she ruminates, then she devises; and what they
	think in their hearts they may effect, they will
	break their hearts but they will effect. God be
	praised for my jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour.
	I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on
	Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it;
	better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
	Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold!

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT II



SCENE III	A field near Windsor.


	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS and RUGBY]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Jack Rugby!

RUGBY	Sir?

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vat is de clock, Jack?

RUGBY	'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promised to meet.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come; he
	has pray his Pible well, dat he is no come: by gar,
	Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be come.

RUGBY	He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill
	him, if he came.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him.
	Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.

RUGBY	Alas, sir, I cannot fence.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Villany, take your rapier.

RUGBY	Forbear; here's company.

	[Enter Host, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE]

Host	Bless thee, bully doctor!

SHALLOW	Save you, Master Doctor Caius!

PAGE	Now, good master doctor!

SLENDER	Give you good morrow, sir.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?

Host	To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee
	traverse; to see thee here, to see thee there; to
	see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy
	distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? is
	he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says my
	AEsculapius? my Galen? my heart of elder? ha! is
	he dead, bully stale? is he dead?

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de vorld; he
	is not show his face.

Host	Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece, my boy!

DOCTOR CAIUS	I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay six or
	seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come.

SHALLOW	He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is a curer of
	souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should
	fight, you go against the hair of your professions.
	Is it not true, Master Page?

PAGE	Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great
	fighter, though now a man of peace.

SHALLOW	Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old and of
	the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to
	make one. Though we are justices and doctors and
	churchmen, Master Page, we have some salt of our
	youth in us; we are the sons of women, Master Page.

PAGE	'Tis true, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor
	Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am sworn of
	the peace: you have showed yourself a wise
	physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise
	and patient churchman. You must go with me, master doctor.

Host	Pardon, guest-justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Mock-vater! vat is dat?

Host	Mock-water, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, den, I have as mush mock-vater as de
	Englishman. Scurvy jack-dog priest! by gar, me
	vill cut his ears.

Host	He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat?

Host	That is, he will make thee amends.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me;
	for, by gar, me vill have it.

Host	And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Me tank you for dat.

Host	And, moreover, bully,--but first, master guest, and
	Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender, go you
	through the town to Frogmore.

	[Aside to them]

PAGE	Sir Hugh is there, is he?

Host	He is there: see what humour he is in; and I will
	bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?

SHALLOW	We will do it.


PAGE	|
	|
SHALLOW	|  Adieu, good master doctor.
	|
SLENDER	|


	[Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a
	jack-an-ape to Anne Page.

Host	Let him die: sheathe thy impatience, throw cold
	water on thy choler: go about the fields with me
	through Frogmore: I will bring thee where Mistress
	Anne Page is, at a farm-house a-feasting; and thou
	shalt woo her. Cried I aim? said I well?

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, me dank you for dat: by gar, I love you;
	and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl,
	de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients.

Host	For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne
	Page. Said I well?

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, 'tis good; vell said.

Host	Let us wag, then.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Come at my heels, Jack Rugby.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE I	A field near Frogmore.


	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE]

SIR HUGH EVANS	I pray you now, good master Slender's serving-man,
	and friend Simple by your name, which way have you
	looked for Master Caius, that calls himself doctor of physic?

SIMPLE	Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward, every
	way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town
	way.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I most fehemently desire you you will also look that
	way.

SIMPLE	I will, sir.

	[Exit]

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and
	trempling of mind! I shall be glad if he have
	deceived me. How melancholies I am! I will knog
	his urinals about his knave's costard when I have
	good opportunities for the ork. 'Pless my soul!

	[Sings]

	To shallow rivers, to whose falls
	Melodious birds sings madrigals;
	There will we make our peds of roses,
	And a thousand fragrant posies.
	To shallow--

	Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry.

	[Sings]

	Melodious birds sing madrigals--
	When as I sat in Pabylon--
	And a thousand vagram posies.
	To shallow &c.

	[Re-enter SIMPLE]

SIMPLE	Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.

SIR HUGH EVANS	He's welcome.

	[Sings]

	To shallow rivers, to whose falls-
	Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?

SIMPLE	No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master
	Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over
	the stile, this way.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep it in your arms.

	[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

SHALLOW	How now, master Parson! Good morrow, good Sir Hugh.
	Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student
	from his book, and it is wonderful.

SLENDER	[Aside]  Ah, sweet Anne Page!

PAGE	'Save you, good Sir Hugh!

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!

SHALLOW	What, the sword and the word! do you study them
	both, master parson?

PAGE	And youthful still! in your doublet and hose this
	raw rheumatic day!

SIR HUGH EVANS	There is reasons and causes for it.

PAGE	We are come to you to do a good office, master parson.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Fery well: what is it?

PAGE	Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike
	having received wrong by some person, is at most
	odds with his own gravity and patience that ever you
	saw.

SHALLOW	I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never
	heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, so
	wide of his own respect.

SIR HUGH EVANS	What is he?

PAGE	I think you know him; Master Doctor Caius, the
	renowned French physician.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I had as
	lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.

PAGE	Why?

SIR HUGH EVANS	He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen,
	--and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave as you
	would desires to be acquainted withal.

PAGE	I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.

SHALLOW	[Aside]  O sweet Anne Page!

SHALLOW	It appears so by his weapons. Keep them asunder:
	here comes Doctor Caius.

	[Enter Host, DOCTOR CAIUS, and RUGBY]

PAGE	Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon.

SHALLOW	So do you, good master doctor.

Host	Disarm them, and let them question: let them keep
	their limbs whole and hack our English.

DOCTOR CAIUS	I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.
	Vherefore vill you not meet-a me?

SIR HUGH EVANS	[Aside to DOCTOR CAIUS]  Pray you, use your patience:
	in good time.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.

SIR HUGH EVANS	[Aside to DOCTOR CAIUS]  Pray you let us not be
	laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you
	in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.

	[Aloud]

	I will knog your urinals about your knave's cockscomb
	for missing your meetings and appointments.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Diable! Jack Rugby,--mine host de Jarteer,--have I
	not stay for him to kill him? have I not, at de place
	I did appoint?

SIR HUGH EVANS	As I am a Christians soul now, look you, this is the
	place appointed: I'll be judgement by mine host of
	the Garter.

Host	Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,
	soul-curer and body-curer!

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ay, dat is very good; excellent.

Host	Peace, I say! hear mine host of the Garter. Am I
	politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I
	lose my doctor? no; he gives me the potions and the
	motions. Shall I lose my parson, my priest, my Sir
	Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the
	no-verbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial; so. Give me
	thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have
	deceived you both; I have directed you to wrong
	places: your hearts are mighty, your skins are
	whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay
	their swords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace;
	follow, follow, follow.

SHALLOW	Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.

SLENDER	[Aside]  O sweet Anne Page!

	[Exeunt SHALLOW, SLENDER, PAGE, and Host]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ha, do I perceive dat? have you make-a de sot of
	us, ha, ha?

SIR HUGH EVANS	This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I
	desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog
	our prains together to be revenge on this same
	scall, scurvy cogging companion, the host of the Garter.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me
	where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you, follow.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE II	A street.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN]

MISTRESS PAGE	Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were wont to
	be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether
	had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?

ROBIN	I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man
	than follow him like a dwarf.

MISTRESS PAGE	O, you are a flattering boy: now I see you'll be a courtier.

	[Enter FORD]

FORD	Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?

MISTRESS PAGE	Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?

FORD	Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want
	of company. I think, if your husbands were dead,
	you two would marry.

MISTRESS PAGE	Be sure of that,--two other husbands.

FORD	Where had you this pretty weather-cock?

MISTRESS PAGE	I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my
	husband had him of. What do you call your knight's
	name, sirrah?

ROBIN	Sir John Falstaff.

FORD	Sir John Falstaff!

MISTRESS PAGE	He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such a
	league between my good man and he! Is your wife at
	home indeed?

FORD	Indeed she is.

MISTRESS PAGE	By your leave, sir: I am sick till I see her.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN]

FORD	Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? hath he any
	thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them.
	Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile, as
	easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve
	score. He pieces out his wife's inclination; he
	gives her folly motion and advantage: and now she's
	going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A
	man may hear this shower sing in the wind. And
	Falstaff's boy with her! Good plots, they are laid;
	and our revolted wives share damnation together.
	Well; I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck
	the borrowed veil of modesty from the so seeming
	Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a secure and
	wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings all
	my neighbours shall cry aim.

	[Clock heard]

	The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me
	search: there I shall find Falstaff: I shall be
	rather praised for this than mocked; for it is as
	positive as the earth is firm that Falstaff is
	there: I will go.

