For so your father charg'd me at our parting: 'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he, Although I think 'twas in another sense- I am content to be Lucentio, Because so well I love Lucentio. LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves; And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. Enter BIONDELLO. Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been? BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes? Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news? LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest, And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, Puts my apparel and my count'nance on, And I for my escape have put on his; For in a quarrel since I came ashore I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried. Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, While I make way from hence to save my life. You understand me? BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit. LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth: Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. BIONDELLO. The better for him; would I were so too! TRANIO. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's, I advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies. When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; But in all places else your master Lucentio. LUCENTIO. Tranio, let's go. One thing more rests, that thyself execute- To make one among these wooers. If thou ask me why- Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. Exeunt The Presenters above speak FIRST SERVANT. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. SLY. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good matter, surely; comes there any more of it? PAGE. My lord, 'tis but begun. SLY. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady Would 'twere done! [They sit and mark] SCENE II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO PETRUCHIO. Verona, for a while I take my leave, To see my friends in Padua; but of all My best beloved and approved friend, Hortensio; and I trow this is his house. Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say. GRUMIO. Knock, sir! Whom should I knock? Is there any man has rebus'd your worship? PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. GRUMIO. Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir? PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate, And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. GRUMIO. My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst. PETRUCHIO. Will it not be? Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock I'll ring it; I'll try how you can sol-fa, and sing it. [He wrings him by the ears] GRUMIO. Help, masters, help! My master is mad. PETRUCHIO. Now knock when I bid you, sirrah villain! Enter HORTENSIO HORTENSIO. How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona? PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? 'Con tutto il cuore ben trovato' may I say. HORTENSIO. Alla nostra casa ben venuto, Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio. Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel. GRUMIO. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service- look you, sir: he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two and thirty, a pip out? Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst. PETRUCHIO. A senseless villain! Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, And could not get him for my heart to do it. GRUMIO. Knock at the gate? O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: 'Sirrah knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly'? And come you now with 'knocking at the gate'? PETRUCHIO. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. HORTENSIO. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge; Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you, Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world To seek their fortunes farther than at home, Where small experience grows. But in a few, Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: Antonio, my father, is deceas'd, And I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive and thrive as best I may; Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world. HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel, And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, And very rich; but th'art too much my friend, And I'll not wish thee to her. PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse- She moves me not, or not removes, at least, Affection's edge in me, were she as rough As are the swelling Adriatic seas. I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; If wealthily, then happily in Padua. GRUMIO. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is. Why, give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she has as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. HORTENSIO. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, I will continue that I broach'd in jest. I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife With wealth enough, and young and beauteous; Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman; Her only fault, and that is faults enough, Is- that she is intolerable curst, And shrewd and froward so beyond all measure That, were my state far worser than it is, I would not wed her for a mine of gold. PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect. Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough; For I will board her though she chide as loud As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. HORTENSIO. Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous gentleman; Her name is Katherina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. PETRUCHIO. I know her father, though I know not her; And he knew my deceased father well. I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; And therefore let me be thus bold with you To give you over at this first encounter, Unless you will accompany me thither. GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my word, and she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so. Why, that's nothing; and he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: an she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir. HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, For in Baptista's keep my treasure is. He hath the jewel of my life in hold, His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca; And her withholds from me, and other more, Suitors to her and rivals in my love; Supposing it a thing impossible- For those defects I have before rehears'd- That ever Katherina will be woo'd. Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, That none shall have access unto Bianca Till Katherine the curst have got a husband. GRUMIO. Katherine the curst! A title for a maid of all titles the worst. HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me disguis'd in sober robes To old Baptista as a schoolmaster Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; That so I may by this device at least Have leave and leisure to make love to her, And unsuspected court her by herself. Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about you. Who goes there, ha? HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile. GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous! [They stand aside] GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note. Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound- All books of love, see that at any hand; And see you read no other lectures to her. You understand me- over and beside Signior Baptista's liberality, I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too, And let me have them very well perfum'd; For she is sweeter than perfume itself To whom they go to. What will you read to her? LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you As for my patron, stand you so assur'd, As firmly as yourself were still in place; Yea, and perhaps with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is! GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is! PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah! HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward] God save you, Signior Gremio! GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. I promis'd to enquire carefully About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca; And by good fortune I have lighted well On this young man; for learning and behaviour Fit for her turn, well read in poetry And other books- good ones, I warrant ye. HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman Hath promis'd me to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress; So shall I no whit be behind in duty To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. GREMIO. Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove. GRUMIO. And that his bags shall prove. HORTENSIO. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love. Listen to me, and if you speak me fair I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katherine; Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. GREMIO. So said, so done, is well. Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold; If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son. My father dead, my fortune lives for me; And I do hope good days and long to see. GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange! But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name; You shall have me assisting you in all. But will you woo this wild-cat? PETRUCHIO. Will I live? GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her. PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent? Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, That gives not half so great a blow to hear As will a chestnut in a fariner's fire? Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. GRUMIO. For he fears none. GREMIO. Hortensio, hark: This gentleman is happily arriv'd, My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. HORTENSIO. I promis'd we would be contributors And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. GREMIO. And so we will- provided that he win her. GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled as LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you mean? TRANIO. Even he, Biondello. GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to- TRANIO. Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do? PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away. LUCENTIO. [Aside] Well begun, Tranio. HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go. Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence? GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence. TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me as for you? GREMIO. But so is not she. TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you? GREMIO. For this reason, if you'll know, That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. HORTENSIO. That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio. TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen, Do me this right- hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, To whom my father is not all unknown, And, were his daughter fairer than she is, She may more suitors have, and me for one. Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one more may fair Bianca have; And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one, Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all! LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade. PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two: The one as famous for a scolding tongue As is the other for beauteous modesty. PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth: The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all access of suitors, And will not promise her to any man Until the elder sister first be wed. The younger then is free, and not before. TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; And if you break the ice, and do this feat, Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access- whose hap shall be to have her Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholding. TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; And do as adversaries do in law- Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone. HORTENSIO. The motion's good indeed, and be it so. Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. Exeunt <> ACT Il. SCENE I. Padua. BAPTISTA'S house Enter KATHERINA and BIANCA BIANCA. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me- That I disdain; but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders. KATHERINA. Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not. BIANCA. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. KATHERINA. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? BIANCA. If you affect him, sister, here I swear I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him. KATHERINA. O then, belike, you fancy riches more: You will have Gremio to keep you fair. BIANCA. Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive You have but jested with me all this while. I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. KATHERINA. [Strikes her] If that be jest, then an the rest was so. Enter BAPTISTA BAPTISTA. Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence? Bianca, stand aside- poor girl! she weeps. [He unbinds her] Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? When did she cross thee with a bitter word? KATHERINA. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. [Flies after BIANCA] BAPTISTA. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. Exit BIANCA KATHERINA. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, And for your love to her lead apes in hell. Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep, Till I can find occasion of revenge. Exit KATHERINA BAPTISTA. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I? But who comes here? Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man; PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO, as LUCENTIO, with his boy, BIONDELLO, bearing a lute and books GREMIO. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. BAPTISTA. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen! PETRUCHIO. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katherina, fair and virtuous? BAPTISTA. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katherina. GREMIO. You are too blunt; go to it orderly. PETRUCHIO. You wrong me, Signior Gremio; give me leave. I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, Her affability and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine, [Presenting HORTENSIO] Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know she is not ignorant. Accept of him, or else you do me wrong- His name is Licio, born in Mantua. BAPTISTA. Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake; But for my daughter Katherine, this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. PETRUCHIO. I see you do not mean to part with her; Or else you like not of my company. BAPTISTA. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name? PETRUCHIO. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy. BAPTISTA. I know him well; you are welcome for his sake. GREMIO. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us that are poor petitioners speak too. Bacare! you are marvellous forward. PETRUCHIO. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio! I would fain be doing. GREMIO. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar [Presenting LUCENTIO] that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is Cambio. Pray accept his service. BAPTISTA. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio. [To TRANIO] But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming? TRANIO. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request- That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, And free access and favour as the rest. And toward the education of your daughters I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books. If you accept them, then their worth is great. BAPTISTA. Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray? TRANIO. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. BAPTISTA. A mighty man of Pisa. By report I know him well. You are very welcome, sir. Take you the lute, and you the set of books; You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within! Enter a SERVANT Sirrah, lead these gentlemen To my daughters; and tell them both These are their tutors. Bid them use them well. Exit SERVANT leading HORTENSIO carrying the lute and LUCENTIO with the books We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. PETRUCHIO. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have bettered rather than decreas'd. Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife? BAPTISTA. After my death, the one half of my lands And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. PETRUCHIO. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, In all my lands and leases whatsoever. Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. BAPTISTA. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, That is, her love; for that is all in all. PETRUCHIO. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury. Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all. So I to her, and so she yields to me; For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. BAPTISTA. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. PETRUCHIO. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, That shake not though they blow perpetually. Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke BAPTISTA. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale? HORTENSIO. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. BAPTISTA. What, will my daughter prove a good musician? HORTENSIO. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier: Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. BAPTISTA. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? HORTENSIO. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 'Frets, call you these?' quoth she 'I'll fume with them.' And with that word she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way; And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute, While she did call me rascal fiddler And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms, As she had studied to misuse me so. PETRUCHIO. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did. O, how I long to have some chat with her! BAPTISTA. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited; Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? PETRUCHIO. I pray you do. Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO I'll attend her here, And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute, and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence. If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week; If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. But here she comes; :Lnd.now, Petruchio, speak. Enter KATHERINA Good morrow, Kate- for that's your name, I hear. KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katherine that do talk of me. PETRUCHIO. You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation- Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. KATHERINA. Mov'd! in good time! Let him that mov'd you hither Remove you hence. I knew you at the first You were a moveable. PETRUCHIO. Why, what's a moveable? KATHERINA. A join'd-stool. PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me. KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you. KATHERINA. No such jade as you, if me you mean. PETRUCHIO. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee! For, knowing thee to be but young and light- KATHERINA. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. PETRUCHIO. Should be! should- buzz! KATHERINA. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee? KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. KATHERINA. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out. KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. KATHERINA. In his tongue. PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue? KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell. PETRUCHIO. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman. KATHERINA. That I'll try. [She strikes him] PETRUCHIO. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms. If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms. PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! KATHERINA. What is your crest- a coxcomb? PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. KATHERINA. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven. PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. KATHERINA. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. PETRUCHIO. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. KATHERINA. There is, there is. PETRUCHIO. Then show it me. KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would. PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face? KATHERINA. Well aim'd of such a young one. PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. KATHERINA. Yet you are wither'd. PETRUCHIO. 'Tis with cares. KATHERINA. I care not. PETRUCHIO. Nay, hear you, Kate- in sooth, you scape not so. KATHERINA. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. PETRUCHIO. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers. Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers; With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt. KATHERINA. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. PETRUCHIO. Did ever Dian so become a grove As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! KATHERINA. Where did you study all this goodly speech? PETRUCHIO. It is extempore, from my mother wit. KATHERINA. A witty mother! witless else her son. PETRUCHIO. Am I not wise? KATHERINA. Yes, keep you warm. PETRUCHIO. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed. And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented That you shall be my wife your dowry greed on; And will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no man but me; For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Conformable as other household Kates. Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO Here comes your father. Never make denial; I must and will have Katherine to my wife. BAPTISTA. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? PETRUCHIO. How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss. BAPTISTA. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps? KATHERINA. Call you me daughter? Now I promise you You have show'd a tender fatherly regard To wish me wed to one half lunatic, A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. PETRUCHIO. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world That talk'd of her have talk'd amiss of her. If she be curst, it is for policy, For,she's not froward, but modest as the dove; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience she will prove a second Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity. And, to conclude, we have 'greed so well together That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. KATHERINA. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. GREMIO. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first. TRANIO. Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part! PETRUCHIO. Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself; If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you 'tis incredible to believe. How much she loves me- O, the kindest Kate! She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices! 'Tis a world to see, How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine. BAPTISTA. I know not what to say; but give me your hands. God send you joy, Petruchio! 'Tis a match. GREMIO, TRANIO. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. PETRUCHIO. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu. I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace; We will have rings and things, and fine array; And kiss me, Kate; we will be married a Sunday. Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA severally GREMIO. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? BAPTISTA. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart. TRANIO. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you; 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. BAPTISTA. The gain I seek is quiet in the match. GREMIO. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: Now is the day we long have looked for; I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. TRANIO. And I am one that love Bianca more Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess. GREMIO. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. TRANIO. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. GREMIO. But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth. TRANIO. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. BAPTISTA. Content you, gentlemen; I will compound this strife. 'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both That can assure my daughter greatest dower Shall have my Bianca's love. Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? GREMIO. First, as you know, my house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold, Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needle-work; Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs To house or housekeeping. Then at my farm I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And if I die to-morrow this is hers, If whilst I live she will be only mine. TRANIO. That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me: I am my father's heir and only son; If I may have your daughter to my wife, I'll leave her houses three or four as good Within rich Pisa's walls as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; Besides two thousand ducats by the year Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio? GREMIO. Two thousand ducats by the year of land! [Aside] My land amounts not to so much in all.- That she shall have, besides an argosy That now is lying in Marseilles road. What, have I chok'd you with an argosy? TRANIO. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her, And twice as much whate'er thou off'rest next. GREMIO. Nay, I have off'red all; I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have; If you like me, she shall have me and mine. TRANIO. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. BAPTISTA. I must confess your offer is the best; And let your father make her the assurance, She is your own. Else, you must pardon me; If you should die before him, where's her dower? TRANIO. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. GREMIO. And may not young men die as well as old? BAPTISTA. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv'd: on Sunday next you know My daughter Katherine is to be married; Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you make this assurance; If not, to Signior Gremio. And so I take my leave, and thank you both. GREMIO. Adieu, good neighbour. Exit BAPTISTA Now, I fear thee not. Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and in his waning age Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. Exit TRANIO. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide! Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten. 'Tis in my head to do my master good: I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio; And that's a wonder- fathers commonly Do get their children; but in this case of wooing A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. Exit <> ACT III. SCENE I. Padua. BAPTISTA'S house Enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, HORTENSIO as LICIO, and BIANCA LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir. Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katherine welcome'd you withal? HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony. Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in music we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far To know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man After his studies or his usual pain? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And while I pause serve in your harmony. HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong To strive for that which resteth in my choice. I arn no breeching scholar in the schools, I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And to cut off all strife: here sit we down; Take you your instrument, play you the whiles! His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? LUCENTIO. That will be never- tune your instrument. BIANCA. Where left we last? LUCENTIO. Here, madam: 'Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus, Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' BIANCA. Construe them. LUCENTIO. 'Hic ibat' as I told you before- 'Simois' I am Lucentio- 'hic est' son unto Vincentio of Pisa- 'Sigeia tellus' disguised thus to get your love- 'Hic steterat' and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing- 'Priami' is my man Tranio- 'regia' bearing my port- 'celsa senis' that we might beguile the old pantaloon. HORTENSIO. Madam, my instrument's in tune. BIANCA. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars. LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois' I know you not- 'hic est Sigeia tellus' I trust you not- 'Hic steterat Priami' take heed he hear us not- 'regia' presume not- 'celsa senis' despair not. HORTENSIO. Madam, 'tis now in tune. LUCENTIO. All but the bass. HORTENSIO. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. [Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love. Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not- for sure, AEacides Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt; But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you. Good master, take it not unkindly, pray, That I have been thus pleasant with you both. HORTENSIO. [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave awhile; My lessons make no music in three Parts. LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait, [Aside] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, Our fine musician groweth amorous. HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the instrument To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art, To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of my trade; And there it is in writing fairly drawn. BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. BIANCA. [Reads] '"Gamut" I am, the ground of all accord- "A re" to plead Hortensio's passion- "B mi" Bianca, take him for thy lord- "C fa ut" that loves with all affection- "D sol re" one clef, two notes have I- "E la mi" show pity or I die.' Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not! Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice To change true rules for odd inventions. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books And help to dress your sister's chamber up. You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone. Exeunt BIANCA and SERVANT LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. Exit HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; Methinks he looks as though he were in love. Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale- Seize thee that list. If once I find thee ranging, HORTENSIO will be quit with thee by changing. Exit SCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA'So house Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO as LUCENTIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and ATTENDANTS BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day That Katherine and Petruchio should be married, And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. What will be said? What mockery will it be To want the bridegroom when the priest attends To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage! What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen, Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour; And, to be noted for a merry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. Now must the world point at poor Katherine, And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please him come and marry her!' TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too. Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word. Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though! Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep, For such an injury would vex a very saint; Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter BIONDELLO Master, master! News, and such old news as you never heard of! BAPTISTA. Is it new and old too? How may that be? BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming? BAPTISTA. Is he come? BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir. BAPTISTA. What then? BIONDELLO. He is coming. BAPTISTA. When will he be here? BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there. TRANIO. But, say, what to thine old news? BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming- in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an old motley saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess'd with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with pack-thread. BAPTISTA. Who comes with him? BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like the horse- with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman's lackey. TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd. BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes. BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not. BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes? BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came? BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came. BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back. BAPTISTA. Why, that's all one. BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many. Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who's at home? BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir. PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well. BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not. TRANIO. Not so well apparell'd As I wish you were. PETRUCHIO. Were it better, I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride? How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown; And wherefore gaze this goodly company As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet or unusual prodigy? BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day. First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival! TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself? PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear; Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, Though in some part enforced to digress, Which at more leisure I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her. BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words; To me she's married, not unto my clothes. Could I repair what she will wear in me As I can change these poor accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. But what a fool am I to chat with you, When I should bid good-morrow to my bride And seal the title with a lovely kiss! Exeunt PETRUCHIO and PETRUCHIO TRANIO. He hath some meaning in his mad attire. We will persuade him, be it possible, To put on better ere he go to church. BAPTISTA. I'll after him and see the event of this. Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, BIONDELLO, and ATTENDENTS TRANIO. But to her love concerneth us to ad Her father's liking; which to bring to pass, As I before imparted to your worship, I am to get a man- whate'er he be It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn- And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, And make assurance here in Padua Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope And marry sweet Bianca with consent. LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, I'll keep mine own despite of all the world. TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into And watch our vantage in this business; We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola, The quaint musician, amorous Licio- All for my master's sake, Lucentio. Re-enter GREMIO Signior Gremio, came you from the church? GREMIO. As willingly as e'er I came from school. TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? 'Tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossible. GREMIO. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. TRANIO. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. GREMIO. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him! I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Should ask if Katherine should be his wife, 'Ay, by gogs-wouns' quoth he, and swore so loud That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book; And as he stoop'd again to take it up, This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff That down fell priest and book, and book and priest. 'Now take them up,' quoth he 'if any list.' TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again? GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why he stamp'd and swore As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if He had been abroad, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel, And threw the sops all in the sexton's face, Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck, And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack That at the parting all the church did echo. And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before. Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music plays] Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, GRUMIO, and train PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains. I know you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer But so it is- my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave. BAPTISTA. Is't possible you will away to-night? PETRUCHIO. I must away to-day before night come. Make it no wonder; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife. Dine with my father, drink a health to me. For I must hence; and farewell to you all. TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. PETRUCHIO. It may not be. GREMIO. Let me entreat you. PETRUCHIO. It cannot be. KATHERINA. Let me entreat you. PETRUCHIO. I am content. KATHERINA. Are you content to stay? PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay. PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse. GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses. KATHERINA. Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself. 'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom That take it on you at the first so roundly. PETRUCHIO. O Kate, content thee; prithee be not angry. KATHERINA. I will be angry; what hast thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner. I see a woman may be made a fool If she had not a spirit to resist. PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. Obey the bride, you that attend on her; Go to the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead; Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves. But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; I will be master of what is mine own- She is my goods, my chattels, she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing, And here she stands; touch her whoever dare; I'll bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate; I'll buckler thee against a million. Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, and GRUMIO BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like. LUCENTIO. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no junkets at the feast. Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; And let Bianca take her sister's room. TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go. Exeunt <> ACT IV. SCENE I. PETRUCHIO'S country house Enter GRUMIO GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray'd? Was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis! Enter CURTIS CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly? GRUMIO. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? GRUMIO. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water. CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou know'st winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot, and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand- she being now at hand- thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office? CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me how goes the world? GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. CURTIS. There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news? GRUMIO. Why, 'Jack boy! ho, boy!' and as much news as thou wilt. CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching! GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where's the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimm'd, rushes strew'd, cobwebs swept, the serving-men in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid, and everything in order? CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news. GRUMIO. First know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fall'n out. CURTIS. How? GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale. CURTIS. Let's ha't, good Grumio. GRUMIO. Lend thine ear. CURTIS. Here. GRUMIO. There. [Striking him] CURTIS. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. GRUMIO. And therefore 'tis call'd a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to knock at your car and beseech list'ning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress- CURTIS. Both of one horse? GRUMIO. What's that to thee? CURTIS. Why, a horse. GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale. But hadst thou not cross'd me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was bemoil'd, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she pray'd that never pray'd before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was burst, how I lost my crupper- with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to thy grave. CURTIS. By this reck'ning he is more shrew than she. GRUMIO. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly comb'd, their blue coats brush'd and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my mastcr's horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? CURTIS. They are. GRUMIO. Call them forth. CURTIS. Do you hear, ho? You must meet my master, to countenance my mistress. GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own. CURTIS. Who knows not that? GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her. CURTIS. I call them forth to credit her. GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. Enter four or five SERVINGMEN NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio! PHILIP. How now, Grumio! JOSEPH. What, Grumio! NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio! NATHANIEL. How now, old lad! GRUMIO. Welcome, you!- how now, you!- what, you!- fellow, you!- and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master? GRUMIO. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not- Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master. Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir. PETRUCHIO. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? Where is the foolish knave I sent before? GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. PETRUCHIO. YOU peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge! Did I not bid thee meet me in the park And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? GRUMIO. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing; There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. PETRUCHIO. Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in. Exeunt some of the SERVINGMEN [Sings] Where is the life that late I led? Where are those- Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud! Re-enter SERVANTS with supper Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when? [Sings] It was the friar of orders grey, As he forth walked on his way- Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry; Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. [Strikes him] Be merry, Kate. Some water, here, what, ho! Enter one with water Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence, And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: Exit SERVINGMAN One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with. Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? [Strikes him] KATHERINA. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling. PETRUCHIO. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I? What's this? Mutton? FIRST SERVANT. Ay. PETRUCHIO. Who brought it? PETER. I. PETRUCHIO. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook? How durst you villains bring it from the dresser And serve it thus to me that love it not? There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all; [Throws the meat, etc., at them] You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. Exeunt SERVANTS KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; The meat was well, if you were so contented. PETRUCHIO. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away, And I expressly am forbid to touch it; For it engenders choler, planteth anger; And better 'twere that both of us did fast, Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended. And for this night we'll fast for company. Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. Exeunt Re-enter SERVANTS severally NATHANIEL. Peter, didst ever see the like? PETER. He kills her in her own humour. Re-enter CURTIS GRUMIO. Where is he? CURTIS. In her chamber. Making a sermon of continency to her, And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak. And sits as one new risen from a dream. Away, away! for he is coming hither. Exeunt Re-enter PETRUCHIO PETRUCHIO. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, And 'tis my hope to end successfully. My falcon now is sharp and passing empty. And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg'd, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard, To make her come, and know her keeper's call, That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites That bate and beat, and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; As with the meat, some undeserved fault I'll find about the making of the bed; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, This way the coverlet, another way the sheets; Ay, and amid this hurly I intend That all is done in reverend care of her- And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night; And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl And with the clamour keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness, And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show. Exit SCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and HORTENSIO as LICIO TRANIO. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. HORTENSIO. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. [They stand aside] Enter BIANCA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? BIANCA. What, master, read you, First resolve me that. LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, 'The Art to Love.' BIANCA. And may you prove, sir, master of your art! LUCENTIO. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. [They retire] HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray, You that durst swear that your Mistress Blanca Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio. Nor a musician as I seem to be; But one that scorn to live in this disguise For such a one as leaves a gentleman And makes a god of such a cullion. Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. TRANIO. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca; And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, I will with you, if you be so contented, Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow Never to woo her more, but do forswear her, As one unworthy all the former favours That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, Never to marry with her though she would entreat; Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him! HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealtlly widow Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard. And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love; and so I take my leave, In resolution as I swore before. Exit TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love, And have forsworn you with Hortensio. BIANCA. Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me? TRANIO. Mistress, we have. LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio. TRANIO. I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now, That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. BIANCA. God give him joy! TRANIO. Ay, and he'll tame her. BIANCA. He says so, Tranio. TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place? TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master, That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue. Enter BIONDELLO BIONDELLO. O master, master, have watch'd so long That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied An ancient angel coming down the hill Will serve the turn. TRANIO. What is he, Biondello? BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant, I know not what; but formal in apparel, In gait and countenance surely like a father. LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio? TRANIO. If he be credulous and trust my tale, I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio, And give assurance to Baptista Minola As if he were the right Vincentio. Take in your love, and then let me alone. Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA Enter a PEDANT PEDANT. God save you, sir! TRANIO. And you, sir; you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two; But then up farther, and as far as Rome; And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. TRANIO. What countryman, I pray? PEDANT. Of Mantua. TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid, And come to Padua, careless of your life! PEDANT. My life, sir! How, I pray? For that goes hard. TRANIO. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? Your ships are stay'd at Venice; and the Duke, For private quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him, Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly. 'Tis marvel- but that you are but newly come, You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. PEDANT. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so! For I have bills for money by exchange From Florence, and must here deliver them. TRANIO. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, This will I do, and this I will advise you- First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? PEDANT. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, Pisa renowned for grave citizens. TRANIO. Among them know you one Vincentio? PEDANT. I know him not, but I have heard of him, A merchant of incomparable wealth. TRANIO. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you. BIONDELLO. [Aside] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity, This favour will I do you for his sake; And think it not the worst of all your fortunes That you are like to Sir Vincentio. His name and credit shall you undertake, And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd; Look that you take upon you as you should. You understand me, sir. So shall you stay Till you have done your business in the city. If this be court'sy, sir, accept of it. PEDANT. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever The patron of my life and liberty. TRANIO. Then go with me to make the matter good. This, by the way, I let you understand: My father is here look'd for every day To pass assurance of a dow'r in marriage 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here. In all these circumstances I'll instruct you. Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. Exeunt SCENE III. PETRUCHIO'S house Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO GRUMIO. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. KATHERINA. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. What, did he marry me to famish me? Beggars that come unto my father's door Upon entreaty have a present alms; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity; But I, who never knew how to entreat, Nor never needed that I should entreat, Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed; And that which spites me more than all these wants- He does it under name of perfect love; As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. I prithee go and get me some repast; I care not what, so it be wholesome food. GRUMIO. What say you to a neat's foot? KATHERINA. 'Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it. GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat. How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd? KATHERINA. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon. GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. KATHERINA. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest. GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio. KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt. GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef. KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, [Beats him] That feed'st me with the very name of meat. Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you That triumph thus upon my misery! Go, get thee gone, I say. Enter PETRUCHIO, and HORTENSIO with meat PETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer? KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be. PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am, To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee. I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word? Nay, then thou lov'st it not, And all my pains is sorted to no proof. Here, take away this dish. KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand. PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. KATHERINA. I thank you, sir. HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame. Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. PETRUCHIO. [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.- Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love, Will we return unto thy father's house And revel it as bravely as the best, With silken coats and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things, With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry. With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry. What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure, To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. Enter TAILOR Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments; Lay forth the gown. Enter HABERDASHER What news with you, sir? HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded on a porringer; A velvet dish. Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy; Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap. Away with it. Come, let me have a bigger. KATHERINA. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then. HORTENSIO. [Aside] That will not be in haste. KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; And speak I will. I am no child, no babe. Your betters have endur'd me say my mind, And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; And rather than it shall, I will be free Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. PETRUCHIO. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap, A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie; I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not. KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; And it I will have, or I will have none. Exit HABERDASHER PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see't. O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon. What, up and down, carv'd like an appletart? Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop. Why, what a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? HORTENSIO. [Aside] I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown. TAILOR. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion and the time. PETRUCHIO. Marry, and did; but if you be rememb'red, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you shall hop without my custom, sir. I'll none of it; hence! make your best of it. KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion'd gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable; Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. TAILOR. She says your worship means to make a puppet of her. PETRUCHIO. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou- Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread! Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made Just as my master had direction. Grumio gave order how it should be done. GRUMIO. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made? GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut? GRUMIO. Thou hast fac'd many things. TAILOR. I have. GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast brav'd many men; brave not me. I will neither be fac'd nor brav'd. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces. Ergo, thou liest. TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. PETRUCHIO. Read it. GRUMIO. The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so. TAILOR. [Reads] 'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown'- GRUMIO. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown bread; I said a gown. PETRUCHIO. Proceed. TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a small compass'd cape'- GRUMIO. I confess the cape. TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a trunk sleeve'- GRUMIO. I confess two sleeves. TAILOR. [Reads] 'The sleeves curiously cut.' PETRUCHIO. Ay, there's the villainy. GRUMIO. Error i' th' bill, sir; error i' th' bill! I commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sew'd up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where, thou shouldst know it. GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy meteyard, and spare not me. HORTENSIO. God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds. PETRUCHIO. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. GRUMIO. You are i' th' right, sir; 'tis for my mistress. PETRUCHIO. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress' gown for thy master's use! PETRUCHIO. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? GRUMIO. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for. Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use! O fie, fie, fie! PETRUCHIO. [Aside] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.- Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more. HORTENSIO. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow; Take no unkindness of his hasty words. Away, I say; commend me to thy master. Exit TAILOR PETRUCHIO. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's Even in these honest mean habiliments; Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peereth in the meanest habit. What, is the jay more precious than the lark Because his feathers are more beautiful? Or is the adder better than the eel Because his painted skin contents the eye? O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse For this poor furniture and mean array. If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me; And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith To feast and sport us at thy father's house. Go call my men, and let us straight to him; And bring our horses unto Long-lane end; There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, And well we may come there by dinner-time. KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two, And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there. PETRUCHIO. It shall be seven ere I go to horse. Look what I speak, or do, or think to do, You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone; I will not go to-day; and ere I do, It shall be what o'clock I say it is. HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun. Exeunt SCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and the PEDANT dressed like VINCENTIO TRANIO. Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call? PEDANT. Ay, what else? And, but I be deceived, Signior Baptista may remember me Near twenty years ago in Genoa, Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. TRANIO. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case, With such austerity as longeth to a father. Enter BIONDELLO PEDANT. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy; 'Twere good he were school'd. TRANIO. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, Now do your duty throughly, I advise you. Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. BIONDELLO. Tut, fear not me. TRANIO. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? BIONDELLO. I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. TRANIO. Th'art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink. Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir. Enter BAPTISTA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO Signior Baptista, you are happily met. [To To the PEDANT] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of; I pray you stand good father to me now; Give me Bianca for my patrimony. PEDANT. Soft, son! Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio Made me acquainted with a weighty cause Of love between your daughter and himself; And- for the good report I hear of you, And for the love he beareth to your daughter, And she to him- to stay him not too long, I am content, in a good father's care, To have him match'd; and, if you please to like No worse than I, upon some agreement Me shall you find ready and willing With one consent to have her so bestow'd; For curious I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. BAPTISTA. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say. Your plainness and your shortness please me well. Right true it is your son Lucentio here Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Or both dissemble deeply their affections; And therefore, if you say no more than this, That like a father you will deal with him, And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, The match is made, and all is done- Your son shall have my daughter with consent. TRANIO. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best We be affied, and such assurance ta'en As shall with either part's agreement stand? BAPTISTA. Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants; Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still, And happily we might be interrupted. TRANIO. Then at my lodging, an it like you. There doth my father lie; and there this night We'll pass the business privately and well. Send for your daughter by your servant here; My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. The worst is this, that at so slender warning You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. BAPTISTA. It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home, And bid Bianca make her ready straight; And, if you will, tell what hath happened- Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Exit LUCENTIO BIONDELLO. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart. TRANIO. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Exit BIONDELLO Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer; Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa. BAPTISTA. I follow you. Exeunt Re-enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and BIONDELLO BIONDELLO. Cambio. LUCENTIO. What say'st thou, Biondello? BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that? BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them. BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. LUCENTIO. And what of him? BIONDELLO. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. LUCENTIO. And then? BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. LUCENTIO. And what of all this? BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum; to th' church take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses. If this be not that you look for, I have more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. LUCENTIO. Hear'st thou, Biondello? BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry. I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix. Exit LUCENTIO. I may and will, if she be so contented. She will be pleas'd; then wherefore should I doubt? Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her; It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. Exit SCENE V. A public road Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and SERVANTS PETRUCHIO. Come on, a God's name; once more toward our father's. Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! KATHERINA. The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now. PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright. KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright. PETRUCHIO. Now by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or ere I journey to your father's house. Go on and fetch our horses back again. Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd! HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go. KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please; And if you please to call it a rush-candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon. KATHERINA. I know it is the moon. PETRUCHIO. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. KATHERINA. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun; But sun it is not, when you say it is not; And the moon changes even as your mind. What you will have it nam'd, even that it is, And so it shall be so for Katherine. HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won. PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against the bias. But, soft! Company is coming here. Enter VINCENTIO [To VINCENTIO] Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?- Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Such war of white and red within her cheeks! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty As those two eyes become that heavenly face? Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. HORTENSIO. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. KATHERINA. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, Whither away, or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child; Happier the man whom favourable stars Allots thee for his lovely bed-fellow. PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad! This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered, And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is. KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the sun That everything I look on seemeth green; Now I perceive thou art a reverend father. Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known Which way thou travellest- if along with us, We shall be joyful of thy company. VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me, My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa, And bound I am to Padua, there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen. PETRUCHIO. What is his name? VINCENTIO. Lucentio, gentle sir. PETRUCHIO. Happily met; the happier for thy son. And now by law, as well as reverend age, I may entitle thee my loving father: The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, Nor be not grieved- she is of good esteem, Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio; And wander we to see thy honest son, Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. VINCENTIO. But is this true; or is it else your pleasure, Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest Upon the company you overtake? HORTENSIO. I do assure thee, father, so it is. PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. Exeunt all but HORTENSIO HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. Have to my widow; and if she be froward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. Exit <> ACT V. SCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house Enter BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO is out before BIONDELLO. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready. LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need the at home, therefore leave us. BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I'll see the church a your back, and then come back to my master's as soon as I can. Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, VINCENTIO, GRUMIO, and ATTENDANTS PETRUCHIO. Sir, here's the door; this is Lucentio's house; My father's bears more toward the market-place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go; I think I shall command your welcome here, And by all likelihood some cheer is toward. [Knocks] GREMIO. They're busy within; you were best knock louder. [PEDANT looks out of the window] PEDANT. What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate? VINCENTIO. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir? PEDANT. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal? PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none so long as I live. PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the window. VINCENTIO. Art thou his father? PEDANT. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. PETRUCHIO. [To VINCENTIO] Why, how now, gentleman! Why, this is flat knavery to take upon you another man's name. PEDANT. Lay hands on the villain; I believe 'a means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. Re-enter BIONDELLO BIONDELLO. I have seen them in the church together. God send 'em good shipping! But who is here? Mine old master, Vicentio! Now we are undone and brought to nothing. VINCENTIO. [Seeing BIONDELLO] Come hither, crack-hemp. BIONDELLO. I hope I may choose, sir. VINCENTIO. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? BIONDELLO. Forgot you! No, sir. I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window. VINCENTIO. Is't so, indeed? [He beats BIONDELLO] BIONDELLO. Help, help, help! Here's a madman will murder me. Exit PEDANT. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! Exit from above PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of this controversy. [They stand aside] Re-enter PEDANT below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and SERVANTS TRANIO. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant? VINCENTIO. What am I, sir? Nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. TRANIO. How now! what's the matter? BAPTISTA. What, is the man lunatic? TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. VINCENTIO. Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. BAPTISTA. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his name? VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio. VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murd'red his master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the Duke's name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio? TRANIO. Call forth an officer. Enter one with an OFFICER Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. VINCENTIO. Carry me to the gaol! GREMIO. Stay, Officer; he shall not go to prison. BAPTISTA. Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison. GREMIO. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catch'd in this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. PEDANT. Swear if thou dar'st. GREMIO. Nay, I dare not swear it. TRANIO. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio. GREMIO. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. BAPTISTA. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him! VINCENTIO. Thus strangers may be hal'd and abus'd. O monstrous villain! Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA BIONDELLO. O, we are spoil'd; and yonder he is! Deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, as fast as may be LUCENTIO. [Kneeling] Pardon, sweet father. VINCENTIO. Lives my sweet son? BIANCA. Pardon, dear father. BAPTISTA. How hast thou offended? Where is Lucentio? LUCENTIO. Here's Lucentio, Right son to the right Vincentio, That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. GREMIO. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! VINCENTIO. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? BAPTISTA. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? BIANCA. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. LUCENTIO. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the town; And happily I have arrived at the last Unto the wished haven of my bliss. What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. VINCENTIO. I'll slit the villain's nose that would have sent me to the gaol. BAPTISTA. [To LUCENTIO] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter without asking my good will? VINCENTIO. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to; but I will in to be revenged for this villainy. Exit BAPTISTA. And I to sound the depth of this knavery. Exit LUCENTIO. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA GREMIO. My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all but my share of the feast. Exit KATHERINA. Husband, let's follow to see the end of this ado. PETRUCHIO. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. KATHERINA. What, in the midst of the street? PETRUCHIO. What, art thou asham'd of me? KATHERINA. No, sir; God forbid; but asham'd to kiss. PETRUCHIO. Why, then, let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away. KATHERINA. Nay, I will give thee a kiss; now pray thee, love, stay. PETRUCHIO. Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate: Better once than never, for never too late. Exeunt SCENE II. LUCENTIO'S house Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the PEDANT, LUCENTIO, BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and WIDOW. The SERVINGMEN with TRANIO, BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO, bringing in a banquet LUCENTIO. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree; And time it is when raging war is done To smile at scapes and perils overblown. My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina, And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, Feast with the best, and welcome to my house. My banquet is to close our stomachs up After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; For now we sit to chat as well as eat. [They sit] PETRUCHIO. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! BAPTISTA. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. PETRUCHIO. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. HORTENSIO. For both our sakes I would that word were true. PETRUCHIO. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. WIDOW. Then never trust me if I be afeard. PETRUCHIO. YOU are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense: I mean Hortensio is afeard of you. WIDOW. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. PETRUCHIO. Roundly replied. KATHERINA. Mistress, how mean you that? WIDOW. Thus I conceive by him. PETRUCHIO. Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that? HORTENSIO. My widow says thus she conceives her tale. PETRUCHIO. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. KATHERINA. 'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.' I pray you tell me what you meant by that. WIDOW. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe; And now you know my meaning. KATHERINA. A very mean meaning. WIDOW. Right, I mean you. KATHERINA. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. PETRUCHIO. To her, Kate! HORTENSIO. To her, widow! PETRUCHIO. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. HORTENSIO. That's my office. PETRUCHIO. Spoke like an officer- ha' to thee, lad. [Drinks to HORTENSIO] BAPTISTA. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? GREMIO. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. BIANCA. Head and butt! An hasty-witted body Would say your head and butt were head and horn. VINCENTIO. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakened you? BIANCA. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. PETRUCHIO. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two. BIANCA. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow. You are welcome all. Exeunt BIANCA, KATHERINA, and WIDOW PETRUCHIO. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. TRANIO. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, Which runs himself, and catches for his master. PETRUCHIO. A good swift simile, but something currish. TRANIO. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. BAPTISTA. O, O, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. LUCENTIO. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. HORTENSIO. Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here? PETRUCHIO. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. BAPTISTA. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. PETRUCHIO. Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance, Let's each one send unto his wife, And he whose wife is most obedient, To come at first when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager which we will propose. HORTENSIO. Content. What's the wager? LUCENTIO. Twenty crowns. PETRUCHIO. Twenty crowns? I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound, But twenty times so much upon my wife. LUCENTIO. A hundred then. HORTENSIO. Content. PETRUCHIO. A match! 'tis done. HORTENSIO. Who shall begin? LUCENTIO. That will I. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. BIONDELLO. I go. Exit BAPTISTA. Son, I'll be your half Bianca comes. LUCENTIO. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself. Re-enter BIONDELLO How now! what news? BIONDELLO. Sir, my mistress sends you word That she is busy and she cannot come. PETRUCHIO. How! She's busy, and she cannot come! Is that an answer? GREMIO. Ay, and a kind one too. Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. PETRUCHIO. I hope better. HORTENSIO. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. Exit BIONDELLO PETRUCHIO. O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. HORTENSIO. I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Re-enter BIONDELLO Now, where's my wife? BIONDELLO. She says you have some goodly jest in hand: She will not come; she bids you come to her. PETRUCHIO. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile, Intolerable, not to be endur'd! Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; Say I command her come to me. Exit GRUMIO HORTENSIO. I know her answer. PETRUCHIO. What? HORTENSIO. She will not. PETRUCHIO. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Re-enter KATHERINA BAPTISTA. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina! KATHERINA. What is your sir, that you send for me? PETRUCHIO. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? KATHERINA. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. PETRUCHIO. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come. Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands. Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. Exit KATHERINA LUCENTIO. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. HORTENSIO. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes. PETRUCHIO. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, An awful rule, and right supremacy; And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy. BAPTISTA. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio! The wager thou hast won; and I will ad Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; Another dowry to another daughter, For she is chang'd, as she had never been. PETRUCHIO. Nay, I will win my wager better yet, And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience. Re-enter KATHERINA with BIANCA and WIDOW See where she comes, and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not: Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot. [KATHERINA complies] WIDOW. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh Till I be brought to such a silly pass! BIANCA. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? LUCENTIO. I would your duty were as foolish too; The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time! BIANCA. The more fool you for laying on my duty. PETRUCHIO. Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. WIDOW. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. PETRUCHIO. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. WIDOW. She shall not. PETRUCHIO. I say she shall. And first begin with her. KATHERINA. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances from those eyes To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled- Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks, and true obedience- Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord? I am asham'd that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toll and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason haply more, To bandy word for word and frown for frown; But now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, And place your hands below your husband's foot; In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready, may it do him ease. PETRUCHIO. Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate. LUCENTIO. Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha't. VINCENTIO. 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward. LUCENTIO. But a harsh hearing when women are froward. PETRUCHIO. Come, Kate, we'll to bed. We three are married, but you two are sped. [To LUCENTIO] 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; And being a winner, God give you good night! Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA HORTENSIO. Now go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a curst shrow. LUCENTIO. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. Exeunt THE END <> 1612 THE TEMPEST by William Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE ALONSO, King of Naples SEBASTIAN, his brother PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples GONZALO, an honest old counsellor Lords ADRIAN FRANCISCO CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave TRINCULO, a jester STEPHANO, a drunken butler MASTER OF A SHIP BOATSWAIN MARINERS MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero ARIEL, an airy spirit Spirits IRIS CERES JUNO NYMPHS REAPERS Other Spirits attending on Prospero <> SCENE: A ship at sea; afterwards an uninhabited island THE TEMPEST ACT I. SCENE 1 On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard Enter a SHIPMASTER and a BOATSWAIN MASTER. Boatswain! BOATSWAIN. Here, master; what cheer? MASTER. Good! Speak to th' mariners; fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground; bestir, bestir. Exit Enter MARINERS BOATSWAIN. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to th' master's whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough. Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND GONZALO, and OTHERS ALONSO. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men. BOATSWAIN. I pray now, keep below. ANTONIO. Where is the master, boson? BOATSWAIN. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour; keep your cabins; you do assist the storm. GONZALO. Nay, good, be patient. BOATSWAIN. When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin! silence! Trouble us not. GONZALO. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. BOATSWAIN. None that I more love than myself. You are counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more. Use your authority; if you cannot, give thanks you have liv'd so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our way, I say. Exit GONZALO. I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging; make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hang'd, our case is miserable. Exeunt Re-enter BOATSWAIN BOATSWAIN. Down with the topmast. Yare, lower, lower! Bring her to try wi' th' maincourse. [A cry within] A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our office. Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO Yet again! What do you here? Shall we give o'er, and drown? Have you a mind to sink? SEBASTIAN. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! BOATSWAIN. Work you, then. ANTONIO. Hang, cur; hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker; we are less afraid to be drown'd than thou art. GONZALO. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench. BOATSWAIN. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses; off to sea again; lay her off. Enter MARINERS, Wet MARINERS. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! Exeunt BOATSWAIN. What, must our mouths be cold? GONZALO. The King and Prince at prayers! Let's assist them, For our case is as theirs. SEBASTIAN. I am out of patience. ANTONIO. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. This wide-chopp'd rascal-would thou mightst lie drowning The washing of ten tides! GONZALO. He'll be hang'd yet, Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise within: Mercy on us! We split, we split! Farewell, my wife and children! Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split!] ANTONIO. Let's all sink wi' th' King. SEBASTIAN. Let's take leave of him. Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN GONZALO. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground-long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done, but I would fain die dry death. Exeunt SCENE 2 The Island. Before PROSPERO'S cell Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA MIRANDA. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces! O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her. PROSPERO. Be conected; No more amazement; tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. MIRANDA. O, woe the day! PROSPERO. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. MIRANDA. More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. PROSPERO. 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So, [Lays down his mantle] Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul- No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down, for thou must now know farther. MIRANDA. You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding 'Stay; not yet.' PROSPERO. The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear. Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not Out three years old. MIRANDA. Certainly, sir, I can. PROSPERO. By what? By any other house, or person? Of any thing the image, tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance? MIRANDA. 'Tis far off, And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four, or five, women once, that tended me? PROSPERO. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? If thou rememb'rest aught, ere thou cam'st here, How thou cam'st here thou mayst. MIRANDA. But that I do not. PROSPERO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and A prince of power. MIRANDA. Sir, are not you my father? PROSPERO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir And princess no worse issued. MIRANDA. O, the heavens! What foul play had we that we came from thence? Or blessed was't we did? PROSPERO. Both, both, my girl. By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; But blessedly holp hither. MIRANDA. O, my heart bleeds To think o' th' teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. PROSPERO. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio- I pray thee, mark me that a brother should Be so perfidious. He, whom next thyself Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put The manage of my state; as at that time Through all the signories it was the first, And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel, those being all my study- The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle- Dost thou attend me? MIRANDA. Sir, most heedfully. PROSPERO. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who t' advance, and who To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em, Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. MIRANDA. O, good sir, I do! PROSPERO. I pray thee, mark me. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind With that which, but by being so retir'd, O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact, like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie-he did believe He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution, And executing th' outward face of royalty With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing- Dost thou hear? MIRANDA. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. PROSPERO. To have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man-my library Was dukedom large enough-of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates, So dry he was for sway, wi' th' King of Naples, To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd-alas, poor Milan!- To most ignoble stooping. MIRANDA. O the heavens! PROSPERO. Mark his condition, and th' event, then tell me If this might be a brother. MIRANDA. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons. PROSPERO. Now the condition: This King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises, Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan With all the honours on my brother. Whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to th' purpose, did Antonio open The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness, The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence Me and thy crying self. MIRANDA. Alack, for pity! I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't. PROSPERO. Hear a little further, And then I'll bring thee to the present busines Which now's upon 's; without the which this story Were most impertinent. MIRANDA. Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us? PROSPERO. Well demanded, wench! My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, So dear the love my people bore me; nor set A mark so bloody on the business; but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us, To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. MIRANDA. Alack, what trouble Was I then to you! PROSPERO. O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile, Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. MIRANDA. How came we ashore? PROSPERO. By Providence divine. Some food we had and some fresh water that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, who being then appointed Master of this design, did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. MIRANDA. Would I might But ever see that man! PROSPERO. Now I arise. [Puts on his mantle] Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arriv'd; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princess' can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. MIRANDA. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir, For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason For raising this sea-storm? PROSPERO. Know thus far forth: By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore; and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions; Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dullness, And give it way. I know thou canst not choose. [MIRANDA sleeps] Come away, servant; come; I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel. Come. Enter ARIEL ARIEL. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds. To thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality. PROSPERO. Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? ARIEL. To every article. I boarded the King's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement. Sometime I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the topmast, The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join Jove's lightning, the precursors O' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake. PROSPERO. My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason? ARIEL. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me; the King's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring-then like reeds, not hair- Was the first man that leapt; cried 'Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.' PROSPERO. Why, that's my spirit! But was not this nigh shore? ARIEL. Close by, my master. PROSPERO. But are they, Ariel, safe? ARIEL. Not a hair perish'd; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. The King's son have I landed by himself, Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. PROSPERO. Of the King's ship, The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' th' fleet? ARIEL. Safely in harbour Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid; The mariners all under hatches stowed, Who, with a charm join'd to their suff'red labour, I have left asleep; and for the rest o' th' fleet, Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, And are upon the Mediterranean flote Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the King's ship wreck'd, And his great person perish. PROSPERO. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work. What is the time o' th' day? ARIEL. Past the mid season. PROSPERO. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. ARIEL. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. PROSPERO. How now, moody? What is't thou canst demand? ARIEL. My liberty. PROSPERO. Before the time be out? No more! ARIEL. I prithee, Remember I have done thee worthy service, Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou didst promise To bate me a full year. PROSPERO. Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? ARIEL. No. PROSPERO. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep, To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' th' earth When it is bak'd with frost. ARIEL. I do not, sir. PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing. Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? ARIEL. No, sir. PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me. ARIEL. Sir, in Argier. PROSPERO. O, was she so? I must Once in a month recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did They would not take her life. Is not this true? ARIEL. Ay, sir. PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by th'sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died, And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island- Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckl'd whelp, hag-born-not honour'd with A human shape. ARIEL. Yes, Caliban her son. PROSPERO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in; thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo. It was mine art, When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out. ARIEL. I thank thee, master. PROSPERO. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. ARIEL. Pardon, master; I will be correspondent to command, And do my spriting gently. PROSPERO. Do so; and after two days I will discharge thee. ARIEL. That's my noble master! What shall I do? Say what. What shall I do? PROSPERO. Go make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea; be subject To no sight but thine and mine, invisible To every eyeball else. Go take this shape, And hither come in 't. Go, hence with diligence! Exit ARIEL Awake, dear heart, awake; thou hast slept well; Awake. MIRANDA. The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. PROSPERO. Shake it off. Come on, We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. MIRANDA. 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. PROSPERO. But as 'tis, We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban! Thou earth, thou! Speak. CALIBAN. [ Within] There's wood enough within. PROSPERO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee. Come, thou tortoise! when? Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. ARIEL. My lord, it shall be done. Exit PROSPERO. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! Enter CALIBAN CALIBAN. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both! A south-west blow on ye And blister you all o'er! PROSPERO. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em. CALIBAN. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first, Thou strok'st me and made much of me, wouldst give me Water with berries in't, and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night; and then I lov'd thee, And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile. Curs'd be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o' th' island. PROSPERO. Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us'd thee, Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg'd thee In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. CALIBAN. O ho, O ho! Would't had been done. Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl'd else This isle with Calibans. MIRANDA. Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness wilt not take, Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confin'd into this rock, who hadst Deserv'd more than a prison. CALIBAN. You taught me language, and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language! PROSPERO. Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel. And be quick, thou 'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. CALIBAN. No, pray thee. [Aside] I must obey. His art is of such pow'r, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. PROSPERO. So, slave; hence! Exit CALIBAN Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing ad singing; FERDINAND following ARIEL'S SONG. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands; Curtsied when you have and kiss'd, The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there, And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.] The watch dogs bark. [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.] Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. FERDINAND. Where should this music be? I' th' air or th' earth? It sounds no more; and sure it waits upon Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the King my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. ARIEL'S SONG Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: [Burden: Ding-dong.] Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong bell. FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond. MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, And strays about to find 'em. MIRANDA. I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. PROSPERO. [Aside] It goes on, I see, As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee Within two days for this. FERDINAND. Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my pray'r May know if you remain upon this island; And that you will some good instruction give How I may bear me here. My prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder! If you be maid or no? MIRANDA. No wonder, sir; But certainly a maid. FERDINAND. My language? Heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. PROSPERO. How? the best? What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee? FERDINAND. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; And that he does I weep. Myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld The King my father wreck'd. MIRANDA. Alack, for mercy! FERDINAND. Yes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan And his brave son being twain. PROSPERO. [Aside] The Duke of Milan And his more braver daughter could control thee, If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight They have chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel, I'll set thee free for this. [To FERDINAND] A word, good sir; I fear you have done yourself some wrong; a word. MIRANDA. Why speaks my father so ungently? This Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father To be inclin'd my way! FERDINAND. O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The Queen of Naples. PROSPERO. Soft, Sir! one word more. [Aside] They are both in either's pow'rs; but this swift busines I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. [To FERDINAND] One word more; I charge thee That thou attend me; thou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself Upon this island as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. FERDINAND. No, as I am a man. MIRANDA. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. PROSPERO. Follow me. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come; I'll manacle thy neck and feet together. Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots, and husks Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. FERDINAND. No; I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power. [He draws, and is charmed from moving] MIRANDA. O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful. PROSPERO. What, I say, My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; Who mak'st a show but dar'st not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt. Come from thy ward; For I can here disarm thee with this stick And make thy weapon drop. MIRANDA. Beseech you, father! PROSPERO. Hence! Hang not on my garments. MIRANDA. Sir, have pity; I'll be his surety. PROSPERO. Silence! One word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! An advocate for an impostor! hush! Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench! To th' most of men this is a Caliban, And they to him are angels. MIRANDA. My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. PROSPERO. Come on; obey. Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them. FERDINAND. So they are; My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. PROSPERO. [Aside] It works. [To FERDINAND] Come on.- Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To FERDINAND] Follow me. [To ARIEL] Hark what thou else shalt do me. MIRANDA. Be of comfort; My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted Which now came from him. PROSPERO. [To ARIEL] Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds; but then exactly do All points of my command. ARIEL. To th' syllable. PROSPERO. [To FERDINAND] Come, follow. [To MIRANDA] Speak not for him. Exeunt <> ACT II. SCENE 1 Another part of the island Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS GONZALO. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day, some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. ALONSO. Prithee, peace. SEBASTIAN. He receives comfort like cold porridge. ANTONIO. The visitor will not give him o'er so. SEBASTIAN. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. GONZALO. Sir- SEBASTIAN. One-Tell. GONZALO. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, Comes to th' entertainer- SEBASTIAN. A dollar. GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you purpos'd. SEBASTIAN. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. GONZALO. Therefore, my lord- ANTONIO. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! ALONSO. I prithee, spare. GONZALO. Well, I have done; but yet- SEBASTIAN. He will be talking. ANTONIO. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? SEBASTIAN. The old cock. ANTONIO. The cock'rel. SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager? ANTONIO. A laughter. SEBASTIAN. A match! ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desert- ANTONIO. Ha, ha, ha! SEBASTIAN. So, you're paid. ADRIAN. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible- SEBASTIAN. Yet- ADRIAN. Yet- ANTONIO. He could not miss't. ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. ANTONIO. Temperance was a delicate wench. SEBASTIAN. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly deliver'd. ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen. GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life. ANTONIO. True; save means to live. SEBASTIAN. Of that there's none, or little. GONZALO. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! ANTONIO. The ground indeed is tawny. SEBASTIAN. With an eye of green in't. ANTONIO. He misses not much. SEBASTIAN. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. GONZALO. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit- SEBASTIAN. As many vouch'd rarities are. GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd with salt water. ANTONIO. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies? SEBASTIAN. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. GONZALO. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. SEBASTIAN. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. ADRIAN. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen. GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time. ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow' in? Widow Dido! SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' too? Good Lord, how you take it! ADRIAN. 'Widow Dido' said you? You make me study of that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. GONZALO. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. ADRIAN. Carthage? GONZALO. I assure you, Carthage. ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp. SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. ANTONIO. What impossible matter will he make easy next? SEBASTIAN. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. ANTONIO. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. GONZALO. Ay. ANTONIO. Why, in good time. GONZALO. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. ANTONIO. And the rarest that e'er came there. SEBASTIAN. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. ANTONIO. O, widow Dido! Ay, widow Dido. GONZALO. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. ANTONIO. That 'sort' was well fish'd for. GONZALO. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? ALONSO. You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there; for, coming thence, My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee? FRANCISCO. Sir, he may live; I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed, As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt He came alive to land. ALONSO. No, no, he's gone. SEBASTIAN. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African; Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. ALONSO. Prithee, peace. SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever. Milan and Naples have Moe widows in them of this business' making, Than we bring men to comfort them; The fault's your own. ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss. GONZALO. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in; you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. SEBASTIAN. Very well. ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly. GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. SEBASTIAN. Foul weather? ANTONIO. Very foul. GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord- ANTONIO. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed. SEBASTIAN. Or docks, or mallows. GONZALO. And were the king on't, what would I do? SEBASTIAN. Scape being drunk for want of wine. GONZALO. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty- SEBASTIAN. Yet he would be king on't. ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. GONZALO. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people. SEBASTIAN. No marrying 'mong his subjects? ANTONIO. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. GONZALO. I would with such perfection govern, sir, T' excel the golden age. SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty! ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo! GONZALO. And-do you mark me, sir? ALONSO. Prithee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me. GONZALO. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. ANTONIO. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. GONZALO. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. ANTONIO. What a blow was there given! SEBASTIAN. An it had not fall'n flat-long. GONZALO. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music SEBASTIAN. We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling. ANTONIO. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? ANTONIO. Go sleep, and hear us. [All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I find They are inclin'd to do so. SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. ANTONIO. We two, my lord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy! [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL] SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate. SEBASTIAN. Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not Myself dispos'd to sleep. ANTONIO. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian? O, what might! No more! And yet methinks I see it in thy face, What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. SEBASTIAN. What, art thou waking? ANTONIO. Do you not hear me speak? SEBASTIAN. I do; and surely It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. ANTONIO. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st Whiles thou art waking. SEBASTIAN. Thou dost snore distinctly; There's meaning in thy snores. ANTONIO. I am more serious than my custom; you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do Trebles thee o'er. SEBASTIAN. Well, I am standing water. ANTONIO. I'll teach you how to flow. SEBASTIAN. Do so: to ebb, Hereditary sloth instructs me. ANTONIO. O, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed, Most often, do so near the bottom run By their own fear or sloth. SEBASTIAN. Prithee say on. The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, Which throes thee much to yield. ANTONIO. Thus, sir: Although this lord of weak remembrance, this Who shall be of as little memory When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded- For he's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade-the King his son's alive, 'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd As he that sleeps here swims. SEBASTIAN. I have no hope That he's undrown'd. ANTONIO. O, out of that 'no hope' What great hope have you! No hope that way is Another way so high a hope, that even Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me That Ferdinand is drown'd? SEBASTIAN. He's gone. ANTONIO. Then tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples? SEBASTIAN. Claribel. ANTONIO. She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples Can have no note, unless the sun were post, The Man i' th' Moon's too slow, till newborn chins Be rough and razorable; she that from whom We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again, And by that destiny, to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge. SEBASTIAN. What stuff is this! How say you? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's Queen of Tunis; So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions There is some space. ANTONIO. A space whose ev'ry cubit Seems to cry out 'How shall that Claribel Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake.' Say this were death That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate As amply and unnecessarily As this Gonzalo; I myself could make A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore The mind that I do! What a sleep were this For your advancement! Do you understand me? SEBASTIAN. Methinks I do. ANTONIO. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune? SEBASTIAN. I remember You did supplant your brother Prospero. ANTONIO. True. And look how well my garments sit upon me, Much feater than before. My brother's servants Were then my fellows; now they are my men. SEBASTIAN. But, for your conscience- ANTONIO. Ay, sir; where lies that? If 'twere a kibe, 'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he's like-that's dead; Whom I with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. SEBASTIAN. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword. One stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest; And I the King shall love thee. ANTONIO. Draw together; And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. SEBASTIAN. O, but one word. [They talk apart] Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, with music and song ARIEL. My master through his art foresees the danger That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth- For else his project dies-to keep them living. [Sings in GONZALO'S ear] While you here do snoring lie, Open-ey'd conspiracy His time doth take. If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware. Awake, awake! ANTONIO. Then let us both be sudden. GONZALO. Now, good angels Preserve the King! [They wake] ALONSO. Why, how now?-Ho, awake!-Why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghastly looking? GONZALO. What's the matter? SEBASTIAN. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you? It struck mine ear most terribly. ALONSO. I heard nothing. ANTONIO. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, To make an earthquake! Sure it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. ALONSO. Heard you this, Gonzalo? GONZALO. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me; I shak'd you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn-there was a noise, That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. ALONSO. Lead off this ground; and let's make further search For my poor son. GONZALO. Heavens keep him from these beasts! For he is, sure, i' th' island. ALONSO. Lead away. ARIEL. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done; So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. Exeunt SCENE 2 Another part of the island Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard CALIBAN. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' th' mire, Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but For every trifle are they set upon me; Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me, And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues Do hiss me into madness. Enter TRINCULO Lo, now, lo! Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat; Perchance he will not mind me. TRINCULO. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i' th' wind. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head. Yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; kind of not-of-the-newest Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man; when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man, and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by thunderbolt. [Thunder] Alas, the storm is come again! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter STEPHANO singing; a bottle in his hand STEPHANO. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die ashore- This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral; well, here's my comfort. [Drinks] The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us car'd for Kate; For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor 'Go hang!' She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch. Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort. [Drinks] CALIBAN. Do not torment me. O! STEPHANO. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon 's with savages and men of Ind? Ha! I have not scap'd drowning to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said: As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. CALIBAN. The spirit torments me. O! STEPHANO. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's leather. CALIBAN. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood home faster. STEPHANO. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle; if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. CALIBAN. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling; now Prosper works upon thee. STEPHANO. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat. Open your mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly; you cannot tell who's your friend. Open your chaps again. TRINCULO. I should know that voice; it should be-but he is drown'd; and these are devils. O, defend me! STEPHANO. Four legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice, now, is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come-Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth. TRINCULO. Stephano! STEPHANO. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! This is a devil, and no monster; I will leave him; I have no long spoon. TRINCULO. Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo-be not afeard-thy good friend Trinculo. STEPHANO. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull the by the lesser legs; if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent Trinculos? TRINCULO. I took him to be kill'd with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drown'd, Stephano? I hope now thou are not drown'd. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scap'd! STEPHANO. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant. CALIBAN. [Aside] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor. I will kneel to him. STEPHANO. How didst thou scape? How cam'st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how thou cam'st hither-I escap'd upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved o'erboard- by this bottle, which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. CALIBAN. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is not earthly. STEPHANO. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst. TRINCULO. Swum ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. STEPHANO. [Passing the bottle] Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. TRINCULO. O Stephano, hast any more of this? STEPHANO. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by th' seaside, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague? CALIBAN. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? STEPHANO. Out o' th' moon, I do assure thee; I was the Man i' th' Moon, when time was. CALIBAN. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress show'd me thee, and thy dog and thy bush. STEPHANO. Come, swear to that; kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new contents. Swear. [CALIBAN drinks] TRINCULO. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster! I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The Man i' th' Moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth! CALIBAN. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island; and will kiss thy foot. I prithee be my god. TRINCULO. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! When's god's asleep he'll rob his bottle. CALIBAN. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy subject. STEPHANO. Come on, then; down, and swear. TRINCULO. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him- STEPHANO. Come, kiss. TRINCULO. But that the poor monster's in drink. An abominable monster! CALIBAN. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man. TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard! CALIBAN. I prithee let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee To clust'ring filberts, and sometimes I'll get thee Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? STEPHANO. I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else being drown'd, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. CALIBAN. [Sings drunkenly] Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! TRINCULO. A howling monster; a drunken monster! CALIBAN. No more dams I'll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish. 'Ban 'Ban, Ca-Caliban, Has a new master-Get a new man. Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, high- day, freedom! STEPHANO. O brave monster! Lead the way. Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE 1 Before PROSPERO'S cell Enter FERDINAND, hearing a log FERDINAND. There be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me as odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures. O, she is Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction; my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness Had never like executor. I forget; But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy, least when I do it. Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance, unseen MIRANDA. Alas, now; pray you, Work not so hard; I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile. Pray, set it down and rest you; when this burns, 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself; He's safe for these three hours. FERDINAND. O most dear mistress, The sun will set before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. MIRANDA. If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while; pray give me that; I'll carry it to the pile. FERDINAND. No, precious creature; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. MIRANDA. It would become me As well as it does you; and I should do it With much more ease; for my good will is to it, And yours it is against. PROSPERO. [Aside] Poor worm, thou art infected! This visitation shows it. MIRANDA. You look wearily. FERDINAND. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you, Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, What is your name? MIRANDA. Miranda-O my father, I have broke your hest to say so! FERDINAND. Admir'd Miranda! What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues Have I lik'd several women, never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, And put it to the foil; but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best! MIRANDA. I do not know One of my sex; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen More that I may call men than you, good friend, And my dear father. How features are abroad, I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, The jewel in my dower, I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's precepts I therein do forget. FERDINAND. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king- I would not so!-and would no more endure This wooden slavery than to suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides To make me slave to it; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man. MIRANDA. Do you love me? FERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true! If hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i' th' world, Do love, prize, honour you. MIRANDA. I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of. PROSPERO. [Aside] Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between 'em! FERDINAND. Wherefore weep you? MIRANDA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give, and much less take What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no. FERDINAND. My mistress, dearest; And I thus humble ever. MIRANDA. My husband, then? FERDINAND. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom. Here's my hand. MIRANDA. And mine, with my heart in't. And now farewell Till half an hour hence. FERDINAND. A thousand thousand! Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA severally PROSPERO. So glad of this as they I cannot be, Who are surpris'd withal; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; For yet ere supper time must I perform Much business appertaining. Exit SCENE 2 Another part of the island Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO STEPHANO. Tell not me-when the butt is out we will drink water, not a drop before; therefore bear up, and board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. TRINCULO. Servant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there's but five upon this isle: we are three of them; if th' other two be brain'd like us, the state totters. STEPHANO. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee; thy eyes are almost set in thy head. TRINCULO. Where should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. STEPHANO. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack. For my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues, off and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. TRINCULO. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. STEPHANO. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster. TRINCULO. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither. STEPHANO. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. CALIBAN. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I'll not serve him; he is not valiant. TRINCULO. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou debosh'd fish, thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half fish and half a monster? CALIBAN. Lo, how he mocks me! Wilt thou let him, my lord? TRINCULO. 'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural! CALIBAN. Lo, lo again! Bite him to death, I prithee. STEPHANO. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; if you prove a mutineer-the next tree! The poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. CALIBAN. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? STEPHANO. Marry will I; kneel and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter ARIEL, invisible CALIBAN. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. ARIEL. Thou liest. CALIBAN. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou; I would my valiant master would destroy thee. I do not lie. STEPHANO. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. TRINCULO. Why, I said nothing. STEPHANO. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed. CALIBAN. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. If thy greatness will Revenge it on him-for I know thou dar'st, But this thing dare not- STEPHANO. That's most certain. CALIBAN. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. STEPHANO. How now shall this be compass'd? Canst thou bring me to the party? CALIBAN. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. ARIEL. Thou liest; thou canst not. CALIBAN. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch! I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him. When that's gone He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him Where the quick freshes are. STEPHANO. Trinculo, run into no further danger; interrupt the monster one word further and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors, and make a stock-fish of thee. TRINCULO. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther off. STEPHANO. Didst thou not say he lied? ARIEL. Thou liest. STEPHANO. Do I so? Take thou that. [Beats him] As you like this, give me the lie another time. TRINCULO. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! This can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers! CALIBAN. Ha, ha, ha! STEPHANO. Now, forward with your tale.-Prithee stand further off. CALIBAN. Beat him enough; after a little time, I'll beat him too. STEPHANO. Stand farther. Come, proceed. CALIBAN. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him I' th' afternoon to sleep; there thou mayst brain him, Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember First to possess his books; for without them He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command; they all do hate him As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. He has brave utensils-for so he calls them- Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter; he himself Calls her a nonpareil. I never saw a woman But only Sycorax my dam and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax As great'st does least. STEPHANO. Is it so brave a lass? CALIBAN. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant, And bring thee forth brave brood. STEPHANO. Monster, I will kill this man; his daughter and I will be King and Queen-save our Graces!-and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo? TRINCULO. Excellent. STEPHANO. Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv'st, keep a good tongue in thy head. CALIBAN. Within this half hour will he be asleep. Wilt thou destroy him then? STEPHANO. Ay, on mine honour. ARIEL. This will I tell my master. CALIBAN. Thou mak'st me merry; I am full of pleasure. Let us be jocund; will you troll the catch You taught me but while-ere? STEPHANO. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings] Flout 'em and scout 'em, And scout 'em and flout 'em; Thought is free. CALIBAN. That's not the tune. [ARIEL plays the tune on a tabor and pipe] STEPHANO. What is this same? TRINCULO. This is the tune of our catch, play'd by the picture of Nobody. STEPHANO. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness; if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. TRINCULO. O, forgive me my sins! STEPHANO. He that dies pays all debts. I defy thee. Mercy upon us! CALIBAN. Art thou afeard? STEPHANO. No, monster, not I. CALIBAN. Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd, I cried to dream again. STEPHANO. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. CALIBAN. When Prospero is destroy'd. STEPHANO. That shall be by and by; I remember the story. TRINCULO. The sound is going away; let's follow it, and after do our work. STEPHANO. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see this taborer; he lays it on. TRINCULO. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. Exeunt SCENE 3 Another part of the island Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS GONZALO. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir; My old bones ache. Here's a maze trod, indeed, Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience, I needs must rest me. ALONSO. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Who am myself attach'd with weariness To th' dulling of my spirits; sit down and rest. Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it No longer for my flatterer; he is drown'd Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. ANTONIO. [Aside to SEBASTIAN] I am right glad that he's so out of hope. Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose That you resolv'd t' effect. SEBASTIAN. [Aside to ANTONIO] The next advantage Will we take throughly. ANTONIO. [Aside to SEBASTIAN] Let it be to-night; For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance As when they are fresh. SEBASTIAN. [Aside to ANTONIO] I say, to-night; no more. Solemn and strange music; and PROSPERO on the top, invisible. Enter several strange SHAPES, bringing in a banquet; and dance about it with gentle actions of salutations; and inviting the KING, etc., to eat, they depart ALONSO. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark! GONZALO. Marvellous sweet music! ALONSO. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these? SEBASTIAN. A living drollery. Now I will believe That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix At this hour reigning-there. ANTONIO. I'll believe both; And what does else want credit, come to me, And I'll be sworn 'tis true; travellers ne'er did lie, Though fools at home condemn 'em. GONZALO. If in Naples I should report this now, would they believe me? If I should say, I saw such islanders, For certes these are people of the island, Who though they are of monstrous shape yet, note, Their manners are more gentle-kind than of Our human generation you shall find Many, nay, almost any. PROSPERO. [Aside] Honest lord, Thou hast said well; for some of you there present Are worse than devils. ALONSO. I cannot too much muse Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing, Although they want the use of tongue, a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. PROSPERO. [Aside] Praise in departing. FRANCISCO. They vanish'd strangely. SEBASTIAN. No matter, since They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs. Will't please you taste of what is here? ALONSO. Not I. GONZALO. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers, Dewlapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find Each putter-out of five for one will bring us Good warrant of. ALONSO. I will stand to, and feed, Although my last; no matter, since I feel The best is past. Brother, my lord the Duke, Stand to, and do as we. Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes ARIEL. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea Hath caus'd to belch up you; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit-you 'mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour men hang and drown Their proper selves. [ALONSO, SEBASTIAN etc., draw their swords] You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate; the elements Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume; my fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths And will not be uplifted. But remember- For that's my business to you-that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him, and his innocent child; for which foul deed The pow'rs, delaying, not forgetting, have Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft; and do pronounce by me Ling'ring perdition, worse than any death Can be at once, shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from- Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Upon your heads-is nothing but heart's sorrow, And a clear life ensuing. He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter the SHAPES again, and dance, with mocks and mows, and carrying out the table PROSPERO. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring. Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated In what thou hadst to say; so, with good life And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, And these mine enemies are all knit up In their distractions. They now are in my pow'r; And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd, And his and mine lov'd darling. Exit above GONZALO. I' th' name of something holy, sir, why stand you In this strange stare? ALONSO. O, it is monstrous, monstrous! Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' th' ooze is bedded; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded. Exit SEBASTIAN. But one fiend at a time, I'll fight their legions o'er. ANTONIO. I'll be thy second. Exeunt SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO GONZALO. All three of them are desperate; their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, Now gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you, That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, And hinder them from what this ecstasy May now provoke them to. ADRIAN. Follow, I pray you. Exeunt <> ACT IV. SCENE 1 Before PROSPERO'S cell Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Your compensation makes amends; for Have given you here a third of mine own life, Or that for which I live; who once again I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand! Do not smile at me that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her. FERDINAND. I do believe it Against an oracle. PROSPERO. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Wort'hily purchas'd, take my daughter. But If thou dost break her virgin-knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minist'red, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow; but barren hate, Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly That you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed, As Hymen's lamps shall light you. FERDINAND. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Or Night kept chain'd below. PROSPERO. Fairly spoke. Sit, then, and talk with her; she is thine own. What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! Enter ARIEL ARIEL. What would my potent master? Here I am. PROSPERO. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Did worthily perform; and I must use you In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee pow'r, here to this place. Incite them to quick motion; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise, And they expect it from me. ARIEL. Presently? PROSPERO. Ay, with a twink. ARIEL. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,' And breathe twice, and cry 'so, so,' Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, master? No? PROSPERO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call. ARIEL. Well! I conceive. Exit PROSPERO. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw To th' fire i' th' blood. Be more abstemious, Or else good night your vow! FERDINAND. I warrant you, sir, The white cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. PROSPERO. Well! Now come, my Ariel, bring a corollary, Rather than want a spirit; appear, and pertly. No tongue! All eyes! Be silent. [Soft music] Enter IRIS IRIS. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky hard, Where thou thyself dost air-the Queen o' th' sky, Whose wat'ry arch and messenger am I, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain. [JUNO descends in her car] Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. Enter CERES CERES. Hail, many-coloured messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flow'rs Diffusest honey drops, refreshing show'rs; And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down, Rich scarf to my proud earth-why hath thy Queen Summon'd me hither to this short-grass'd green? IRIS. A contract of true love to celebrate, And some donation freely to estate On the blest lovers. CERES. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the Queen? Since they did plot The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company I have forsworn. IRIS. Of her society Be not afraid. I met her Deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted; but in vain. Mars's hot minion is return'd again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, And be a boy right out. [JUNO alights] CERES. Highest Queen of State, Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour'd in their issue. [They sing] JUNO. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you! Juno sings her blessings on you. CERES. Earth's increase, foison plenty, Barns and gamers never empty; Vines with clust'ring bunches growing, Plants with goodly burden bowing; Spring come to you at the farthest, In the very end of harvest! Scarcity and want shall shun you, Ceres' blessing so is on you. FERDINAND. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold To think these spirits? PROSPERO. Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines call'd to enact My present fancies. FERDINAND. Let me live here ever; So rare a wond'red father and a wise Makes this place Paradise. [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment] PROSPERO. Sweet now, silence; Juno and Ceres whisper seriously. There's something else to do; hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marr'd. IRIS. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wind'ring brooks, With your sedg'd crowns and ever harmless looks, Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land Answer your summons; Juno does command. Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate A contract of true love; be not too late. Enter certain NYMPHS You sun-burnt sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow, and be merry; Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. Enter certain REAPERS, properly habited; they join with the NYMPHS in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks, after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish PROSPERO. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban and his confederates Against my life; the minute of their plot Is almost come. [To the SPIRITS] Well done; avoid; no more! FERDINAND. This is strange; your father's in some passion That works him strongly. MIRANDA. Never till this day Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. PROSPERO. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, As if you were dismay'd; be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled; Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk To still my beating mind. FERDINAND, MIRANDA. We wish your peace. Exeunt PROSPERO. Come, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel; come. Enter ARIEL ARIEL. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure? PROSPERO. Spirit, We must prepare to meet with Caliban. ARIEL. Ay, my commander. When I presented 'Ceres.' I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd Lest I might anger thee. PROSPERO. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? ARIEL. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor, At which like unback'd colts they prick'd their ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses As they smelt music; so I charm'd their cars, That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which ent'red their frail shins. At last I left them I' th' filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to th' chins, that the foul lake O'erstunk their feet. PROSPERO. This was well done, my bird. Thy shape invisible retain thou still. The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither For stale to catch these thieves. ARIEL. I go, I go. Exit PROSPERO. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as with age his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, Even to roaring. Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c. Come, hang them on this line. [PROSPERO and ARIEL remain, invisible] Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet CALIBAN. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall; we now are near his cell. STEPHANO. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than play'd the Jack with us. TRINCULO. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss at which my nose is in great indignation. STEPHANO. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure against you, look you- TRINCULO. Thou wert but a lost monster. CALIBAN. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance; therefore speak softly. All's hush'd as midnight yet. TRINCULO. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool! STEPHANO. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss. TRINCULO. That's more to me than my wetting; yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. STEPHANO. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour. CALIBAN. Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here, This is the mouth o' th' cell; no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker. STEPHANO. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. TRINCULO. O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! Look what a wardrobe here is for thee! CALIBAN. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. TRINCULO. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano! STEPHANO. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have that gown. TRINCULO. Thy Grace shall have it. CALIBAN. The dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean To dote thus on such luggage? Let 't alone, And do the murder first. If he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; Make us strange stuff. STEPHANO. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line; now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin. TRINCULO. Do, do. We steal by line and level, an't like your Grace. STEPHANO. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't. Wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this country. 'Steal by line and level' is an excellent pass of pate; there's another garmet for't. TRINCULO. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. CALIBAN. I will have none on't. We shall lose our time, And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes With foreheads villainous low. STEPHANO. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this. TRINCULO. And this. STEPHANO. Ay, and this. A noise of hunters beard. Enter divers SPIRITS, in shape of dogs and hounds, bunting them about; PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on PROSPERO. Hey, Mountain, hey! ARIEL. Silver! there it goes, Silver! PROSPERO. Fury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! Hark, hark! [CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO are driven out] Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them Than pard or cat o' mountain. ARIEL. Hark, they roar. PROSPERO. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lies at my mercy all mine enemies. Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom; for a little Follow, and do me service. Exeunt <> ACT V. SCENE 1 Before PROSPERO'S cell Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL PROSPERO. Now does my project gather to a head; My charms crack not, my spirits obey; and time Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? ARIEL. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. PROSPERO. I did say so, When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the King and 's followers? ARIEL. Confin'd together In the same fashion as you gave in charge; Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; They cannot budge till your release. The King, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, And the remainder mourning over them, Brim full of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly Him you term'd, sir, 'the good old lord, Gonzalo'; His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em That if you now beheld them your affections Would become tender. PROSPERO. Dost thou think so, spirit? ARIEL. Mine would, sir, were I human. PROSPERO. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick, Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury Do I take part; the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance; they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel; My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, And they shall be themselves. ARIEL. I'll fetch them, sir. Exit PROSPERO. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid- Weak masters though ye be-I have be-dimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war. To the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar. Graves at my command Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth, By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd Some heavenly music-which even now I do- To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book. [Solem music] Here enters ARIEL before; then ALONSO, with frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN and FRANCISCO. They all enter the circle which PROSPERO had made, and there stand charm'd; which PROSPERO observing, speaks A solemn air, and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand, For you are spell-stopp'd. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, ev'n sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace, And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, My true preserver, and a loyal sir To him thou follow'st! I will pay thy graces Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter; Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. Thou art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding Begins to swell, and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shore That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them That yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell; Exit ARIEL I will discase me, and myself present As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit Thou shalt ere long be free. ARIEL, on returning, sings and helps to attire him Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. PROSPERO. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; But yet thou shalt have freedom. So, so, so. To the King's ship, invisible as thou art; There shalt thou find the mariners asleep Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain Being awake, enforce them to this place; And presently, I prithee. ARIEL. I drink the air before me, and return Or ere your pulse twice beat. Exit GONZALO. All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement, Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country! PROSPERO. Behold, Sir King, The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero. For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; And to thee and thy company I bid A hearty welcome. ALONSO. Whe'er thou be'st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know. Thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me. This must crave- An if this be at all-a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero Be living and be here? PROSPERO. First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measur'd or confin'd. GONZALO. Whether this be Or be not, I'll not swear. PROSPERO. You do yet taste Some subtleties o' th' isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all! [Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you, And justify you traitors; at this time I will tell no tales. SEBASTIAN. [Aside] The devil speaks in him. PROSPERO. No. For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault-all of them; and require My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know Thou must restore. ALONSO. If thou beest Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost- How sharp the point of this remembrance is!- My dear son Ferdinand. PROSPERO. I am woe for't, sir. ALONSO. Irreparable is the loss; and patience Says it is past her cure. PROSPERO. I rather think You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, And rest myself content. ALONSO. You the like loss! PROSPERO. As great to me as late; and, supportable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you, for I Have lost my daughter. ALONSO. A daughter! O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, The King and Queen there! That they were, I wish Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter? PROSPERO. In this last tempest. I perceive these lords At this encounter do so much admire That they devour their reason, and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath; but, howsoe'er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain That I am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely Upon this shore, where you were wrecked, was landed To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, Not a relation for a breakfast, nor Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; This cell's my court; here have I few attendants, And subjects none abroad; pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me again, I will requite you with as good a thing; At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye As much as me my dukedom. Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA, playing at chess MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you play me false. FERDINAND. No, my dearest love, I would not for the world. MIRANDA. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle And I would call it fair play. ALONSO. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose. SEBASTIAN. A most high miracle! FERDINAND. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; I have curs'd them without cause. [Kneels] ALONSO. Now all the blessings Of a glad father compass thee about! Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. MIRANDA. O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world That has such people in't! PROSPERO. 'Tis new to thee. ALONSO. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play? Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours; Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, And brought us thus together? FERDINAND. Sir, she is mortal; But by immortal Providence she's mine. I chose her when I could not ask my father For his advice, nor thought I had one. She Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have heard renown But never saw before; of whom I have Receiv'd a second life; and second father This lady makes him to me. ALONSO. I am hers. But, O, how oddly will it sound that I Must ask my child forgiveness! PROSPERO. There, sir, stop; Let us not burden our remembrances with A heaviness that's gone. GONZALO. I have inly wept, Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, And on this couple drop a blessed crown; For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way Which brought us hither. ALONSO. I say, Amen, Gonzalo! GONZALO. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Should become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice Beyond a common joy, and set it down With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves When no man was his own. ALONSO. [To FERDINAND and MIRANDA] Give me your hands. Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart That doth not wish you joy. GONZALO. Be it so. Amen! Re-enter ARIEL, with the MASTER and BOATSWAIN amazedly following O look, sir; look, sir! Here is more of us! I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore? Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? BOATSWAIN. The best news is that we have safely found Our King and company; the next, our ship- Which but three glasses since we gave out split- Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when We first put out to sea. ARIEL. [Aside to PROSPERO] Sir, all this service Have I done since I went. PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] My tricksy spirit! ALONSO. These are not natural events; they strengthen From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither? BOATSWAIN. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And-how, we know not-all clapp'd under hatches; Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awak'd; straightway at liberty; Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Cap'ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither. ARIEL. [Aside to PROSPERO] Was't well done? PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free. ALONSO. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of. Some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. PROSPERO. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure, Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you, Which to you shall seem probable, of every These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful And think of each thing well. [Aside to ARIEL] Come hither, spirit; Set Caliban and his companions free; Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL] How fares my gracious sir? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not. Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel STEPHANO. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio! TRINCULO. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. CALIBAN. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! How fine my master is! I am afraid He will chastise me. SEBASTIAN. Ha, ha! What things are these, my lord Antonio? Will money buy'em? ANTONIO. Very like; one of them Is a plain fish, and no doubt marketable. PROSPERO. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave- His mother was a witch, and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command without her power. These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil- For he's a bastard one-had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. CALIBAN. I shall be pinch'd to death. ALONSO. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? SEBASTIAN. He is drunk now; where had he wine? ALONSO. And Trinculo is reeling ripe; where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? How cam'st thou in this pickle? TRINCULO. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing. SEBASTIAN. Why, how now, Stephano! STEPHANO. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. PROSPERO. You'd be king o' the isle, sirrah? STEPHANO. I should have been a sore one, then. ALONSO. [Pointing to CALIBAN] This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. PROSPERO. He is as disproportioned in his manners As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. CALIBAN. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool! PROSPERO. Go to; away! ALONSO. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. SEBASTIAN. Or stole it, rather. Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away-the story of my life, And the particular accidents gone by Since I came to this isle. And in the morn I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-belov'd solemnized, And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. ALONSO. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. PROSPERO. I'll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to ARIEL] My Ariel, chick, That is thy charge. Then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw near. Exeunt EPILOGUE EPILOGUE Spoken by PROSPERO Now my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own, Which is most faint. Now 'tis true, I must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell; But release me from my bands With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair Unless I be reliev'd by prayer, Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. THE END <> 1608 THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS by William Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE TIMON of Athens LUCIUS LUCULLUS SEMPRONIUS flattering lords VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher FLAVIUS, steward to Timon FLAMINIUS LUCILIUS SERVILIUS Timon's servants CAPHIS PHILOTUS TITUS HORTENSIUS servants to Timon's creditors POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT MERCER AN OLD ATHENIAN THREE STRANGERS A PAGE A FOOL PHRYNIA TIMANDRA mistresses to Alcibiades CUPID AMAZONS in the Masque Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and Attendants <> SCENE: Athens and the neighbouring woods ACT I. SCENE I. Athens. TIMON'S house Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors POET. Good day, sir. PAINTER. I am glad y'are well. POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world? PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows. POET. Ay, that's well known. But what particular rarity? What strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant. PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord! JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd. MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness. He passes. JEWELLER. I have a jewel here- MERCHANT. O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir? JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that- POET. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form. JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye. PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame Provokes itself, and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece. POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent. PAINTER. Indifferent. POET. Admirable. How this grace Speaks his own standing! What a mental power This eye shoots forth! How big imagination Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? POET. I will say of it It tutors nature. Artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over PAINTER. How this lord is followed! POET. The senators of Athens- happy man! PAINTER. Look, moe! POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have in this rough work shap'd out a man Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment. My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. PAINTER. How shall I understand you? POET. I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds- As well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself; even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. PAINTER. I saw them speak together. POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states. Amongst them all Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late- Some better than his value- on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these? POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants, Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. PAINTER. 'Tis common. A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you? MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt; His means most short, his creditors most strait. Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Periods his comfort. TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well. I am not of that feather to shake of My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help, Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him. MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him. TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom; And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit Enter an OLD ATHENIAN OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak. TIMON. Freely, good father. OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. TIMON. I have so; what of him? OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service. OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift, And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd Than one which holds a trencher. TIMON. Well; what further? OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got. The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. TIMON. The man is honest. OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon. His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. TIMON. Does she love him? OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. TIMON. Love you the maid? LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. TIMON. How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband? OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;. To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping Which is not owed to you! Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon; Go not away. What have you there, my friend? PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. TIMON. Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work, And you shall find I like it; wait attendance Till you hear further from me. PAINTER. The gods preserve ye! TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffered under praise. JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise? TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations; If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give; but you well know Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. TIMON. Well mock'd. Enter APEMANTUS MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid? JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship. MERCHANT. He'll spare none. TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians? TIMON. Yes. APEMANTUS. Then I repent not. JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name. TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON. Whither art going? APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. TIMON. That's a deed thou't die for. APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law. TIMON. How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence. TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it? APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. PAINTER. Y'are a dog. APEMANTUS. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords. TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies. APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON. That's a lascivious apprehension. APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st it take it for thy labour. TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. TIMON. What dost thou think 'tis worth? APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! POET. How now, philosopher! APEMANTUS. Thou liest. POET. Art not one? APEMANTUS. Yes. POET. Then I lie not. APEMANTUS. Art not a poet? POET. Yes. APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. POET. That's not feign'd- he is so. APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart. TIMON. What, thyself? APEMANTUS. Ay. TIMON. Wherefore? APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a merchant? MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus. APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it. APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee! Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER TIMON. What trumpet's that? MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship. TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some attendants You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest Most welcome, sir! [They salute] APEMANTUS. So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey. ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight. TIMON. Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS Enter two LORDS FIRST LORD. What time o' day is't, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Time to be honest. FIRST LORD. That time serves still. APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit'st it. SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast. APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well. APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. FIRST LORD. Hang thyself. APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests to thy friend. SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence. APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' th' ass. Exit FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes The very heart of kindness. SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward; no meed but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries That ever govern'd man. SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in? FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company. Exeunt SCENE II. A room of state in TIMON'S house Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv'd in; FLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states, the ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem'd from prison. Then comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon, It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's age, And call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich. Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I deriv'd liberty. TIMON. O, by no means, Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love; I gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives. If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair. VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit! TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me. [They sit] FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it. APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not? TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome. APEMANTUS. No; You shall not make me welcome. I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame. They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither affect company nor is he fit for't indeed. APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon. I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th'art an Athenian, therefore welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make thee silent. APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; 't'would choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men. Methinks they should invite them without knives: Good for their meat and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him. 'T has been proved. If I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals. Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Great men should drink with harness on their throats. TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round. SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord. APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' th' mire. This and my food are equals; there's no odds.' Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. APEMANTUS' Grace Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself. Grant I may never prove so fond To trust man on his oath or bond, Or a harlot for her weeping, Or a dog that seems a-sleeping, Or a keeper with my freedom, Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't. Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks] Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of friends. ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast. APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em, and bid me to 'em. FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends if we should ne'er have need of 'em? They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one another's fortunes! O, joy's e'en made away ere't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their faults, I drink to you. APEMANTUS. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon. SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, And at that instant like a babe sprung up. APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket] TIMON. What means that trump? Enter a SERVANT How now? SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills? SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office to signify their pleasures. TIMON. I pray let them be admitted. Enter CUPID CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' Ear, Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy table rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. TIMON. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance. Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y'are belov'd. Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance? They are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life, As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves, And spend our flatteries to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friends' gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me. 'T has been done: Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind; You have added worth unto't and lustre, And entertain'd me with mine own device; I am to thank you for't. FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best. APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold taking, I doubt me. TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you; Please you to dispose yourselves. ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord. Exeunt CUPID and LADIES TIMON. Flavius! FLAVIUS. My lord? TIMON. The little casket bring me hither. FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in's humour, Else I should tell him- well i' faith, I should- When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit FIRST LORD. Where be our men? SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness. SECOND LORD. Our horses! Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket TIMON. O my friends, I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord, I must entreat you honour me so much As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, Kind my lord. FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts- ALL. So are we all. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly alighted and come to visit you. TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I'll hear thee. I prithee let's be provided to show them entertainment. FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how. Enter another SERVANT SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents Be worthily entertain'd. Exit SERVANT Enter a third SERVANT How now! What news? THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. TIMON. I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd, Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to? He commands us to provide and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer; Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good. His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For ev'ry word. He is so kind that he now Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forc'd out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong; You bate too much of your own merits. Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it. THIRD LORD. O, he's the very soul of bounty! TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on. 'Tis yours because you lik'd it. THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that. TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man Can justly praise but what he does affect. I weigh my friend's affection with mine own. I'll tell you true; I'll call to you. ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome! TIMON. I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart 'tis not enough to give; Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich. It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound- TIMON. And so am I to you. SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear'd- TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights! FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! TIMON. Ready for his friends. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS. What a coil's here! Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs. Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies. TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen I would be good to thee. APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be brib'd too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps, and vain-glories? TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Exit APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit <> ACT II. SCENE I. A SENATOR'S house Enter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say! Enter CAPHIS CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure? SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon; Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when 'Commend me to your master' and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past, And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit. I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger. Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone; Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. CAPHIS. I go, sir. SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in compt. CAPHIS. I will, sir. SENATOR. Go. Exeunt SCENE II. Before TIMON'S house Enter FLAVIUS, TIMON'S Steward, with many bills in his hand FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense That he will neither know how to maintain it Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue. Never mind Was to be so unwise to be so kind. What shall be done? He will not hear till feel. I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money? VARRO'S SERVANT. Is't not your business too? CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore? ISIDORE'S SERVANT. It is so. CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg'd! VARRO'S SERVANT. I fear it. CAPHIS. Here comes the lord. Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES TIMON. So soon as dinner's done we'll forth again, My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will? CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. TIMON. Dues! Whence are you? CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord. TIMON. Go to my steward. CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month. My master is awak'd by great occasion To call upon his own, and humbly prays you That with your other noble parts you'll suit In giving him his right. TIMON. Mine honest friend, I prithee but repair to me next morning. CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord- TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend. VARRO'S SERVANT. One Varro's servant, my good lord- ISIDORE'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy payment- CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master's wants- VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and past. ISIDORE'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and I am sent expressly to your lordship. TIMON. Give me breath. I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I'll wait upon you instantly. Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you, How goes the world that I am thus encount'red With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business. Your importunacy cease till after dinner, That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. TIMON. Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd. Exit FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus. Let's ha' some sport with 'em. VARRO'S SERVANT. Hang him, he'll abuse us! ISIDORE'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog! VARRO'S SERVANT. How dost, fool? APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? VARRO'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee. APEMANTUS. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away. ISIDORE'S SERVANT. [To VARRO'S SERVANT] There's the fool hangs on your back already. APEMANTUS. No, thou stand'st single; th'art not on him yet. CAPHIS. Where's the fool now? APEMANTUS. He last ask'd the question. Poor rogues and usurers' men! Bawds between gold and want! ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Asses. ALL SERVANTS. Why? APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. FOOL. How do you, gentlemen? ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress? FOOL. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy. Enter PAGE FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably! PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters; I know not which is which. APEMANTUS. Canst not read? PAGE. No. APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art hang'd. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. PAGE. Thou wast whelp'd a dog, and thou shalt famish dog's death. Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE APEMANTUS. E'en so thou outrun'st grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. FOOL. Will you leave me there? APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv'd us! APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv'd thief. FOOL. Are you three usurers' men? ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool. FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this? VARRO'S SERVANT. I could render one. APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool? FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit. Sometime 't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool. FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man. As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st. APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus. VARRO'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come. FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt SERVANTS TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense As I had leave of means. FLAVIUS. You would not hear me At many leisures I propos'd. TIMON. Go to; Perchance some single vantages you took When my indisposition put you back, And that unaptness made your minister Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS. O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off And say you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close. I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord, Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time: The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON. Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues. The future comes apace; What shall defend the interim? And at length How goes our reck'ning? TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word; Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON. You tell me true. FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before th' exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON. Prithee no more. FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon's? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!' Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made. Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show'rs, These flies are couch'd. TIMON. Come, sermon me no further. No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart: If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT SERVANTS. My lord! my lord! TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius. Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money. Let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh! TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators, Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserv'd this hearing. Bid 'em send o' th' instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS. I have been bold, For that I knew it the most general way, To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON. Is't true? Can't be? FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable- But yet they could have wish'd- they know not- Something hath been amiss- a noble nature May catch a wrench- would all were well!- 'tis pity- And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods, They froze me into silence. TIMON. You gods, reward them! Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary. Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy. Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad, Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak, No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately Buried his father, by whose death he's stepp'd Into a great estate. When he was poor, Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me, Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Nev'r speak or think That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it. That thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE I. LUCULLUS' house FLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir. Enter LUCULLUS SERVANT. Here's my lord. LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night- Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir. LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord's behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him and told him on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. Re-enter SERVANT, with wine SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine. LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit, give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman; but thou art wise, and thou know'st well enough, although thou com'st to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security. Here's three solidares for thee. Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS. Is't possible the world should so much differ, And we alive that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back] LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. Exit FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let molten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel my master's passion! This slave Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him; Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! And when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit SCENE II. A public place Enter Lucius, with three STRANGERS LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money. SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents; nay, urg'd extremely for't, and showed what necessity belong'd to't, and yet was denied. LUCIUS. How? SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord. LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am asham'd on't. Denied that honourable man! There was very little honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must needs confess I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour.- My honour'd lord! LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent- LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord: he's ever sending. How shall I thank him, think'st thou? And what has he sent now? SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord, requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous I should not urge it half so faithfully. LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! How unluckily it happ'ned that I should purchase the day before for a little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far as to use mine own words to him? SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall. LUCIUS. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. Exit SERVILIUS True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius? SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well. FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him his friend That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse; Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages. He ne'er drinks But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!- He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it. FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me To mark me for his friend; yet I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart. But I perceive Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt SCENE III. SEMPRONIUS' house Enter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'S SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in't? Hum! 'Bove all others? He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these Owe their estates unto him. SERVANT. My lord, They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for They have all denied him. SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? Humh! It shows but little love or judgment in him. Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians, Thrice give him over. Must I take th' cure upon me? Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him, That might have known my place. I see no sense for't, But his occasions might have woo'd me first; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er received gift from him. And does he think so backwardly of me now That I'll requite it last? No; So it may prove an argument of laughter To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool. I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join: Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd himself by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire. Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead, Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows: Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit SCENE IV. A hall in TIMON'S house Enter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others, all being servants of TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then enter TITUS and HORTENSIUS FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro. HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together? LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all; for mine is money. TITUS. So is theirs and ours. Enter PHILOTUS LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too! PHILOTUS. Good day at once. LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour? PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine. LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much? PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet? LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet. PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him; You must consider that a prodigal course Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable. I fear 'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; That is, one may reach deep enough and yet Find little. PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that. TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does. TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows Timon in this should pay more than he owes; And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels And send for money for 'em. HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness; I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's yours? LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine. FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th' sum Your master's confidence was above mine, Else surely his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIUS TITUS. One of Lord Timon's men. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to come forth? FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not. TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much. FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent. Exit Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him. TITUS. Do you hear, sir? SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir. FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend? TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir. FLAVIUS. Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts, And take down th' int'rest into their glutt'nous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Let me pass quietly. Believe't, my lord and I have made an end: I have no more to reckon, he to spend. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve. FLAVIUS. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you, For you serve knaves. Exit FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier'd worship mutter? SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings. Enter SERVILIUS TITUS. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has forsook him; he's much out of health and keeps his chamber. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick; And if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. SERVILIUS. Good gods! TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir. FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following TIMON. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? LUCIUS' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus. TITUS. My lord, here is my bill. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Here's mine. HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord. BOTH VARRO'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord. PHILOTUS. All our bills. TIMON. Knock me down with 'em; cleave me to the girdle. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Alas, my lord- TIMON. Cut my heart in sums. TITUS. Mine, fifty talents. TIMON. Tell out my blood. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord. TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours? FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord- SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord- TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money. These debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS TIMON. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors? Devils! FLAVIUS. My dear lord- TIMON. What if it should be so? FLAMINIUS. My lord- TIMON. I'll have it so. My steward! FLAVIUS. Here, my lord. TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again: Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all. I'll once more feast the rascals. FLAVIUS. O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left to furnish out A moderate table. TIMON. Be it not in thy care. Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt SCENE V. The Senate House Enter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with attendants FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's bloody. 'Tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him. ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate! FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain? ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that without heed do plunge into't. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues; Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice- An honour in him which buys out his fault- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe; And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent, As if he had but prov'd an argument. FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair; Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form and set Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed, Is valour misbegot, and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born. He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, And make his wrongs his outsides, To wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! ALCIBIADES. My lord- FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear. ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me If I speak like a captain: Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threats? Sleep upon't, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant, That stay at home, if bearing carry it; And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good. Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. To be in anger is impiety; But who is man that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this. SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain. ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done At Lacedaemon and Byzantium Were a sufficient briber for his life. FIRST SENATOR. What's that? ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies; How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with 'em. He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner. If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him. In that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us His days are foul and his drink dangerous. FIRST SENATOR. He dies. ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him- Though his right arm might purchase his own time, And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both; And, for I know your reverend ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honours to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; For law is strict, and war is nothing more. FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another. ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords, I do beseech you, know me. SECOND SENATOR. How! ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances. THIRD SENATOR. What! ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; It could not else be I should prove so base To sue, and be denied such common grace. My wounds ache at you. FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect: We banish thee for ever. ALCIBIADES. Banish me! Banish your dotage! Banish usury That makes the Senate ugly. FIRST SENATOR. If after two days' shine Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I'm worse than mad; I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit SCENE VI. A banqueting hall in TIMON'S house Music. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends of TIMON, at several doors FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir. SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day. FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount'red. I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjur'd me beyond them, and I must needs appear. SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go. SECOND LORD. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of you? FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces. SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces! FIRST LORD. What of you? SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes. Enter TIMON and attendants TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you? FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently. FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I return'd you an empty messenger. TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you. SECOND LORD. My noble lord- TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer? SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. TIMON. Think not on't, sir. SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before- TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet brought in] Come, bring in all together. SECOND LORD. All cover'd dishes! FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you. THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. FIRST LORD. How do you? What's the news? THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish'd. Hear you of it? FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish'd! THIRD LORD. 'Tis so, be sure of it. FIRST LORD. How? how? SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what? TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near? THIRD LORD. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. SECOND LORD. This is the old man still. THIRD LORD. Will't hold? Will't hold? SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so- THIRD LORD. I do conceive. TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks: You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts make yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains. If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and seen to he full of warm water] SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean? SOME OTHER. I know not. TIMON. May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces [Throwing the water in their faces] Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks! Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou. Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out] What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit Re-enter the LORDS FIRST LORD. How now, my lords! SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap? FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown. FIRST LORD. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him. He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat. Did you see my jewel? THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap? SECOND LORD. Here 'tis. FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown. FIRST LORD. Let's make no stay. SECOND LORD. Lord Timon's mad. THIRD LORD. I feel't upon my bones. FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. Exeunt <> ACT IV. SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens Enter TIMON TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent. Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench And minister in their steads. To general filths Convert, o' th' instant, green virginity. Do't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives And cut your trusters' throats. Bound servants, steal: Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed: Thy mistress is o' th' brothel. Son of sixteen, Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty, Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains, Sow all th' Athenian bosoms, and their crop Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, That their society, as their friendship, may Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee But nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans. Timon will to the woods, where he shall find Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all- The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. Exit SCENE II. Athens. TIMON's house Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master? Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining? FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke! So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm And go along with him? SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs From our companion, thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other SERVANTS FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; That see I by our faces. We are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark; And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat. We must all part Into this sea of air. FLAVIUS. Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune, 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some. [Giving them money] Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more! Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. [Embrace, and part several ways] O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live But in a dream of friendship, To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is he does too much good! Who then dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst, Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and enquire him out. I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit SCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave Enter TIMON in the woods TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb- Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes: The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord: The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains. Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots. [Digging] Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison. What is here? Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads- This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd, Make the hoar leprosy ador'd, place thieves And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench. This is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again- She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices To th 'April day again. Come, damn'd earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. [March afar off] Ha! a drum? Th'art quick, But yet I'll bury thee. Thou't go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold] Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak. TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee That art thyself a man? TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES. I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules. Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword For all her cherubin look. PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off! TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give. But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON. None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon? TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world Voic'd so regardfully? TIMON. Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA. Yes. TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee. Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them- TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well; Here is some gold for thee. TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap- TIMON. War'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon? TIMON. That by killing of villains Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold. Go on. Here's gold. Go on. Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one. Pity not honour'd age for his white beard: He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron: It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps That through the window bars bore at men's eyes Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes, Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers. Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel. TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon. Hast thou more? TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable, Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear, Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths; I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you- Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd, No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face. A pox of wrinkles! PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then? Believe't that we'll do anything for gold. TIMON. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh And not believes himself. Down with the nose, Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians bald, And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you. Plague all, That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There's more gold. Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon; If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm. TIMON. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. ALCIBIADES. Call'st thou that harm? TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike. Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON TIMON. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging] Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine- Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!- Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips- Enter APEMANTUS More man? Plague, plague! APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them. TIMON. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee! APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected, A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place? This slave-like habit and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus; Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome, To knaves and all approachers. 'Tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. TIMON. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees, That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in all the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements expos'd, Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee. O, thou shalt find- TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart. APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON. I hate thee worse. APEMANTUS. Why? TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery. APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff. TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out? APEMANTUS. To vex thee. TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? APEMANTUS. Ay. TIMON. What, a knave too? APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before. The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself In general riot, melted down thy youth In different beds of lust, and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but followed The sug'red game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary; The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment; That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare For every storm that blows- I to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden. Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff To some she-beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone. If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet? TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee. APEMANTUS. I, that I was No prodigal. TIMON. I, that I am one now. Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root] APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast. [Offering him food] TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself. APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine. TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch'd. If not, I would it were. APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens? TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold. TIMON. The best and truest; For here it sleeps and does no hired harm. APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon? TIMON. Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus? APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it. TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it? TIMON. To sauce thy dishes. APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee; eat it. TIMON. On what I hate I feed not. APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar? TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever know belov'd? APEMANTUS. Myself. TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon. TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus'd by the ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and still thou liv'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill'd by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz'd by the leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. TIMON. If I name thee. I'll beat thee- but I should infect my hands. APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off! TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swoon to see thee. APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst! TIMON. Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him] APEMANTUS. Beast! TIMON. Slave! APEMANTUS. Toad! TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon't. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That sold'rest close impossibilities, And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEMANTUS. Would 'twere so! But not till I am dead. I'll say th' hast gold. Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. TIMON. Throng'd to? APEMANTUS. Ay. TIMON. Thy back, I prithee. APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery! TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter the BANDITTI FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this melancholy. SECOND BANDIT. It is nois'd he hath a mass of treasure. THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. 'Tis hid. FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he? BANDITTI. Where? SECOND BANDIT. 'Tis his description. THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him. BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon! TIMON. Now, thieves? BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves. TIMON. Both too, and women's sons. BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want? FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes. TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' th' grape Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together; Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n From gen'ral excrement- each thing's a thief. The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Has uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away, Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats; All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen. THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm'd me from my profession by persuading me to it. FIRST BANDIT. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. SECOND BANDIT. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON FLAVIUS. O you gods! Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour Has desp'rate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends, Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye; I will present My honest grief unto him, and as my lord Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! TIMON. Away! What art thou? FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir? TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st th'art a man, I have forgot thee. FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours. TIMON. Then I know thee not. I never had honest man about me, I. All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. FLAVIUS. The gods are witness, Nev'r did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee Because thou art a woman and disclaim'st Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping. Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, T' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts To entertain me as your steward still. TIMON. Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man- mistake me not, but one; No more, I pray- and he's a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem'st thyself. But all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For by oppressing and betraying me Thou mightst have sooner got another service; For many so arrive at second masters Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, For I must ever doubt though ne'er so sure, Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late! You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living; and believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'd exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me by making rich yourself. TIMON. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, Here, take. The gods, out of my misery, Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy, But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so, farewell and thrive. FLAVIUS. O, let me stay And comfort you, my master. TIMON. If thou hat'st curses, Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free. Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exeunt severally <> ACT V. SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON's cave Enter POET and PAINTER PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's so full of gold? PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him. He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends? PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will show honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his having. POET. What have you now to present unto him? PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will promise him an excellent piece. POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Enter TIMON from his cave TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. POET. Nay, let's seek him; Then do we sin against our own estate When we may profit meet and come too late. PAINTER. True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave. To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave] POET. Hail, worthy Timon! PAINTER. Our late noble master! TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? POET. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough- What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better. You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. PAINTER. He and myself Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON. Ay, you are honest men. PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No? BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold; I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men. PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. PAINTER. So, so, my lord. TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, I must needs say you have a little fault. Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I You take much pains to mend. BOTH. Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON. You'll take it ill. BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON. Will you indeed? BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord. TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave That mightily deceives you. BOTH. Do we, my lord? TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd That he's a made-up villain. PAINTER. I know not such, my lord. POET. Nor I. TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies. Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them. TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be, Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon.- Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves. [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment; hence! [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.- Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out] Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him. FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave. It is our part and promise to th' Athenians To speak with Timon. SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. FLAVIUS. Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends. Th' Athenians By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee. Speak to them, noble Timon. Enter TIMON out of his cave TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang'd! For each true word a blister, and each false Be as a cauterizing to the root o' th' tongue, Consuming it with speaking! FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon- TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. FIRST SENATOR. O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. SECOND SENATOR. They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross; Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon, And send forth us to make their sorrowed render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. TIMON. You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears. Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us, And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat'ning sword Against the walls of Athens. FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon- TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by th' beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it In pity of our aged and our youth- I cannot choose but tell him that I care not, And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer. For myself, There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. FLAVIUS. Stay not, all's in vain. TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph; It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain. TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. FIRST SENATOR. That's well spoke. TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen- FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through them. SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. TIMON. Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them- I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again. TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting. FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood, Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come, And let my gravestone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss, plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign. Exit TIMON into his cave FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably Coupled to nature. SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens Enter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files As full as thy report? MESSENGER. I have spoke the least. Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon. MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend, Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, Yet our old love had a particular force, And made us speak like friends. This man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i' th' cause against your city, In part for his sake mov'd. Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers. THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare. Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt SCENE III. The TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen Enter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place. Who's here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span. Some beast rear'd this; here does not live a man. Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax. Our captain hath in every figure skill, An ag'd interpreter, though young in days; Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such As slept within the shadow of your power, Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush, When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love By humble message and by promis'd means. We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall For private faults in them. SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread. By decimation and a tithed death- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted. FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take, On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage; Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall With those that have offended. Like a shepherd Approach the fold and cull th' infected forth, But kill not all together. SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to't with thy sword. FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope, So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before To say thou't enter friendly. SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town till we Have seal'd thy full desire. ALCIBIADES. Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports. Those enemies of Timon's and mine own, Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be render'd to your public laws At heaviest answer. BOTH. 'Tis most nobly spoken. ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words. [The SENATORS descend and open the gates] Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' th' sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft; Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate. Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait.' These well express in thee thy latter spirits. Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon, of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive, with my sword; Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Exeunt THE END <> 1594 THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS by William Shakespeare Dramatis Personae SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus Sons to Titus Andronicus: LUCIUS QUINTUS MARTIUS MUTIUS YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus Kinsmen to Titus: SEMPRONIUS CAIUS VALENTINE AEMILIUS, a noble Roman Sons to Tamora: ALARBUS DEMETRIUS CHIRON AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora A CAPTAIN A MESSENGER A CLOWN TAMORA, Queen of the Goths LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus A NURSE, and a black CHILD Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants <> SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood ACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol Flourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below SATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his followers at the other, with drums and trumpets SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms; And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords. I am his first born son that was the last That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol; And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence, and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine; And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have by common voice In election for the Roman empery Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome. A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls. He by the Senate is accited home, From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, That with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; and at this day To the monument of that Andronici Done sacrifice of expiation, And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths. And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name Whom worthily you would have now succeed, And in the Capitol and Senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength, Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts. BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people's favour Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favour of my country Commit myself, my person, and the cause. Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates and let me in. BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House] Enter a CAPTAIN CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS, two of TITUS' sons; and then two men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and others, as many as can be. Then set down the coffin and TITUS speaks TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught Returns with precious lading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors. Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. [They open the tomb] There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars. O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons hast thou of mine in store That thou wilt never render to me more! LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh Before this earthy prison of their bones, That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son; And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome To beautify thy triumphs, and return Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets For valiant doings in their country's cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful. Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge. Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice. To this your son is mark'd, and die he must T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone. LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd. Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety! CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous! DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look. Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb] In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Enter LAVINIA LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render for my brethren's obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES; re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus. MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive and you that sleep in fame. Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all That in your country's service drew your swords; But safer triumph is this funeral pomp That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust, This par]iament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. What should I don this robe and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country. Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world. Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus. SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right. Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor. Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die. My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. TITUS. People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus? TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make, That you create our Emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal. Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him, and say 'Long live our Emperor!' MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor; And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' [A long flourish till they come down] SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done To us in our election this day I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness; And for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my emperess, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse. Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match I hold me highly honoured of your Grace, And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners, Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord; Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life. How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts Rome shall record; and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that for your honour and your state Will use you nobly and your followers. SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew.- Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance; Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome- Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this? LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go. Ransomless here we set our prisoners free. Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. [Flourish] BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. [Seizing LAVINIA] TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord? BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal To do myself this reason and this right. MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live. TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor's guard? Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris'd! SATURNINUS. Surpris'd! By whom? BASSIANUS. By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here. TITUS. What, villain boy! Bar'st me my way in Rome? MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help! TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON Re-enter Lucius LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so: In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me. Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor. LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock. I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands. TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these? SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword. A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart. SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride And will create thee Emperess of Rome. Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods- Sith priest and holy water are so near, And tapers burn so bright, and everything In readiness for Hymenaeus stand- I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espous'd my bride along with me. TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered; There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter MARCUS, and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine- Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonoured all our family; Unworthy brother and unworthy sons! LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our bretheren. TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb. This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified; Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls. Bury him where you can, he comes not here. MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you. My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; He must be buried with his bretheren. QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany. TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word? QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here. TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite? MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded. My foes I do repute you every one; So trouble me no more, but get you gone. MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel] MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead- QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak- TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul- LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all- MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous. The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax, That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals. Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, Be barr'd his entrance here. TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise; The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next. [They put MUTIUS in the tomb] LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps- How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome? TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is- Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell. Is she not, then, beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door; at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave. SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My true betrothed love, and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine. SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us; But if we live we'll be as sharp with you. BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must, and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your Grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd, That, in the rescue of Lavinia, With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave. Receive him then to favour, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome. TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds. 'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge How I have lov'd and honoured Saturnine! TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly, And basely put it up without revenge? TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all, Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs. Then at my suit look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents. You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey take Titus' part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all, And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life; And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.- Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus. Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd. TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord; These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the Emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the Emperor That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia. By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his Majesty. LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness That what we did was mildly as we might, Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own. MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest. SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends. The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace. I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults. Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend; and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the Emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we'll give your Grace bonjour. SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. Exeunt. Sound trumpets <> ACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace Enter AARON AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash, Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach And overlooks the highest-peering hills, So Tamora. Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long. Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains, And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made emperess. To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. Hullo! what storm is this? Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd, And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be. CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: I am as able and as fit as thou To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the peace. DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, Gave you a dancing rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends? Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath Till you know better how to handle it. CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw] AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns; Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd My rapier in his bosom, and withal Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. AARON. Away, I say! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This pretty brabble will undo us all. Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous It is to jet upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world: I love Lavinia more than all the world. DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavina is thine elder brother's hope. AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. AARON. To achieve her- how? DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know. Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother, Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks, and liberality? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so Would serve your turns. CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served. DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it. AARON. Would you had hit it too! Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools To square for this? Would it offend you, then, That both should speed? CHIRON. Faith, not me. DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one. AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar. 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than ling'ring languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop; The forest walks are wide and spacious, And many unfrequented plots there are Fitted by kind for rape and villainy. Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force if not by words. This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit To villainy and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all what we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The Emperor's court is like the house of Fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears; The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull. There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt SCENE II. A forest near Rome Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, making a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green. Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride, And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the Emperor's person carefully. I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal. Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants Many good morrows to your Majesty! Madam, to you as many and as good! I promised your Grace a hunter's peal. SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords- Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you? LAVINIA. I say no; I have been broad awake two hours and more. SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest Enter AARON alone, with a bag of gold AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villainy. And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest [Hides the gold] That have their alms out of the Empress' chest. Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad When everything does make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush; The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground; Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise; And- after conflict such as was suppos'd The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed, When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave- We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber, Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine. What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs. Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee- This is the day of doom for Bassianus; His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee, And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied. Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes. Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome's royal Emperess, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest? TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps! Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning, And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try thy experiments. Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequest'red from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, And wand'red hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you let us hence, And let her joy her raven-coloured love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this. LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long. Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this. Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan? TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place. A barren detested vale you see it is: The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe; Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven. And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death. And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect; And had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son. [Stabs BASSIANUS] CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength. [Also stabs] LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys, Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw. This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness; And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman's face- TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee; The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble, Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity. CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA. 'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark. Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!- The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure To have his princely paws par'd all away. Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests; O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father's sake, That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent. Therefore away with her, and use her as you will; The worse to her the better lov'd of me. LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA. What beg'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more, That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man's eye may behold my body; Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee; No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature, The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall- CHIRON. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband. This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure. Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit Re-enter AARON, with two of TITUS' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before; Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. [Falls into the pit] QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal'st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here, That he thereby may have a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what. MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray'd in blood, All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring that lightens all this hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of this pit; So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out, Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below. Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in] Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor SATURNINUS. Along with me! I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leapt into it. Say, who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus, Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left them there. MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive; But, out alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius TAMORA. Where is my lord the King? SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief. TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. [She giveth SATURNINE a letter] SATURNINUS. [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely, Sweet huntsman- Bassianus 'tis we mean- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him. Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; There let them bide until we have devis'd Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons- Accursed if the fault be prov'd in them- SATURNINUS. If it be prov'd! You see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail; For, by my fathers' reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your Highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me. Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers; Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King. Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest Enter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast? Cousin, a word: where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber an eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And notwithstanding all this loss of blood- As from a conduit with three issuing spouts- Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, That I might rail at him to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind; But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee. A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch'd them for his life! Or had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind, For such a sight will blind a father's eye; One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads, What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee; O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street Enter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS' two sons MARTIUS and QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and TITUS going before, pleading TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed, For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd, And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks, Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt] For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs. In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death, And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain; The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by, And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead! Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you. LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, They would not mark me; if they did mark, They would not pity me; yet plead I must, And bootless unto them. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale. When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; And were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribunes like to these. A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones. A stone is silent and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. [Rises] But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death; For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine; how happy art thou then From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep, Or if not so, thy noble heart to break. I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then. MARCUS. This was thy daughter. TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me. TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too, For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have serv'd me to effectless use. Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands to do Rome service is but vain. LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead; For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banish'd man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me; what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew Upon a gath'red lily almost withered. MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius And thou and I sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues Plot some device of further misery To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs. Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON the Moor AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand And send it to the King: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand. Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn, My youth can better spare my blood than you, And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert! My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS. My hand shall go. LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS. But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both; Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never whilst I live deceive men so; But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say ere half an hour pass. [He cuts off TITUS' hand] Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand; Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it. More hath it merited- that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace: Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth; If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would'st thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers, Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes. When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth; Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave; for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back- Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd, That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! [LAVINIA kisses TITUS] MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus. Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs. Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes. Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS. Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed; Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes And make them blind with tributary tears. Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head, And in this hand the other will I bear. And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this; Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. Hie to the Goths and raise an army there; And if ye love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt all but Lucius LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome. Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again, He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives But in oblivion and hateful griefs. If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs And make proud Saturnine and his emperess Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit SCENE II. Rome. TITUS' house A banquet. Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down. [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; Or get some little knife between thy teeth And just against thy heart make thou a hole, That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall May run into that sink and, soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands? To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, Lest we remember still that we have none. Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands! Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this: Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says- I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks. Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect As begging hermits in their holy prayers. Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I of these will wrest an alphabet, And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments; Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife] What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? MARCUS. At that that I have kill'd, my lord- a fly. TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill'st my heart! Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny; A deed of death done on the innocent Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone; I see thou art not for my company. MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. TITUS. 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings And buzz lamenting doings in the air! Poor harmless fly, That with his pretty buzzing melody Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill'd him. MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. TITUS. O, O, O! Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a charitable deed. Give me thy knife, I will insult on him, Flattering myself as if it were the Moor Come hither purposely to poison me. There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. Ah, sirrah! Yet, I think, we are not brought so low But that between us we can kill a fly That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, He takes false shadows for true substances. TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me; I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee Sad stories chanced in the times of old. Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt <> ACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. TITUS' garden Enter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm. Enter TITUS and MARCUS BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me everywhere, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean. See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee. Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons than she hath read to thee Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her; For I have heard my grandsire say full oft Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear; Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, And would not, but in fury, fright my youth; Which made me down to throw my books, and fly- Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt; And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship. MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her stumps the books which Lucius has let fall] TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that she desires to see. Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.- But thou art deeper read and better skill'd; Come and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was, Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; My mother gave it me. MARCUS. For love of her that's gone, Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her. What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape; And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy. MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves. TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see! Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt- O, had we never, never hunted there!- Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes. MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies? TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed. Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find! My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia! [He writes his name with his staff, and guides it with feet and mouth] This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, This after me. I have writ my name Without the help of any hand at all. Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift! Write thou, good niece, and here display at last What God will have discovered for revenge. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors and the truth! [She takes the staff in her mouth and guides it with stumps, and writes] O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.' MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous bloody deed? TITUS. Magni Dominator poli, Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides? MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know There is enough written upon this earth To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope; And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere And father of that chaste dishonoured dame, Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape- That we will prosecute, by good advice, Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, And see their blood or die with this reproach. TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once, She's with the lion deeply still in league, And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, And when he sleeps will she do what she list. You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone; And come, I will go get a leaf of brass, And with a gad of steel will write these words, And lay it by. The angry northern wind Will blow these sands like Sibyl's leaves abroad, And where's our lesson, then? Boy, what say you? BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome. MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft For his ungrateful country done the like. BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury. Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy Shall carry from me to the Empress' sons Presents that I intend to send them both. Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not? BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house. Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we'll be waited on. Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan And not relent, or not compassion him? Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart Than foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield, But yet so just that he will not revenge. Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit SCENE II. Rome. The palace Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door, YOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver us. AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your honours from Andronicus- [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both! DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news? BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, For villains mark'd with rape.- May it please you, My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me The goodliest weapons of his armoury To gratify your honourable youth, The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say; And so I do, and with his gifts present Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, You may be armed and appointed well. And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains. Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round about. Let's see: [Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.' CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well; I read it in the grammar long ago. AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it. [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt, And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. But were our witty Empress well afoot, She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. But let her rest in her unrest awhile- And now, young lords, was't not a happy star Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, Captives, to be advanced to this height? It did me good before the palace gate To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing. DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord Basely insinuate and send us gifts. AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius? Did you not use his daughter very friendly? DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love. AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more. DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods For our beloved mother in her pains. AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over. [Trumpets sound] DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor's trumpets flourish thus? CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son. DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here? Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD NURSE. Good morrow, lords. O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? AARON. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all, Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now? NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone! Now help, or woe betide thee evermore! AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms? NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye: Our Empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace! She is delivered, lord; she is delivered. AARON. To whom? NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed. AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her? NURSE. A devil. AARON. Why, then she is the devil's dam; A joyful issue. NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue! Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad Amongst the fair-fac'd breeders of our clime; The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue? Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure. DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done? AARON. That which thou canst not undo. CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother. AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother. DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her. Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice! Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend! CHIRON. It shall not live. AARON. It shall not die. NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so. AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I Do execution on my flesh and blood. DEMETRIUS. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point. Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it. AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws] Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother! Now, by the burning tapers of the sky That shone so brightly when this boy was got, He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point That touches this my first-born son and heir. I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs! Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood. Tell the Empress from me I am of age To keep mine own- excuse it how she can. DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self, The vigour and the picture of my youth. This before all the world do I prefer; This maugre all the world will I keep safe, Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death. CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy. AARON. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears: Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing The close enacts and counsels of thy heart! Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer. Look how the black slave smiles upon the father, As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.' He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; And from your womb where you imprisoned were He is enfranchised and come to light. Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, Although my seal be stamped in his face. NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress? DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, And we will all subscribe to thy advice. Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult. My son and I will have the wind of you: Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety. [They sit] DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his? AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor, The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. But say, again, how many saw the child? NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself; And no one else but the delivered Empress. AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself. Two may keep counsel when the third's away: Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her] Weeke weeke! So cries a pig prepared to the spit. DEMETRIUS. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this? AARON. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy. Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours- A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? No, lords, no. And now be it known to you my full intent: Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman- His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; His child is like to her, fair as you are. Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all, And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, And be received for the Emperor's heir And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court; And let the Emperor dandle him for his own. Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic, [Pointing to the NURSE] And you must needs bestow her funeral; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms. This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. The midwife and the nurse well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please. CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air With secrets. DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora, Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies, There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the Empress' friends. Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence; For it is you that puts us to our shifts. I'll make you feed on berries and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave, and bring you up To be a warrior and command a camp. Exit with the CHILD SCENE III. Rome. A public place Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him MARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and CAIUS, with bows TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way. Sir boy, let me see your archery; Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight. Terras Astrea reliquit, Be you rememb'red, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled. Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall Go sound the ocean and cast your nets; Happily you may catch her in the sea; Yet there's as little justice as at land. No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth; Then, when you come to Pluto's region, I pray you deliver him this petition. Tell him it is for justice and for aid, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable What time I threw the people's suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. Go get you gone; and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd. This wicked Emperor may have shipp'd her hence; And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract? PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns By day and night t' attend him carefully, And feed his humour kindly as we may Till time beget some careful remedy. MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters? What, have you met with her? PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall. Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time. TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. I'll dive into the burning lake below And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, No big-bon'd men fram'd of the Cyclops' size; But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear; And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven, and move the gods To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs. Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. [He gives them the arrows] 'Ad Jovem' that's for you; here 'Ad Apollinem.' 'Ad Martem' that's for myself. Here, boy, 'To Pallas'; here 'To Mercury.' 'To Saturn,' Caius- not to Saturnine: You were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid. Of my word, I have written to effect; There's not a god left unsolicited. MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court; We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo's lap! Give it Pallas. MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. TITUS. Ha! ha! Publius, Publius, hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court; And who should find them but the Empress' villain? She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose But give them to his master for a present. TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy! Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters? Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter? CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hang'd till the next week. TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life. TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal's men. MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you. TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a grace? CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the Emperor; By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold! Meanwhile here's money for thy charges. Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication? CLOWN. Ay, sir. TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant. And when thou hast given it to the Emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will. TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt SCENE IV. Rome. Before the palace Enter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot at him SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen An emperor in Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt? My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd But even with law against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. And what an if His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? And now he writes to heaven for his redress. See, here's 'To Jove' and this 'To Mercury'; This 'To Apollo'; this 'To the God of War'- Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! What's this but libelling against the Senate, And blazoning our unjustice every where? A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? As who would say in Rome no justice were. But if I live, his feigned ecstasies Shall be no shelter to these outrages; But he and his shall know that justice lives In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep, He'll so awake as he in fury shall Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep and scarr'd his heart; And rather comfort his distressed plight Than prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to gloze with all. But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the anchor in the port. Enter CLOWN How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us? CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial. TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor. CLOWN. 'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here. [SATURNINUS reads the letter] SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently. CLOWN. How much money must I have? TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. CLOWN. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit guarded] SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs! Shall I endure this monstrous villainy? I know from whence this same device proceeds. May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons That died by law for murder of our brother Have by my means been butchered wrongfully? Go drag the villain hither by the hair; Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege. For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman, Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS What news with thee, Aemilius? AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause. The Goths have gathered head; and with a power Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil, They hither march amain, under conduct Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; Who threats in course of this revenge to do As much as ever Coriolanus did. SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? These tidings nip me, and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach. 'Tis he the common people love so much; Myself hath often heard them say- When I have walked like a private man- That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong? SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, And will revolt from me to succour him. TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name! Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody; Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome. Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor, I will enchant the old Andronicus With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep, When as the one is wounded with the bait, The other rotted with delicious feed. SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us. TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will; For I can smooth and fill his aged ears With golden promises, that, were his heart Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador; Say that the Emperor requests a parley Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably; And if he stand on hostage for his safety, Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus, And temper him with all the art I have, To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again, And bury all thy fear in my devices. SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him. Exeunt <> ACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome Enter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends, I have received letters from great Rome Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, Imperious and impatient of your wrongs; And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, Let him make treble satisfaction. FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort, Whose high exploits and honourable deeds Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st, Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, Led by their master to the flow'red fields, And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him. LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; And as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall. I made unto the noise, when soon I heard The crying babe controll'd with this discourse: 'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam! Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor; But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, They never do beget a coal-black calf. Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe- 'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth, Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither To use as you think needful of the man. LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand; This is the pearl that pleas'd your Empress' eye; And here's the base fruit of her burning lust. Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey This growing image of thy fiend-like face? Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word? A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree, And by his side his fruit of bastardy. AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good. First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl- A sight to vex the father's soul withal. Get me a ladder. [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb] AARON. Lucius, save the child, And bear it from me to the Emperess. If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things That highly may advantage thee to hear; If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!' LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak'st, Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius, 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak; For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, Acts of black night, abominable deeds, Complots of mischief, treason, villainies, Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd; And this shall all be buried in my death, Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live. AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god; That granted, how canst thou believe an oath? AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not; Yet, for I know thou art religious And hast a thing within thee called conscience, With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies Which I have seen thee careful to observe, Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know An idiot holds his bauble for a god, And keeps the oath which by that god he swears, To that I'll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow By that same god- what god soe'er it be That thou adorest and hast in reverence- To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up; Or else I will discover nought to thee. LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will. AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress. LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman! AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus; They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou sawest. LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call'st thou that trimming? AARON. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd, and 'twas Trim sport for them which had the doing of it. LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself! AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them. That codding spirit had they from their mother, As sure a card as ever won the set; That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, As true a dog as ever fought at head. Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay; I wrote the letter that thy father found, And hid the gold within that letter mention'd, Confederate with the Queen and her two sons; And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand, And, when I had it, drew myself apart And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. I pried me through the crevice of a wall, When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily That both mine eyes were rainy like to his; And when I told the Empress of this sport, She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush? AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse- Wherein I did not some notorious ill; As kill a man, or else devise his death; Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; Set deadly enmity between two friends; Make poor men's cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends' door Even when their sorrows almost was forgot, And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly; And nothing grieves me heartily indeed But that I cannot do ten thousand more. LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die So sweet a death as hanging presently. AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell But to torment you with my bitter tongue! LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more. Enter AEMILIUS GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome Desires to be admitted to your presence. LUCIUS. Let him come near. Welcome, Aemilius. What's the news from Rome? AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths, The Roman Emperor greets you all by me; And, for he understands you are in arms, He craves a parley at your father's house, Willing you to demand your hostages, And they shall be immediately deliver'd. FIRST GOTH. What says our general? LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges Unto my father and my uncle Marcus. And we will come. March away. Exeunt SCENE II. Rome. Before TITUS' house Enter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, I will encounter with Andronicus, And say I am Revenge, sent from below To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. Knock at his study, where they say he keeps To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, And work confusion on his enemies. They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation? Is it your trick to make me ope the door, That so my sad decrees may fly away And all my study be to no effect? You are deceiv'd; for what I mean to do See here in bloody lines I have set down; And what is written shall be executed. TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk, Wanting a hand to give it that accord? Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more. TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me. TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough: Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines; Witness these trenches made by grief and care; Witness the tiring day and heavy night; Witness all sorrow that I know thee well For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora. Is not thy coming for my other hand? TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora: She is thy enemy and I thy friend. I am Revenge, sent from th' infernal kingdom To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. Come down and welcome me to this world's light; Confer with me of murder and of death; There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, No vast obscurity or misty vale, Where bloody murder or detested rape Can couch for fear but I will find them out; And in their ears tell them my dreadful name- Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me To be a torment to mine enemies? TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me. TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee. Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands; Now give some surance that thou art Revenge- Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels; And then I'll come and be thy waggoner And whirl along with thee about the globes. Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, And find out murderers in their guilty caves; And when thy car is loaden with their heads, I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel Trot, like a servile footman, all day long, Even from Hyperion's rising in the east Until his very downfall in the sea. And day by day I'll do this heavy task, So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me. TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call'd? TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress' sons they are! And you the Empress! But we worldly men Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee; And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, I will embrace thee in it by and by. TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy. Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours, Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, For now he firmly takes me for Revenge; And, being credulous in this mad thought, I'll make him send for Lucius his son, And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, I'll find some cunning practice out of hand To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, Or, at the least, make them his enemies. See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. Enter TITUS, below TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house. Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. How like the Empress and her sons you are! Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor. Could not all hell afford you such a devil? For well I wot the Empress never wags But in her company there is a Moor; And, would you represent our queen aright, It were convenient you had such a devil. But welcome as you are. What shall we do? TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus? DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong, And I will be revenged on them all. TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap To find another that is like to thee, Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. Go thou with them; and in the Emperor's court There is a queen, attended by a Moor; Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion, For up and down she doth resemble thee. I pray thee, do on them some violent death; They have been violent to me and mine. TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. But would it please thee, good Andronicus, To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, And bid him come and banquet at thy house; When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, I will bring in the Empress and her sons, The Emperor himself, and all thy foes; And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. What says Andronicus to this device? TITUS. Marcus, my brother! 'Tis sad Titus calls. Enter MARCUS Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths. Bid him repair to me, and bring with him Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. This do thou for my love; and so let him, As he regards his aged father's life. MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business, And take my ministers along with me. TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, Or else I'll call my brother back again, And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide with him, Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor How I have govern'd our determin'd jest? Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, And tarry with him till I turn again. TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos'd me mad, And will o'er reach them in their own devices, A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam. DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here. TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy foes. TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. Exit TAMORA CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine. Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE PUBLIUS. What is your will? TITUS. Know you these two? PUBLIUS. The Empress' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius. TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv'd. The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name; And therefore bind them, gentle Publius- Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, And now I find it; therefore bind them sure, And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS] CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress' sons. PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded. Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word. Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast. Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound. Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me; But let them hear what fearful words I utter. O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud; This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, My hand cut off and made a merry jest; Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. What would you say, if I should let you speak? Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, Whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold The basin that receives your guilty blood. You know your mother means to feast with me, And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust, And with your blood and it I'll make a paste; And of the paste a coffin I will rear, And make two pasties of your shameful heads; And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam, Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. This is the feast that I have bid her to, And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd. And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, Receive the blood; and when that they are dead, Let me go grind their bones to powder small, And with this hateful liquor temper it; And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. Come, come, be every one officious To make this banquet, which I wish may prove More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. [He cuts their throats] So. Now bring them in, for I will play the cook, And see them ready against their mother comes. Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies SCENE III. The court of TITUS' house Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, and his CHILD in the arms of an attendant LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind That I repair to Rome, I am content. FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will. LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; Let him receive no sust'nance, fetter him, Till he be brought unto the Empress' face For testimony of her foul proceedings. And see the ambush of our friends be strong; I fear the Emperor means no good to us. AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear, And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth The venomous malice of my swelling heart! LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave! Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand. Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun? MARCUS. Rome's Emperor, and nephew, break the parle; These quarrels must be quietly debated. The feast is ready which the careful Titus Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome. Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places. SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will. [A table brought in. The company sit down] Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen; Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor, 'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well To entertain your Highness and your Empress. TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus. TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were. My lord the Emperor, resolve me this: Was it well done of rash Virginius To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflower'd? SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus. TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord. SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows. TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant For me, most wretched, to perform the like. Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her] And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die! SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? TITUS. Kill'd her for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woeful as Virginius was, And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage; and it now is done. SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish'd? Tell who did the deed. TITUS. Will't please you eat? Will't please your Highness feed? TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? TITUS. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius. They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue; And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie, Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true: witness my knife's sharp point. [He stabs the EMPRESS] SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed! [He stabs TITUS] LUCIUS. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony] MARCUS. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome, By uproars sever'd, as a flight of fowl Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts? O, let me teach you how to knit again This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body; Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to, Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, Do shameful execution on herself. But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, Grave witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, [To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear The story of that baleful burning night, When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy. Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, Or who hath brought the fatal engine in That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. My heart is not compact of flint nor steel; Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, But floods of tears will drown my oratory And break my utt'rance, even in the time When it should move ye to attend me most, And force you to commiseration. Here's Rome's young Captain, let him tell the tale; While I stand by and weep to hear him speak. LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you That Chiron and the damn'd Demetrius Were they that murd'red our Emperor's brother; And they it were that ravished our sister. For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded, Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out And sent her enemies unto the grave. Lastly, myself unkindly banished, The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, To beg relief among Rome's enemies; Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend. I am the turned forth, be it known to you, That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood And from her bosom took the enemy's point, Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I; My scars can witness, dumb although they are, That my report is just and full of truth. But, soft! methinks I do digress too much, Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me! For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child. [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant's arms] Of this was Tamora delivered, The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes. The villain is alive in Titus' house, Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge These wrongs unspeakable, past patience, Or more than any living man could bear. Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans? Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein, And, from the place where you behold us pleading, The poor remainder of Andronici Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves, And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls, And make a mutual closure of our house. Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall, Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand, Lucius our Emperor; for well I know The common voice do cry it shall be so. ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal Emperor! MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, And hither hale that misbelieving Moor To be adjudg'd some direful slaught'ring death, As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor! LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe! But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, For nature puts me to a heavy task. Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS] These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, The last true duties of thy noble son! MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. O, were the sum of these that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well; Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; Many a story hath he told to thee, And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind And talk of them when he was dead and gone. MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips, When they were living, warm'd themselves on thine! O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss! Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; Do them that kindness, and take leave of them. BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev'n with all my heart Would I were dead, so you did live again! O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. Re-enter attendants with AARON A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes; Give sentence on the execrable wretch That hath been breeder of these dire events. LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; There let him stand and rave and cry for food. If any one relieves or pities him, For the offence he dies. This is our doom. Some stay to see him fast'ned in the earth. AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb? I am no baby, I, that with base prayers I should repent the evils I have done; Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did Would I perform, if I might have my will. If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul. LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence, And give him burial in his father's grave. My father and Lavinia shall forthwith Be closed in our household's monument. As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora, No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed, No mournful bell shall ring her burial; But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey. Her life was beastly and devoid of pity, And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt THE END <> 1602 THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA by William Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE PRIAM, King of Troy His sons: HECTOR TROILUS PARIS DEIPHOBUS HELENUS MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam Trojan commanders: AENEAS ANTENOR CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida AGAMEMNON, the Greek general MENELAUS, his brother Greek commanders: ACHILLES AJAX ULYSSES NESTOR DIOMEDES PATROCLUS THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida SERVANT to Troilus SERVANT to Paris SERVANT to Diomedes HELEN, wife to Menelaus ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants SCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it PROLOGUE TROILUS AND CRESSIDA PROLOGUE In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd, Have to the port of Athens sent their ships Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore Their crownets regal from th' Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, With wanton Paris sleeps-and that's the quarrel. To Tenedos they come, And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien, And Antenorides, with massy staples And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, Sperr up the sons of Troy. Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits On one and other side, Troyan and Greek, Sets all on hazard-and hither am I come A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited In like conditions as our argument, To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, Beginning in the middle; starting thence away, To what may be digested in a play. Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are; Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. <> ACT I. SCENE 1. Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again. Why should I war without the walls of Troy That find such cruel battle here within? Each Troyan that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none! PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended? TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skilless as unpractis'd infancy. PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding. TROILUS. Have I not tarried? PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. TROILUS. Have I not tarried? PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. TROILUS. Still have I tarried. PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at suff'rance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts- So, traitor, then she comes when she is thence. PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile. But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's- well, go to- there were no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but- TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus- When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'- Pourest in the open ulcer of my heart- Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, Handlest in thy discourse. O, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me, As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her; But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me The knife that made it. PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth. TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much. PANDARUS. Faith, I'll not meddle in it. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus! PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour. TROILUS. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me? PANDARUS. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen. An she were not kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a blackamoor; 'tis all one to me. TROILUS. Say I she is not fair? PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her. For my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i' th' matter. TROILUS. Pandarus! PANDARUS. Not I. TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus! PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end. Exit. Sound alarum TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument; It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me! I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl; Between our Ilium and where she resides Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood; Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. Alarum. Enter AENEAS AENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield? TROILUS. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day? AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas? AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus. TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum] AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town to-day! TROILUS. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.' But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither? AENEAS. In all swift haste. TROILUS. Come, go we then together. Exeunt ACT I. SCENE 2. Troy. A street Enter CRESSIDA and her man ALEXANDER CRESSIDA. Who were those went by? ALEXANDER. Queen Hecuba and Helen. CRESSIDA. And whither go they? ALEXANDER. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd. He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; And, like as there were husbandry in war, Before the sun rose he was harness'd light, And to the field goes he; where every flower Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw In Hector's wrath. CRESSIDA. What was his cause of anger? ALEXANDER. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks A lord of Troyan blood, nephew to Hector; They call him Ajax. CRESSIDA. Good; and what of him? ALEXANDER. They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone. CRESSIDA. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs. ALEXANDER. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and merry against the hair; he hath the joints of every thing; but everything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. CRESSIDA. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry? ALEXANDER. They say he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking. Enter PANDARUS CRESSIDA. Who comes here? ALEXANDER. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. CRESSIDA. Hector's a gallant man. ALEXANDER. As may be in the world, lady. PANDARUS. What's that? What's that? CRESSIDA. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. PANDARUS. Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?- Good morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? CRESSIDA. This morning, uncle. PANDARUS. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm'd and gone ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? CRESSIDA. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up. PANDARUS. E'en so. Hector was stirring early. CRESSIDA. That were we talking of, and of his anger. PANDARUS. Was he angry? CRESSIDA. So he says here. PANDARUS. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him today, I can tell them that. And there's Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too. CRESSIDA. What, is he angry too? PANDARUS. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. CRESSIDA. O Jupiter! there's no comparison. PANDARUS. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him? CRESSIDA. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him. PANDARUS. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. CRESSIDA. Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector. PANDARUS. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees. CRESSIDA. 'Tis just to each of them: he is himself. PANDARUS. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were! CRESSIDA. So he is. PANDARUS. Condition I had gone barefoot to India. CRESSIDA. He is not Hector. PANDARUS. Himself! no, he's not himself. Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my heart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. CRESSIDA. Excuse me. PANDARUS. He is elder. CRESSIDA. Pardon me, pardon me. PANDARUS. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale when th' other's come to't. Hector shall not have his wit this year. CRESSIDA. He shall not need it if he have his own. PANDARUS. Nor his qualities. CRESSIDA. No matter. PANDARUS. Nor his beauty. CRESSIDA. 'Twould not become him: his own's better. PANDARUS. YOU have no judgment, niece. Helen herself swore th' other day that Troilus, for a brown favour, for so 'tis, I must confess- not brown neither- CRESSIDA. No, but brown. PANDARUS. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. CRESSIDA. To say the truth, true and not true. PANDARUS. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. CRESSIDA. Why, Paris hath colour enough. PANDARUS. So he has. CRESSIDA. Then Troilus should have too much. If she prais'd him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming praise for a good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose. PANDARUS. I swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris. CRESSIDA. Then she's a merry Greek indeed. PANDARUS. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other day into the compass'd window-and you know he has not past three or four hairs on his chin- CRESSIDA. Indeed a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total. PANDARUS. Why, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector. CRESSIDA. Is he so young a man and so old a lifter? PANDARUS. But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin- CRESSIDA. Juno have mercy! How came it cloven? PANDARUS. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia. CRESSIDA. O, he smiles valiantly! PANDARUS. Does he not? CRESSIDA. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn! PANDARUS. Why, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus- CRESSIDA. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so. PANDARUS. Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg. CRESSIDA. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' th' shell. PANDARUS. I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed, she has a marvell's white hand, I must needs confess. CRESSIDA. Without the rack. PANDARUS. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. CRESSIDA. Alas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer. PANDARUS. But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh'd that her eyes ran o'er. CRESSIDA. With millstones. PANDARUS. And Cassandra laugh'd. CRESSIDA. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her eyes run o'er too? PANDARUS. And Hector laugh'd. CRESSIDA. At what was all this laughing? PANDARUS. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin. CRESSIDA. An't had been a green hair I should have laugh'd too. PANDARUS. They laugh'd not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer. CRESSIDA. What was his answer? PANDARUS. Quoth she 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.' CRESSIDA. This is her question. PANDARUS. That's true; make no question of that. 'Two and fifty hairs,' quoth he 'and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she 'which of these hairs is Paris my husband?' 'The forked one,' quoth he, 'pluck't out and give it him.' But there was such laughing! and Helen so blush'd, and Paris so chaf'd; and all the rest so laugh'd that it pass'd. CRESSIDA. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by. PANDARUS. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't. CRESSIDA. So I do. PANDARUS. I'll be sworn 'tis true; he will weep you, and 'twere a man born in April. CRESSIDA. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May. [Sound a retreat] PANDARUS. Hark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida. CRESSIDA. At your pleasure. PANDARUS. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see most bravely. I'll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest. AENEAS passes CRESSIDA. Speak not so loud. PANDARUS. That's Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon. ANTENOR passes CRESSIDA. Who's that? PANDARUS. That's Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he's a man good enough; he's one o' th' soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I'll show you Troilus anon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me. CRESSIDA. Will he give you the nod? PANDARUS. You shall see. CRESSIDA. If he do, the rich shall have more. HECTOR passes PANDARUS. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; there's a fellow! Go thy way, Hector! There's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks. There's a countenance! Is't not a brave man? CRESSIDA. O, a brave man! PANDARUS. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good. Look you what hacks are on his helmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There's no jesting; there's laying on; take't off who will, as they say. There be hacks. CRESSIDA. Be those with swords? PANDARUS. Swords! anything, he cares not; an the devil come to him, it's all one. By God's lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris. PARIS passes Look ye yonder, niece; is't not a gallant man too, is't not? Why, this is brave now. Who said he came hurt home to-day? He's not hurt. Why, this will do Helen's heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon. HELENUS passes CRESSIDA. Who's that? PANDARUS. That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That's Helenus. I think he went not forth to-day. That's Helenus. CRESSIDA. Can Helenus fight, uncle? PANDARUS. Helenus! no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus is. Hark! do you not hear the people cry 'Troilus'? Helenus is a priest. CRESSIDA. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? TROILUS passes PANDARUS. Where? yonder? That's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus. There's a man, niece. Hem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry! CRESSIDA. Peace, for shame, peace! PANDARUS. Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Hector's; and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were a grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot. CRESSIDA. Here comes more. Common soldiers pass PANDARUS. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after meat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece. CRESSIDA. There is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus. PANDARUS. Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel! CRESSIDA. Well, well. PANDARUS. Well, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man? CRESSIDA. Ay