	[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, Host,
	SIR HUGH EVANS, DOCTOR CAIUS, and RUGBY]


SHALLOW	|
	|
PAGE	|  Well met, Master Ford.
	|
&C	|


FORD	Trust me, a good knot: I have good cheer at home;
	and I pray you all go with me.

SHALLOW	I must excuse myself, Master Ford.

SLENDER	And so must I, sir: we have appointed to dine with
	Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for
	more money than I'll speak of.

SHALLOW	We have lingered about a match between Anne Page and
	my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have our answer.

SLENDER	I hope I have your good will, father Page.

PAGE	You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you:
	but my wife, master doctor, is for you altogether.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me: my nursh-a
	Quickly tell me so mush.

Host	What say you to young Master Fenton? he capers, he
	dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he
	speaks holiday, he smells April and May: he will
	carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in his buttons; he
	will carry't.

PAGE	Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is
	of no having: he kept company with the wild prince
	and Poins; he is of too high a region; he knows too
	much. No, he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes
	with the finger of my substance: if he take her,
	let him take her simply; the wealth I have waits on
	my consent, and my consent goes not that way.

FORD	I beseech you heartily, some of you go home with me
	to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have
	sport; I will show you a monster. Master doctor,
	you shall go; so shall you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.

SHALLOW	Well, fare you well: we shall have the freer wooing
	at Master Page's.

	[Exeunt SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Go home, John Rugby; I come anon.

	[Exit RUGBY]

Host	Farewell, my hearts: I will to my honest knight
	Falstaff, and drink canary with him.

	[Exit]

FORD	[Aside]  I think I shall drink in pipe wine first
	with him; I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?

All	Have with you to see this monster.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE III	A room in FORD'S house.


	[Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS FORD	What, John! What, Robert!

MISTRESS PAGE	Quickly, quickly! is the buck-basket--

MISTRESS FORD	I warrant. What, Robin, I say!

	[Enter Servants with a basket]

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, come, come.

MISTRESS FORD	Here, set it down.

MISTRESS PAGE	Give your men the charge; we must be brief.

MISTRESS FORD	Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be
	ready here hard by in the brew-house: and when I
	suddenly call you, come forth, and without any pause
	or staggering take this basket on your shoulders:
	that done, trudge with it in all haste, and carry
	it among the whitsters in Datchet-mead, and there
	empty it in the muddy ditch close by the Thames side.

MISTRESS PAGE	You will do it?

MISTRESS FORD	I ha' told them over and over; they lack no
	direction. Be gone, and come when you are called.

	[Exeunt Servants]

MISTRESS PAGE	Here comes little Robin.

	[Enter ROBIN]

MISTRESS FORD	How now, my eyas-musket! what news with you?

ROBIN	My master, Sir John, is come in at your back-door,
	Mistress Ford, and requests your company.

MISTRESS PAGE	You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?

ROBIN	Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your
	being here and hath threatened to put me into
	everlasting liberty if I tell you of it; for he
	swears he'll turn me away.

MISTRESS PAGE	Thou'rt a good boy: this secrecy of thine shall be
	a tailor to thee and shall make thee a new doublet
	and hose. I'll go hide me.

MISTRESS FORD	Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone.

	[Exit ROBIN]

	Mistress Page, remember you your cue.

MISTRESS PAGE	I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.

	[Exit]

MISTRESS FORD	Go to, then: we'll use this unwholesome humidity,
	this gross watery pumpion; we'll teach him to know
	turtles from jays.

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let
	me die, for I have lived long enough: this is the
	period of my ambition: O this blessed hour!

MISTRESS FORD	O sweet Sir John!

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,
	Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I would
	thy husband were dead: I'll speak it before the
	best lord; I would make thee my lady.

MISTRESS FORD	I your lady, Sir John! alas, I should be a pitiful lady!

FALSTAFF	Let the court of France show me such another. I see
	how thine eye would emulate the diamond: thou hast
	the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the
	ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of
	Venetian admittance.

MISTRESS FORD	A plain kerchief, Sir John: my brows become nothing
	else; nor that well neither.

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say so: thou
	wouldst make an absolute courtier; and the firm
	fixture of thy foot would give an excellent motion
	to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale. I see
	what thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not, Nature
	thy friend. Come, thou canst not hide it.

MISTRESS FORD	Believe me, there is no such thing in me.

FALSTAFF	What made me love thee? let that persuade thee
	there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I
	cannot cog and say thou art this and that, like a
	many of these lisping hawthorn-buds, that come like
	women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury
	in simple time; I cannot: but I love thee; none
	but thee; and thou deservest it.

MISTRESS FORD	Do not betray me, sir. I fear you love Mistress Page.

FALSTAFF	Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the
	Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek
	of a lime-kiln.

MISTRESS FORD	Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you shall one
	day find it.

FALSTAFF	Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not
	be in that mind.

ROBIN	[Within]  Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's
	Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and
	looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.

FALSTAFF	She shall not see me: I will ensconce me behind the arras.

MISTRESS FORD	Pray you, do so: she's a very tattling woman.

	[FALSTAFF hides himself]

	[Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN]

	What's the matter? how now!

MISTRESS PAGE	O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're shamed,
	you're overthrown, you're undone for ever!

MISTRESS FORD	What's the matter, good Mistress Page?

MISTRESS PAGE	O well-a-day, Mistress Ford! having an honest man
	to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!

MISTRESS FORD	What cause of suspicion?

MISTRESS PAGE	What cause of suspicion! Out pon you! how am I
	mistook in you!

MISTRESS FORD	Why, alas, what's the matter?

MISTRESS PAGE	Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all the
	officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that
	he says is here now in the house by your consent, to
	take an ill advantage of his assence: you are undone.

MISTRESS FORD	'Tis not so, I hope.

MISTRESS PAGE	Pray heaven it be not so, that you have such a man
	here! but 'tis most certain your husband's coming,
	with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a
	one. I come before to tell you. If you know
	yourself clear, why, I am glad of it; but if you
	have a friend here convey, convey him out. Be not
	amazed; call all your senses to you; defend your
	reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever.

MISTRESS FORD	What shall I do? There is a gentleman my dear
	friend; and I fear not mine own shame so much as his
	peril: I had rather than a thousand pound he were
	out of the house.

MISTRESS PAGE	For shame! never stand 'you had rather' and 'you
	had rather:' your husband's here at hand, bethink
	you of some conveyance: in the house you cannot
	hide him. O, how have you deceived me! Look, here
	is a basket: if he be of any reasonable stature, he
	may creep in here; and throw foul linen upon him, as
	if it were going to bucking: or--it is whiting-time
	--send him by your two men to Datchet-mead.

MISTRESS FORD	He's too big to go in there. What shall I do?

FALSTAFF	[Coming forward]  Let me see't, let me see't, O, let
	me see't! I'll in, I'll in. Follow your friend's
	counsel. I'll in.

MISTRESS PAGE	What, Sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight?

FALSTAFF	I love thee. Help me away. Let me creep in here.
	I'll never--

	[Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]

MISTRESS PAGE	Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,
	Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!

MISTRESS FORD	What, John! Robert! John!

	[Exit ROBIN]

	[Re-enter Servants]

	Go take up these clothes here quickly. Where's the
	cowl-staff? look, how you drumble! Carry them to
	the laundress in Datchet-meat; quickly, come.

	[Enter FORD, PAGE, DOCTOR CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

FORD	Pray you, come near: if I suspect without cause,
	why then make sport at me; then let me be your jest;
	I deserve it. How now! whither bear you this?

Servant	To the laundress, forsooth.

MISTRESS FORD	Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? You
	were best meddle with buck-washing.

FORD	Buck! I would I could wash myself of the buck!
	Buck, buck, buck! Ay, buck; I warrant you, buck;
	and of the season too, it shall appear.

	[Exeunt Servants with the basket]

	Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you my
	dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my
	chambers; search, seek, find out: I'll warrant
	we'll unkennel the fox. Let me stop this way first.

	[Locking the door]

	So, now uncape.

PAGE	Good Master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself too much.

FORD	True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen: you shall see
	sport anon: follow me, gentlemen.

	[Exit]

SIR HUGH EVANS	This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not
	jealous in France.

PAGE	Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his search.

	[Exeunt PAGE, DOCTOR CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Is there not a double excellency in this?

MISTRESS FORD	I know not which pleases me better, that my husband
	is deceived, or Sir John.

MISTRESS PAGE	What a taking was he in when your husband asked who
	was in the basket!

MISTRESS FORD	I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so
	throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.

MISTRESS PAGE	Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the same
	strain were in the same distress.

MISTRESS FORD	I think my husband hath some special suspicion of
	Falstaff's being here; for I never saw him so gross
	in his jealousy till now.

MISTRESS PAGE	I will lay a plot to try that; and we will yet have
	more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute disease will
	scarce obey this medicine.

MISTRESS FORD	Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress
	Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the
	water; and give him another hope, to betray him to
	another punishment?

MISTRESS PAGE	We will do it: let him be sent for to-morrow,
	eight o'clock, to have amends.

	[Re-enter FORD, PAGE, DOCTOR CAIUS, and
	SIR HUGH EVANS]

FORD	I cannot find him: may be the knave bragged of that
	he could not compass.

MISTRESS PAGE	[Aside to MISTRESS FORD]  Heard you that?

MISTRESS FORD	You use me well, Master Ford, do you?

FORD	Ay, I do so.

MISTRESS FORD	Heaven make you better than your thoughts!

FORD	Amen!

MISTRESS PAGE	You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.

FORD	Ay, ay; I must bear it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	If there be any pody in the house, and in the
	chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses,
	heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment!

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, nor I too: there is no bodies.

PAGE	Fie, fie, Master Ford! are you not ashamed? What
	spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I
	would not ha' your distemper in this kind for the
	wealth of Windsor Castle.

FORD	'Tis my fault, Master Page: I suffer for it.

SIR HUGH EVANS	You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife is as
	honest a 'omans as I will desires among five
	thousand, and five hundred too.

DOCTOR CAIUS	By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.

FORD	Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, come, walk in
	the Park: I pray you, pardon me; I will hereafter
	make known to you why I have done this. Come,
	wife; come, Mistress Page. I pray you, pardon me;
	pray heartily, pardon me.

PAGE	Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock
	him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house
	to breakfast: after, we'll a-birding together; I
	have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so?

FORD	Any thing.

SIR HUGH EVANS	If there is one, I shall make two in the company.

DOCTOR CAIUS	If dere be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.

FORD	Pray you, go, Master Page.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I pray you now, remembrance tomorrow on the lousy
	knave, mine host.

DOCTOR CAIUS	Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart!

SIR HUGH EVANS	A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE IV	A room in PAGE'S house.


	[Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE]

FENTON	I see I cannot get thy father's love;
	Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.

ANNE PAGE	Alas, how then?

FENTON	                  Why, thou must be thyself.
	He doth object I am too great of birth--,
	And that, my state being gall'd with my expense,
	I seek to heal it only by his wealth:
	Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
	My riots past, my wild societies;
	And tells me 'tis a thing impossible
	I should love thee but as a property.

ANNE PAGE	May be he tells you true.

FENTON	No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!
	Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth
	Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne:
	Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
	Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags;
	And 'tis the very riches of thyself
	That now I aim at.

ANNE PAGE	                  Gentle Master Fenton,
	Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir:
	If opportunity and humblest suit
	Cannot attain it, why, then,--hark you hither!

	[They converse apart]

	[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY]

SHALLOW	Break their talk, Mistress Quickly: my kinsman shall
	speak for himself.

SLENDER	I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: 'slid, 'tis but
	venturing.

SHALLOW	Be not dismayed.

SLENDER	No, she shall not dismay me: I care not for that,
	but that I am afeard.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Hark ye; Master Slender would speak a word with you.

ANNE PAGE	I come to him.

	[Aside]

	This is my father's choice.
	O, what a world of vile ill-favor'd faults
	Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a-year!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a word with you.

SHALLOW	She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father!

SLENDER	I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell you
	good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress
	Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out of
	a pen, good uncle.

SHALLOW	Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.

SLENDER	Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in
	Gloucestershire.

SHALLOW	He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.

SLENDER	Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under the
	degree of a squire.

SHALLOW	He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure.

ANNE PAGE	Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.

SHALLOW	Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that good
	comfort. She calls you, coz: I'll leave you.

ANNE PAGE	Now, Master Slender,--

SLENDER	Now, good Mistress Anne,--

ANNE PAGE	What is your will?

SLENDER	My will! 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest
	indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I
	am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.

ANNE PAGE	I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?

SLENDER	Truly, for mine own part, I would little or nothing
	with you. Your father and my uncle hath made
	motions: if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be
	his dole! They can tell you how things go better
	than I can: you may ask your father; here he comes.

	[Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE]

PAGE	Now, Master Slender: love him, daughter Anne.
	Why, how now! what does Master Fenton here?
	You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house:
	I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of.

FENTON	Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.

MISTRESS PAGE	Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.

PAGE	She is no match for you.

FENTON	Sir, will you hear me?

PAGE	No, good Master Fenton.
	Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender, in.
	Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.

	[Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Speak to Mistress Page.

FENTON	Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter
	In such a righteous fashion as I do,
	Perforce, against all cheques, rebukes and manners,
	I must advance the colours of my love
	And not retire: let me have your good will.

ANNE PAGE	Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.

MISTRESS PAGE	I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	That's my master, master doctor.

ANNE PAGE	Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth
	And bowl'd to death with turnips!

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master Fenton,
	I will not be your friend nor enemy:
	My daughter will I question how she loves you,
	And as I find her, so am I affected.
	Till then farewell, sir: she must needs go in;
	Her father will be angry.

FENTON	Farewell, gentle mistress: farewell, Nan.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE and ANNE PAGE]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	This is my doing, now: 'Nay,' said I, 'will you cast
	away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on
	Master Fenton:' this is my doing.

FENTON	I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night
	Give my sweet Nan this ring: there's for thy pains.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Now heaven send thee good fortune!

	[Exit FENTON]

	A kind heart he hath: a woman would run through
	fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I
	would my master had Mistress Anne; or I would
	Master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would Master
	Fenton had her; I will do what I can for them all
	three; for so I have promised, and I'll be as good
	as my word; but speciously for Master Fenton. Well,
	I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff from
	my two mistresses: what a beast am I to slack it!

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT III



SCENE V	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Bardolph, I say,--

BARDOLPH	Here, sir.

FALSTAFF	Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in't.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

	Have I lived to be carried in a basket, like a
	barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the
	Thames? Well, if I be served such another trick,
	I'll have my brains ta'en out and buttered, and give
	them to a dog for a new-year's gift. The rogues
	slighted me into the river with as little remorse as
	they would have drowned a blind bitch's puppies,
	fifteen i' the litter: and you may know by my size
	that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the
	bottom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had
	been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and
	shallow,--a death that I abhor; for the water swells
	a man; and what a thing should I have been when I
	had been swelled! I should have been a mountain of mummy.

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH with sack]

BARDOLPH	Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you.

FALSTAFF	Let me pour in some sack to the Thames water; for my
	belly's as cold as if I had swallowed snowballs for
	pills to cool the reins. Call her in.

BARDOLPH	Come in, woman!

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By your leave; I cry you mercy: give your worship
	good morrow.

FALSTAFF	Take away these chalices. Go brew me a pottle of
	sack finely.

BARDOLPH	With eggs, sir?

FALSTAFF	Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage.

	[Exit BARDOLPH]
	How now!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress Ford.

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was thrown
	into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Alas the day! good heart, that was not her fault:
	she does so take on with her men; they mistook their erection.

FALSTAFF	So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn
	your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning
	a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her
	between eight and nine: I must carry her word
	quickly: she'll make you amends, I warrant you.

FALSTAFF	Well, I will visit her: tell her so; and bid her
	think what a man is: let her consider his frailty,
	and then judge of my merit.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I will tell her.

FALSTAFF	Do so. Between nine and ten, sayest thou?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Eight and nine, sir.

FALSTAFF	Well, be gone: I will not miss her.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Peace be with you, sir.

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me word
	to stay within: I like his money well. O, here he comes.

	[Enter FORD]

FORD	Bless you, sir!

FALSTAFF	Now, master Brook, you come to know what hath passed
	between me and Ford's wife?

FORD	That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.

FALSTAFF	Master Brook, I will not lie to you: I was at her
	house the hour she appointed me.

FORD	And sped you, sir?

FALSTAFF	Very ill-favoredly, Master Brook.

FORD	How so, sir? Did she change her determination?

FALSTAFF	No, Master Brook; but the peaking Cornuto her
	husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual
	'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our
	encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested,
	and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy;
	and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither
	provoked and instigated by his distemper, and,
	forsooth, to search his house for his wife's love.

FORD	What, while you were there?

FALSTAFF	While I was there.

FORD	And did he search for you, and could not find you?

FALSTAFF	You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes
	in one Mistress Page; gives intelligence of Ford's
	approach; and, in her invention and Ford's wife's
	distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket.

FORD	A buck-basket!

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, a buck-basket! rammed me in with foul
	shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy
	napkins; that, Master Brook, there was the rankest
	compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril.

FORD	And how long lay you there?

FALSTAFF	Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have
	suffered to bring this woman to evil for your good.
	Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's
	knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their
	mistress to carry me in the name of foul clothes to
	Datchet-lane: they took me on their shoulders; met
	the jealous knave their master in the door, who
	asked them once or twice what they had in their
	basket: I quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave
	would have searched it; but fate, ordaining he
	should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well: on went he
	for a search, and away went I for foul clothes. But
	mark the sequel, Master Brook: I suffered the pangs
	of three several deaths; first, an intolerable
	fright, to be detected with a jealous rotten
	bell-wether; next, to be compassed, like a good
	bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to
	point, heel to head; and then, to be stopped in,
	like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes
	that fretted in their own grease: think of that,--a
	man of my kidney,--think of that,--that am as subject
	to heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution
	and thaw: it was a miracle to scape suffocation.
	And in the height of this bath, when I was more than
	half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be
	thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing hot,
	in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of
	that,--hissing hot,--think of that, Master Brook.

FORD	In good sadness, I am sorry that for my sake you
	have sufferd all this. My suit then is desperate;
	you'll undertake her no more?

FALSTAFF	Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I have
	been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her
	husband is this morning gone a-birding: I have
	received from her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt
	eight and nine is the hour, Master Brook.

FORD	'Tis past eight already, sir.

FALSTAFF	Is it? I will then address me to my appointment.
	Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall
	know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be
	crowned with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall
	have her, Master Brook; Master Brook, you shall
	cuckold Ford.

	[Exit]

FORD	Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? do I
	sleep? Master Ford awake! awake, Master Ford!
	there's a hole made in your best coat, Master Ford.
	This 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have linen
	and buck-baskets! Well, I will proclaim myself
	what I am: I will now take the lecher; he is at my
	house; he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impossible he
	should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse,
	nor into a pepper-box: but, lest the devil that
	guides him should aid him, I will search
	impossible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid,
	yet to be what I would not shall not make me tame:
	if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go
	with me: I'll be horn-mad.

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE I	A street.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and
	WILLIAM PAGE]

MISTRESS PAGE	Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sure he is by this, or will be presently: but,
	truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing
	into the water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.

MISTRESS PAGE	I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my young
	man here to school. Look, where his master comes;
	'tis a playing-day, I see.

	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS]

	How now, Sir Hugh! no school to-day?

SIR HUGH EVANS	No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Blessing of his heart!

MISTRESS PAGE	Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits nothing in
	the world at his book. I pray you, ask him some
	questions in his accidence.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.

MISTRESS PAGE	Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your
	master, be not afraid.

SIR HUGH EVANS	William, how many numbers is in nouns?

WILLIAM PAGE	Two.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Truly, I thought there had been one number more,
	because they say, ''Od's nouns.'

SIR HUGH EVANS	Peace your tattlings! What is 'fair,' William?

WILLIAM PAGE	Pulcher.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Polecats! there are fairer things than polecats, sure.

SIR HUGH EVANS	You are a very simplicity 'oman: I pray you peace.
	What is 'lapis,' William?

WILLIAM PAGE	A stone.

SIR HUGH EVANS	And what is 'a stone,' William?

WILLIAM PAGE	A pebble.

SIR HUGH EVANS	No, it is 'lapis:' I pray you, remember in your prain.

WILLIAM PAGE	Lapis.

SIR HUGH EVANS	That is a good William. What is he, William, that
	does lend articles?

WILLIAM PAGE	Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be thus
	declined, Singulariter, nominativo, hic, haec, hoc.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark:
	genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?

WILLIAM PAGE	Accusativo, hinc.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I pray you, have your remembrance, child,
	accusative, hung, hang, hog.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the focative
	case, William?

WILLIAM PAGE	O,--vocativo, O.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Remember, William; focative is caret.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And that's a good root.

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Oman, forbear.

MISTRESS PAGE	Peace!

SIR HUGH EVANS	What is your genitive case plural, William?

WILLIAM PAGE	Genitive case!

SIR HUGH EVANS	Ay.

WILLIAM PAGE	Genitive,--horum, harum, horum.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Vengeance of Jenny's case! fie on her! never name
	her, child, if she be a whore.

SIR HUGH EVANS	For shame, 'oman.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	You do ill to teach the child such words: he
	teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do
	fast enough of themselves, and to call 'horum:' fie upon you!

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no
	understandings for thy cases and the numbers of the
	genders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures as
	I would desires.

MISTRESS PAGE	Prithee, hold thy peace.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Show me now, William, some declensions of your pronouns.

WILLIAM PAGE	Forsooth, I have forgot.

SIR HUGH EVANS	It is qui, quae, quod: if you forget your 'quies,'
	your 'quaes,' and your 'quods,' you must be
	preeches. Go your ways, and play; go.

MISTRESS PAGE	He is a better scholar than I thought he was.

SIR HUGH EVANS	He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.

MISTRESS PAGE	Adieu, good Sir Hugh.

	[Exit SIR HUGH EVANS]

	Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE II	A room in FORD'S house.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD]

FALSTAFF	Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my
	sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love,
	and I profess requital to a hair's breadth; not
	only, Mistress Ford, in the simple
	office of love, but in all the accoutrement,
	complement and ceremony of it. But are you
	sure of your husband now?

MISTRESS FORD	He's a-birding, sweet Sir John.

MISTRESS PAGE	[Within]  What, ho, gossip Ford! what, ho!

MISTRESS FORD	Step into the chamber, Sir John.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS PAGE	How now, sweetheart! who's at home besides yourself?

MISTRESS FORD	Why, none but mine own people.

MISTRESS PAGE	Indeed!

MISTRESS FORD	No, certainly.

	[Aside to her]

	Speak louder.

MISTRESS PAGE	Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.

MISTRESS FORD	Why?

MISTRESS PAGE	Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again:
	he so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails
	against all married mankind; so curses all Eve's
	daughters, of what complexion soever; and so buffets
	himself on the forehead, crying, 'Peer out, peer
	out!' that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but
	tameness, civility and patience, to this his
	distemper he is in now: I am glad the fat knight is not here.

MISTRESS FORD	Why, does he talk of him?

MISTRESS PAGE	Of none but him; and swears he was carried out, the
	last time he searched for him, in a basket; protests
	to my husband he is now here, and hath drawn him and
	the rest of their company from their sport, to make
	another experiment of his suspicion: but I am glad
	the knight is not here; now he shall see his own foolery.

MISTRESS FORD	How near is he, Mistress Page?

MISTRESS PAGE	Hard by; at street end; he will be here anon.

MISTRESS FORD	I am undone! The knight is here.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why then you are utterly shamed, and he's but a dead
	man. What a woman are you!--Away with him, away
	with him! better shame than murder.

FORD	Which way should be go? how should I bestow him?
	Shall I put him into the basket again?

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	No, I'll come no more i' the basket. May I not go
	out ere he come?

MISTRESS PAGE	Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the door
	with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise
	you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?

FALSTAFF	What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney.

MISTRESS FORD	There they always use to discharge their
	birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole.

FALSTAFF	Where is it?

MISTRESS FORD	He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,
	coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an
	abstract for the remembrance of such places, and
	goes to them by his note: there is no hiding you in the house.

FALSTAFF	I'll go out then.

MISTRESS PAGE	If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir
	John. Unless you go out disguised--

MISTRESS FORD	How might we disguise him?

MISTRESS PAGE	Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's gown
	big enough for him otherwise he might put on a hat,
	a muffler and a kerchief, and so escape.

FALSTAFF	Good hearts, devise something: any extremity rather
	than a mischief.

MISTRESS FORD	My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a
	gown above.

MISTRESS PAGE	On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he
	is: and there's her thrummed hat and her muffler
	too. Run up, Sir John.

MISTRESS FORD	Go, go, sweet Sir John: Mistress Page and I will
	look some linen for your head.

MISTRESS PAGE	Quick, quick! we'll come dress you straight: put
	on the gown the while.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

MISTRESS FORD	I would my husband would meet him in this shape: he
	cannot abide the old woman of Brentford; he swears
	she's a witch; forbade her my house and hath
	threatened to beat her.

MISTRESS PAGE	Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel, and the
	devil guide his cudgel afterwards!

MISTRESS FORD	But is my husband coming?

MISTRESS PAGE	Ah, in good sadness, is he; and talks of the basket
	too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.

MISTRESS FORD	We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry the
	basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as
	they did last time.

MISTRESS PAGE	Nay, but he'll be here presently: let's go dress him
	like the witch of Brentford.

MISTRESS FORD	I'll first direct my men what they shall do with the
	basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight.

	[Exit]

MISTRESS PAGE	Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse him enough.
	We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
	Wives may be merry, and yet honest too:
	We do not act that often jest and laugh;
	'Tis old, but true, Still swine eat all the draff.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter MISTRESS FORD with two Servants]

MISTRESS FORD	Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders:
	your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it
	down, obey him: quickly, dispatch.

	[Exit]

First Servant	Come, come, take it up.

Second Servant	Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.

First Servant	I hope not; I had as lief bear so much lead.

	[Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, DOCTOR CAIUS, and
	SIR HUGH EVANS]

FORD	Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any
	way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket,
	villain! Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket!
	O you panderly rascals! there's a knot, a ging, a
	pack, a conspiracy against me: now shall the devil
	be shamed. What, wife, I say! Come, come forth!
	Behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching!

PAGE	Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go
	loose any longer; you must be pinioned.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad dog!

SHALLOW	Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.

FORD	So say I too, sir.

	[Re-enter MISTRESS FORD]

	Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford the honest
	woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that
	hath the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect
	without cause, mistress, do I?

MISTRESS FORD	Heaven be my witness you do, if you suspect me in
	any dishonesty.

FORD	Well said, brazen-face! hold it out. Come forth, sirrah!

	[Pulling clothes out of the basket]

PAGE	This passes!

MISTRESS FORD	Are you not ashamed? let the clothes alone.

FORD	I shall find you anon.

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your wife's
	clothes? Come away.

FORD	Empty the basket, I say!

MISTRESS FORD	Why, man, why?

FORD	Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed
	out of my house yesterday in this basket: why may
	not he be there again? In my house I am sure he is:
	my intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.
	Pluck me out all the linen.

MISTRESS FORD	If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's death.

PAGE	Here's no man.

SHALLOW	By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this
	wrongs you.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the
	imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies.

FORD	Well, he's not here I seek for.

PAGE	No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.

FORD	Help to search my house this one time. If I find
	not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let
	me for ever be your table-sport; let them say of
	me, 'As jealous as Ford, Chat searched a hollow
	walnut for his wife's leman.' Satisfy me once more;
	once more search with me.

MISTRESS FORD	What, ho, Mistress Page! come you and the old woman
	down; my husband will come into the chamber.

FORD	Old woman! what old woman's that?

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford.

FORD	A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not
	forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does
	she? We are simple men; we do not know what's
	brought to pass under the profession of
	fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells,
	by the figure, and such daubery as this is, beyond
	our element we know nothing. Come down, you witch,
	you hag, you; come down, I say!

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, good, sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let him
	not strike the old woman.

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and
	MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.

FORD	I'll prat her.

	[Beating him]

	Out of my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you
	polecat, you runyon! out, out! I'll conjure you,
	I'll fortune-tell you.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

MISTRESS PAGE	Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the
	poor woman.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you.

FORD	Hang her, witch!

SIR HUGH EVANS	By the yea and no, I think the 'oman is a witch
	indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great peard;
	I spy a great peard under his muffler.

FORD	Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you, follow;
	see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry out thus
	upon no trail, never trust me when I open again.

PAGE	Let's obey his humour a little further: come,
	gentlemen.

	[Exeunt FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, DOCTOR CAIUS, and
	SIR HUGH EVANS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.

MISTRESS FORD	Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he beat him most
	unpitifully, methought.

MISTRESS PAGE	I'll have the cudgel hallowed and hung o'er the
	altar; it hath done meritorious service.

MISTRESS FORD	What think you? may we, with the warrant of
	womanhood and the witness of a good conscience,
	pursue him with any further revenge?

MISTRESS PAGE	The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared out of
	him: if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with
	fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the
	way of waste, attempt us again.

MISTRESS FORD	Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him?

MISTRESS PAGE	Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the
	figures out of your husband's brains. If they can
	find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight
	shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be
	the ministers.

MISTRESS FORD	I'll warrant they'll have him publicly shamed: and
	methinks there would be no period to the jest,
	should he not be publicly shamed.

MISTRESS PAGE	Come, to the forge with it then; shape it: I would
	not have things cool.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE III	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter Host and BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your
	horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at
	court, and they are going to meet him.

Host	What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear
	not of him in the court. Let me speak with the
	gentlemen: they speak English?

BARDOLPH	Ay, sir; I'll call them to you.

Host	They shall have my horses; but I'll make them pay;
	I'll sauce them: they have had my house a week at
	command; I have turned away my other guests: they
	must come off; I'll sauce them. Come.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE IV	A room in FORD'S house.


	[Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD,
	and SIR HUGH EVANS]

SIR HUGH EVANS	'Tis one of the best discretions of a 'oman as ever
	I did look upon.

PAGE	And did he send you both these letters at an instant?

MISTRESS PAGE	Within a quarter of an hour.

FORD	Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what thou wilt;
	I rather will suspect the sun with cold
	Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour stand
	In him that was of late an heretic,
	As firm as faith.

PAGE	'Tis well, 'tis well; no more:
	Be not as extreme in submission
	As in offence.
	But let our plot go forward: let our wives
	Yet once again, to make us public sport,
	Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,
	Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.

FORD	There is no better way than that they spoke of.

PAGE	How? to send him word they'll meet him in the park
	at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come.

SIR HUGH EVANS	You say he has been thrown in the rivers and has
	been grievously peaten as an old 'oman: methinks
	there should be terrors in him that he should not
	come; methinks his flesh is punished, he shall have
	no desires.

PAGE	So think I too.

MISTRESS FORD	Devise but how you'll use him when he comes,
	And let us two devise to bring him thither.

MISTRESS PAGE	There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter,
	Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
	Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,
	Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
	And there he blasts the tree and takes the cattle
	And makes milch-kine yield blood and shakes a chain
	In a most hideous and dreadful manner:
	You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
	The superstitious idle-headed eld
	Received and did deliver to our age
	This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.

PAGE	Why, yet there want not many that do fear
	In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak:
	But what of this?

MISTRESS FORD	                  Marry, this is our device;
	That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us.

PAGE	Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come:
	And in this shape when you have brought him thither,
	What shall be done with him? what is your plot?

MISTRESS PAGE	That likewise have we thought upon, and thus:
	Nan Page my daughter and my little son
	And three or four more of their growth we'll dress
	Like urchins, ouphes and fairies, green and white,
	With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,
	And rattles in their hands: upon a sudden,
	As Falstaff, she and I, are newly met,
	Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once
	With some diffused song: upon their sight,
	We two in great amazedness will fly:
	Then let them all encircle him about
	And, fairy-like, to-pinch the unclean knight,
	And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,
	In their so sacred paths he dares to tread
	In shape profane.

MISTRESS FORD	                  And till he tell the truth,
	Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound
	And burn him with their tapers.

MISTRESS PAGE	The truth being known,
	We'll all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit,
	And mock him home to Windsor.

FORD	The children must
	Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't.

SIR HUGH EVANS	I will teach the children their behaviors; and I
	will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the
	knight with my taber.

FORD	That will be excellent. I'll go and buy them vizards.

MISTRESS PAGE	My Nan shall be the queen of all the fairies,
	Finely attired in a robe of white.

PAGE	That silk will I go buy.

	[Aside]

		   And in that time
	Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away
	And marry her at Eton. Go send to Falstaff straight.

FORD	Nay I'll to him again in name of Brook
	He'll tell me all his purpose: sure, he'll come.

MISTRESS PAGE	Fear not you that. Go get us properties
	And tricking for our fairies.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Let us about it: it is admirable pleasures and fery
	honest knaveries.

	[Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Go, Mistress Ford,
	Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind.

	[Exit MISTRESS FORD]

	I'll to the doctor: he hath my good will,
	And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
	That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;
	And he my husband best of all affects.
	The doctor is well money'd, and his friends
	Potent at court: he, none but he, shall have her,
	Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her.

	[Exit]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE V	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter Host and SIMPLE]

Host	What wouldst thou have, boor? what: thick-skin?
	speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.

SIMPLE	Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff
	from Master Slender.

Host	There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his
	standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about
	with the story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go
	knock and call; hell speak like an Anthropophaginian
	unto thee: knock, I say.

SIMPLE	There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into his
	chamber: I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come
	down; I come to speak with her, indeed.

Host	Ha! a fat woman! the knight may be robbed: I'll
	call. Bully knight! bully Sir John! speak from
	thy lungs military: art thou there? it is thine
	host, thine Ephesian, calls.

FALSTAFF	[Above]  How now, mine host!

Host	Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of
	thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her
	descend; my chambers are honourable: fie! privacy?
	fie!

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	There was, mine host, an old fat woman even now with
	me; but she's gone.

SIMPLE	Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of
	Brentford?

FALSTAFF	Ay, marry, was it, mussel-shell: what would you with her?

SIMPLE	My master, sir, Master Slender, sent to her, seeing
	her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether
	one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the
	chain or no.

FALSTAFF	I spake with the old woman about it.

SIMPLE	And what says she, I pray, sir?

FALSTAFF	Marry, she says that the very same man that
	beguiled Master Slender of his chain cozened him of
	it.

SIMPLE	I would I could have spoken with the woman herself;
	I had other things to have spoken with her too from
	him.

FALSTAFF	What are they? let us know.

Host	Ay, come; quick.

SIMPLE	I may not conceal them, sir.

Host	Conceal them, or thou diest.

SIMPLE	Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress Anne
	Page; to know if it were my master's fortune to
	have her or no.

FALSTAFF	'Tis, 'tis his fortune.

SIMPLE	What, sir?

FALSTAFF	To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me so.

SIMPLE	May I be bold to say so, sir?

FALSTAFF	Ay, sir; like who more bold.

SIMPLE	I thank your worship: I shall make my master glad
	with these tidings.

	[Exit]

Host	Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was
	there a wise woman with thee?

FALSTAFF	Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath taught
	me more wit than ever I learned before in my life;
	and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for
	my learning.

	[Enter BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Out, alas, sir! cozenage, mere cozenage!

Host	Where be my horses? speak well of them, varletto.

BARDOLPH	Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I came
	beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of
	them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away,
	like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.

Host	They are gone but to meet the duke, villain: do not
	say they be fled; Germans are honest men.

	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Where is mine host?

Host	What is the matter, sir?

SIR HUGH EVANS	Have a care of your entertainments: there is a
	friend of mine come to town tells me there is three
	cozen-germans that has cozened all the hosts of
	Readins, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and
	money. I tell you for good will, look you: you
	are wise and full of gibes and vlouting-stocks, and
	'tis not convenient you should be cozened. Fare you well.

	[Exit]

	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vere is mine host de Jarteer?

Host	Here, master doctor, in perplexity and doubtful dilemma.

DOCTOR CAIUS	I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is tell-a me dat
	you make grand preparation for a duke de Jamany: by
	my trot, dere is no duke dat the court is know to
	come. I tell you for good vill: adieu.

	[Exit]

Host	Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight. I am
	undone! Fly, run, hue and cry, villain! I am undone!

	[Exeunt Host and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	I would all the world might be cozened; for I have
	been cozened and beaten too. If it should come to
	the ear of the court, how I have been transformed
	and how my transformation hath been washed and
	cudgelled, they would melt me out of my fat drop by
	drop and liquor fishermen's boots with me; I warrant
	they would whip me with their fine wits till I were
	as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered
	since I forswore myself at primero. Well, if my
	wind were but long enough to say my prayers, I would repent.

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY]

	Now, whence come you?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	From the two parties, forsooth.

FALSTAFF	The devil take one party and his dam the other! and
	so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffered more
	for their sakes, more than the villanous inconstancy
	of man's disposition is able to bear.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant;
	speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart,
	is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see a
	white spot about her.

FALSTAFF	What tellest thou me of black and blue? I was
	beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow;
	and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of
	Brentford: but that my admirable dexterity of wit,
	my counterfeiting the action of an old woman,
	delivered me, the knave constable had set me i' the
	stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber: you
	shall hear how things go; and, I warrant, to your
	content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good
	hearts, what ado here is to bring you together!
	Sure, one of you does not serve heaven well, that
	you are so crossed.

FALSTAFF	Come up into my chamber.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Another room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FENTON and Host]

Host	Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy: I
	will give over all.

FENTON	Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,
	And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee
	A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.

Host	I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will at the
	least keep your counsel.

FENTON	From time to time I have acquainted you
	With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;
	Who mutually hath answer'd my affection,
	So far forth as herself might be her chooser,
	Even to my wish: I have a letter from her
	Of such contents as you will wonder at;
	The mirth whereof so larded with my matter,
	That neither singly can be manifested,
	Without the show of both; fat Falstaff
	Hath a great scene: the image of the jest
	I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host.
	To-night at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,
	Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen;
	The purpose why, is here: in which disguise,
	While other jests are something rank on foot,
	Her father hath commanded her to slip
	Away with Slender and with him at Eton
	Immediately to marry: she hath consented: Now, sir,
	Her mother, ever strong against that match
	And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed
	That he shall likewise shuffle her away,
	While other sports are tasking of their minds,
	And at the deanery, where a priest attends,
	Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot
	She seemingly obedient likewise hath
	Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it rests:
	Her father means she shall be all in white,
	And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
	To take her by the hand and bid her go,
	She shall go with him: her mother hath intended,
	The better to denote her to the doctor,
	For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,
	That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed,
	With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head;
	And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
	To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,
	The maid hath given consent to go with him.

Host	Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

FENTON	Both, my good host, to go along with me:
	And here it rests, that you'll procure the vicar
	To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one,
	And, in the lawful name of marrying,
	To give our hearts united ceremony.

Host	Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar:
	Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.

FENTON	So shall I evermore be bound to thee;
	Besides, I'll make a present recompense.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE I	A room in the Garter Inn.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY]

FALSTAFF	Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll hold. This is
	the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd
	numbers. Away I go. They say there is divinity in
	odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. Away!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I'll provide you a chain; and I'll do what I can to
	get you a pair of horns.

FALSTAFF	Away, I say; time wears: hold up your head, and mince.

	[Exit MISTRESS QUICKLY]

	[Enter FORD]

	How now, Master Brook! Master Brook, the matter
	will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the
	Park about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall
	see wonders.

FORD	Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me
	you had appointed?

FALSTAFF	I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a poor
	old man: but I came from her, Master Brook, like a
	poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband,
	hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him,
	Master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell
	you: he beat me grievously, in the shape of a
	woman; for in the shape of man, Master Brook, I fear
	not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because I know
	also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along
	with me: I'll tell you all, Master Brook. Since I
	plucked geese, played truant and whipped top, I knew
	not what 'twas to be beaten till lately. Follow
	me: I'll tell you strange things of this knave
	Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I
	will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow.
	Strange things in hand, Master Brook! Follow.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE II	Windsor Park.


	[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER]

PAGE	Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle-ditch till we
	see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender,
	my daughter.

SLENDER	Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her and we have a
	nay-word how to know one another: I come to her in
	white, and cry 'mum;' she cries 'budget;' and by
	that we know one another.

SHALLOW	That's good too: but what needs either your 'mum'
	or her 'budget?' the white will decipher her well
	enough. It hath struck ten o'clock.

PAGE	The night is dark; light and spirits will become it
	well. Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil
	but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.
	Let's away; follow me.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE III	A street leading to the Park.


	[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and
	DOCTOR CAIUS]

MISTRESS PAGE	Master doctor, my daughter is in green: when you
	see your time, take her by the band, away with her
	to the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before
	into the Park: we two must go together.

DOCTOR CAIUS	I know vat I have to do. Adieu.

MISTRESS PAGE	Fare you well, sir.

	[Exit DOCTOR CAIUS]

	My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of
	Falstaff as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying
	my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little
	chiding than a great deal of heart-break.

MISTRESS FORD	Where is Nan now and her troop of fairies, and the
	Welsh devil Hugh?

MISTRESS PAGE	They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne's oak,
	with obscured lights; which, at the very instant of
	Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once
	display to the night.

MISTRESS FORD	That cannot choose but amaze him.

MISTRESS PAGE	If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; if he be
	amazed, he will every way be mocked.

MISTRESS FORD	We'll betray him finely.

MISTRESS PAGE	Against such lewdsters and their lechery
	Those that betray them do no treachery.

MISTRESS FORD	The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE IV	Windsor Park.


	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS, disguised, with others as Fairies]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts:
	be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and
	when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you:
	come, come; trib, trib.

	[Exeunt]




	THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the Park.


	[Enter FALSTAFF disguised as Herne]

FALSTAFF	The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
	draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!
	Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love
	set on thy horns. O powerful love! that, in some
	respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, a man
	a beast. You were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love
	of Leda. O omnipotent Love! how near the god drew
	to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in
	the form of a beast. O Jove, a beastly fault! And
	then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think
	on 't, Jove; a foul fault! When gods have hot
	backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a
	Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the
	forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can
	blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here? my
	doe?

	[Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE]

MISTRESS FORD	Sir John! art thou there, my deer? my male deer?

FALSTAFF	My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain
	potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green
	Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits and snow eringoes; let
	there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.

MISTRESS FORD	Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.

FALSTAFF	Divide me like a bribe buck, each a haunch: I will
	keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow
	of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands.
	Am I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the hunter?
	Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes
	restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome!

	[Noise within]

MISTRESS PAGE	Alas, what noise?

MISTRESS FORD	Heaven forgive our sins

FALSTAFF	What should this be?


MISTRESS FORD	|
	|  Away, away!
MISTRESS PAGE	|


	[They run off]

FALSTAFF	I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the
	oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would
	never else cross me thus.

	[Enter SIR HUGH EVANS, disguised as before; PISTOL,
	as Hobgoblin; MISTRESS QUICKLY, ANNE PAGE, and
	others, as Fairies, with tapers]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
	You moonshine revellers and shades of night,
	You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
	Attend your office and your quality.
	Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.

PISTOL	Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.
	Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap:
	Where fires thou find'st unraked and hearths unswept,
	There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry:
	Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery.

FALSTAFF	They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die:
	I'll wink and couch: no man their works must eye.

	[Lies down upon his face]

SIR HUGH EVANS	Where's Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid
	That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,
	Raise up the organs of her fantasy;
	Sleep she as sound as careless infancy:
	But those as sleep and think not on their sins,
	Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides and shins.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	About, about;
	Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out:
	Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room:
	That it may stand till the perpetual doom,
	In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit,
	Worthy the owner, and the owner it.
	The several chairs of order look you scour
	With juice of balm and every precious flower:
	Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest,
	With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
	And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
	Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring:
	The expressure that it bears, green let it be,
	More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;
	And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write
	In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white;
	Let sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery,
	Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee:
	Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
	Away; disperse: but till 'tis one o'clock,
	Our dance of custom round about the oak
	Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set
	And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
	To guide our measure round about the tree.
	But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth.

FALSTAFF	Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he
	transform me to a piece of cheese!

PISTOL	Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	With trial-fire touch me his finger-end:
	If he be chaste, the flame will back descend
	And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
	It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.

PISTOL	A trial, come.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Come, will this wood take fire?

	[They burn him with their tapers]

FALSTAFF	Oh, Oh, Oh!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
	About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;
	And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
	
	SONG.
	Fie on sinful fantasy!
	Fie on lust and luxury!
	Lust is but a bloody fire,
	Kindled with unchaste desire,
	Fed in heart, whose flames aspire
	As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
	Pinch him, fairies, mutually;
	Pinch him for his villany;
	Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
	Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out.

	[During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR CAIUS
	comes one way, and steals away a boy in green;
	SLENDER another way, and takes off a boy in white;
	and FENTON comes and steals away ANN PAGE.
	A noise of hunting is heard within. All the
	Fairies run away. FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's
	head, and rises]

	[Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, and MISTRESS FORD]

PAGE	Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now
	Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn?

MISTRESS PAGE	I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher
	Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
	See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes
	Become the forest better than the town?

FORD	Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook,
	Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his
	horns, Master Brook: and, Master Brook, he hath
	enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his
	cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be
	paid to Master Brook; his horses are arrested for
	it, Master Brook.

MISTRESS FORD	Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet.
	I will never take you for my love again; but I will
	always count you my deer.

FALSTAFF	I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.

FORD	Ay, and an ox too: both the proofs are extant.

FALSTAFF	And these are not fairies? I was three or four
	times in the thought they were not fairies: and yet
	the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my
	powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a
	received belief, in despite of the teeth of all
	rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now
	how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon
	ill employment!

SIR HUGH EVANS	Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your
	desires, and fairies will not pinse you.

FORD	Well said, fairy Hugh.

SIR HUGH EVANS	And leave your jealousies too, I pray you.

FORD	I will never mistrust my wife again till thou art
	able to woo her in good English.

FALSTAFF	Have I laid my brain in the sun and dried it, that
	it wants matter to prevent so gross o'erreaching as
	this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? shall I
	have a coxcomb of frize? 'Tis time I were choked
	with a piece of toasted cheese.

SIR HUGH EVANS	Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all putter.

FALSTAFF	'Seese' and 'putter'! have I lived to stand at the
	taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This
	is enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking
	through the realm.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why Sir John, do you think, though we would have the
	virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders
	and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,
	that ever the devil could have made you our delight?

FORD	What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?

MISTRESS PAGE	A puffed man?

PAGE	Old, cold, withered and of intolerable entrails?

FORD	And one that is as slanderous as Satan?

PAGE	And as poor as Job?

FORD	And as wicked as his wife?

SIR HUGH EVANS	And given to fornications, and to taverns and sack
	and wine and metheglins, and to drinkings and
	swearings and starings, pribbles and prabbles?

FALSTAFF	Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I
	am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh
	flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use
	me as you will.

FORD	Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one
	Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to
	whom you should have been a pander: over and above
	that you have suffered, I think to repay that money
	will be a biting affliction.

PAGE	Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a posset
	to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to
	laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: tell her
	Master Slender hath married her daughter.

MISTRESS PAGE	[Aside]  Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my
	daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife.

	[Enter SLENDER]

SLENDER	Whoa ho! ho, father Page!

PAGE	Son, how now! how now, son! have you dispatched?

SLENDER	Dispatched! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire
	know on't; would I were hanged, la, else.

PAGE	Of what, son?

SLENDER	I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page,
	and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been
	i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he
	should have swinged me. If I did not think it had
	been Anne Page, would I might never stir!--and 'tis
	a postmaster's boy.

PAGE	Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.

SLENDER	What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took
	a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for
	all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had
	him.

PAGE	Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how
	you should know my daughter by her garments?

SLENDER	I went to her in white, and cried 'mum,' and she
	cried 'budget,' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet
	it was not Anne, but a postmaster's boy.

MISTRESS PAGE	Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose;
	turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is
	now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.

	[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS]

DOCTOR CAIUS	Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened: I ha'
	married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy;
	it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened.

MISTRESS PAGE	Why, did you take her in green?

DOCTOR CAIUS	Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar, I'll raise all Windsor.

	[Exit]

FORD	This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?

PAGE	My heart misgives me: here comes Master Fenton.

	[Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE]

	How now, Master Fenton!

ANNE PAGE	Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!

PAGE	Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master Slender?

MISTRESS PAGE	Why went you not with master doctor, maid?

FENTON	You do amaze her: hear the truth of it.
	You would have married her most shamefully,
	Where there was no proportion held in love.
	The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,
	Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
	The offence is holy that she hath committed;
	And this deceit loses the name of craft,
	Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
	Since therein she doth evitate and shun
	A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
	Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.

FORD	Stand not amazed; here is no remedy:
	In love the heavens themselves do guide the state;
	Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.

FALSTAFF	I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to
	strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.

PAGE	Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!
	What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced.

FALSTAFF	When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased.

MISTRESS PAGE	Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,
	Heaven give you many, many merry days!
	Good husband, let us every one go home,
	And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
	Sir John and all.

FORD	                  Let it be so. Sir John,
	To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word
	For he tonight shall lie with Mistress Ford.

	[Exeunt]
	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


THESEUS	Duke of Athens.

EGEUS	father to Hermia.


LYSANDER	|
	|  in love with Hermia.
DEMETRIUS	|


PHILOSTRATE	master of the revels to Theseus.

QUINCE	a carpenter.

SNUG	a joiner.

BOTTOM	a weaver.

FLUTE	a bellows-mender.

SNOUT	a tinker.

STARVELING	a tailor.

HIPPOLYTA	queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus.

HERMIA	daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander.

HELENA	in love with Demetrius.

OBERON	king of the fairies.

TITANIA	queen of the fairies.

PUCK	or Robin Goodfellow.


PEASEBLOSSOM	|
	|
COBWEB	|
	|  fairies.
MOTH	|
	|
MUSTARDSEED	|


	Other fairies attending their King and Queen.

	Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.

SCENE	Athens, and a wood near it.




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT I



SCENE I	Athens. The palace of THESEUS.


	[Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and
	Attendants]

THESEUS	Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
	Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
	Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow
	This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
	Like to a step-dame or a dowager
	Long withering out a young man revenue.

HIPPOLYTA	Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
	Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
	And then the moon, like to a silver bow
	New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
	Of our solemnities.

THESEUS	Go, Philostrate,
	Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
	Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
	Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
	The pale companion is not for our pomp.

	[Exit PHILOSTRATE]

	Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
	And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
	But I will wed thee in another key,
	With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.

	[Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS]

EGEUS	Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

THESEUS	Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

EGEUS	Full of vexation come I, with complaint
	Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
	Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
	This man hath my consent to marry her.
	Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,
	This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;
	Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
	And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
	Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
	With feigning voice verses of feigning love,
	And stolen the impression of her fantasy
	With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
	Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
	Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:
	With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart,
	Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
	To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
	Be it so she; will not here before your grace
	Consent to marry with Demetrius,
	I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,
	As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
	Which shall be either to this gentleman
	Or to her death, according to our law
	Immediately provided in that case.

THESEUS	What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:
	To you your father should be as a god;
	One that composed your beauties, yea, and one
	To whom you are but as a form in wax
	By him imprinted and within his power
	To leave the figure or disfigure it.
	Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

HERMIA	So is Lysander.

THESEUS	                  In himself he is;
	But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
	The other must be held the worthier.

HERMIA	I would my father look'd but with my eyes.

THESEUS	Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

HERMIA	I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
	I know not by what power I am made bold,
	Nor how it may concern my modesty,
	In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
	But I beseech your grace that I may know
	The worst that may befall me in this case,
	If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

THESEUS	Either to die the death or to abjure
	For ever the society of men.
	Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
	Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
	Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
	You can endure the livery of a nun,
	For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
	To live a barren sister all your life,
	Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
	Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
	To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
	But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
	Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
	Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

HERMIA	So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
	Ere I will my virgin patent up
	Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
	My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

THESEUS	Take time to pause; and, by the nest new moon--
	The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
	For everlasting bond of fellowship--
	Upon that day either prepare to die
	For disobedience to your father's will,
	Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
	Or on Diana's altar to protest
	For aye austerity and single life.

DEMETRIUS	Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
	Thy crazed title to my certain right.

LYSANDER	You have her father's love, Demetrius;
	Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

EGEUS	Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,
	And what is mine my love shall render him.
	And she is mine, and all my right of her
	I do estate unto Demetrius.

LYSANDER	I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
	As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
	My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
	If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
	And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
	I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
	Why should not I then prosecute my right?
	Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
	Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
	And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
	Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
	Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

THESEUS	I must confess that I have heard so much,
	And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
	But, being over-full of self-affairs,
	My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
	And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
	I have some private schooling for you both.
	For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
	To fit your fancies to your father's will;
	Or else the law of Athens yields you up--
	Which by no means we may extenuate--
	To death, or to a vow of single life.
	Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?
	Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
	I must employ you in some business
	Against our nuptial and confer with you
	Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

EGEUS	With duty and desire we follow you.

	[Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA]

LYSANDER	How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
	How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA	Belike for want of rain, which I could well
	Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

LYSANDER	Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
	Could ever hear by tale or history,
	The course of true love never did run smooth;
	But, either it was different in blood,--

HERMIA	O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.

LYSANDER	Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--

HERMIA	O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

LYSANDER	Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--

HERMIA	O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.

LYSANDER	Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
	War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
	Making it momentany as a sound,
	Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
	Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
	That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
	And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
	The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
	So quick bright things come to confusion.

HERMIA	If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
	It stands as an edict in destiny:
	Then let us teach our trial patience,
	Because it is a customary cross,
	As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
	Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.

LYSANDER	A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.
	I have a widow aunt, a dowager
	Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
	From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
	And she respects me as her only son.
	There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
	And to that place the sharp Athenian law
	Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,
	Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
	And in the wood, a league without the town,
	Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
	To do observance to a morn of May,
	There will I stay for thee.

HERMIA	My good Lysander!
	I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,
	By his best arrow with the golden head,
	By the simplicity of Venus' doves,
	By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
	And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen,
	When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
	By all the vows that ever men have broke,
	In number more than ever women spoke,
	In that same place thou hast appointed me,
	To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

LYSANDER	Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

	[Enter HELENA]

HERMIA	God speed fair Helena! whither away?

HELENA	Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
	Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
	Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air
	More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
	When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
	Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,
	Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
	My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
	My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
	Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
	The rest I'd give to be to you translated.
	O, teach me how you look, and with what art
	You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

HERMIA	I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

HELENA	O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

HERMIA	I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

HELENA	O that my prayers could such affection move!

HERMIA	The more I hate, the more he follows me.

HELENA	The more I love, the more he hateth me.

HERMIA	His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

HELENA	None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

HERMIA	Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
	Lysander and myself will fly this place.
	Before the time I did Lysander see,
	Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:
	O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
	That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!

LYSANDER	Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
	To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
	Her silver visage in the watery glass,
	Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
	A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,
	Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.

HERMIA	And in the wood, where often you and I
	Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,
	Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
	There my Lysander and myself shall meet;
	And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
	To seek new friends and stranger companies.
	Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;
	And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
	Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
	From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.

LYSANDER	I will, my Hermia.

	[Exit HERMIA]

	Helena, adieu:
	As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

	[Exit]

HELENA	How happy some o'er other some can be!
	Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
	But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
	He will not know what all but he do know:
	And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
	So I, admiring of his qualities:
	Things base and vile, folding no quantity,
	Love can transpose to form and dignity:
	Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
	And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:
	Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste;
	Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:
	And therefore is Love said to be a child,
	Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.
	As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
	So the boy Love is perjured every where:
	For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,
	He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;
	And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
	So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.
	I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
	Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
	Pursue her; and for this intelligence
	If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:
	But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
	To have his sight thither and back again.

	[Exit]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT I



SCENE II	Athens. QUINCE'S house.


	[Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and
	STARVELING]

QUINCE	Is all our company here?

BOTTOM	You were best to call them generally, man by man,
	according to the scrip.

QUINCE	Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is
	thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our
	interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his
	wedding-day at night.

BOTTOM	First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats
	on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow
	to a point.

QUINCE	Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and
	most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

BOTTOM	A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a
	merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your
	actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

QUINCE	Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.

BOTTOM	Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

QUINCE	You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

BOTTOM	What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

QUINCE	A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

BOTTOM	That will ask some tears in the true performing of
	it: if I do it, let the audience look to their
	eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some
	measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a
	tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to
	tear a cat in, to make all split.
	The raging rocks
	And shivering shocks
	Shall break the locks
	Of prison gates;
	And Phibbus' car
	Shall shine from far
	And make and mar
	The foolish Fates.
	This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players.
	This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is
	more condoling.

QUINCE	Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

FLUTE	Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE	Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

FLUTE	What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

QUINCE	It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

FLUTE	Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

QUINCE	That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and
	you may speak as small as you will.

BOTTOM	An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I'll
	speak in a monstrous little voice. 'Thisne,
	Thisne;' 'Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisby dear,
	and lady dear!'

QUINCE	No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.

BOTTOM	Well, proceed.

QUINCE	Robin Starveling, the tailor.

STARVELING	Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE	Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.
	Tom Snout, the tinker.

SNOUT	Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE	You, Pyramus' father: myself, Thisby's father:
	Snug, the joiner; you, the lion's part: and, I
	hope, here is a play fitted.

SNUG	Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it
	be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

QUINCE	You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

BOTTOM	Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will
	do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar,
	that I will make the duke say 'Let him roar again,
	let him roar again.'

QUINCE	An you should do it too terribly, you would fright
	the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek;
	and that were enough to hang us all.

ALL	That would hang us, every mother's son.

BOTTOM	I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the
	ladies out of their wits, they would have no more
	discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my
	voice so that I will roar you as gently as any
	sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any
	nightingale.

QUINCE	You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a
	sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a
	summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man:
	therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

BOTTOM	Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best
	to play it in?

QUINCE	Why, what you will.

BOTTOM	I will discharge it in either your straw-colour
	beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain
	beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your
	perfect yellow.

QUINCE	Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and
	then you will play bare-faced. But, masters, here
	are your parts: and I am to entreat you, request
	you and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night;
	and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the
	town, by moonlight; there will we rehearse, for if
	we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with
	company, and our devices known. In the meantime I
	will draw a bill of properties, such as our play
	wants. I pray you, fail me not.

BOTTOM	We will meet; and there we may rehearse most
	obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.

QUINCE	At the duke's oak we meet.

BOTTOM	Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.

	[Exeunt]




	A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


ACT II



SCENE I	A wood near Athens.


	[Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and PUCK]

PUCK	How now, spirit! whither wander you?

Fairy	     Over hill, over dale,
	Thorough bush, thorough brier,
	Over park, over pale,
	Thorough flood, thorough fire,
	I do wander everywhere,
	Swifter than the moon's sphere;
	And I serve the fairy queen,
	To dew her orbs upon the green.
	The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
	In their gold coats spots you see;
	Those be rubies, fairy favours,
	In those freckles live their savours:
	I must go seek some dewdrops here
	And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
	Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:
	Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

PUCK	The king doth keep his revels here to-night:
	Take heed the queen come not within his sight;
	For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
	Because that she as her attendant hath
	A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;
	She never had so sweet a changeling;
	And jealous Oberon would have the child
	Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;
	But she perforce withholds the loved boy,
	Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:
	And now they never meet in grove or green,
	By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
	But, they do square, that all their elves for fear
	Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

Fairy	Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
	Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
	Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
	That frights the maidens of the villagery;
	Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern
	And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
	And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
	Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
	Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
	You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
	Are not you he?

PUCK	                  Thou speak'st aright;
	I am that merry wanderer of the night.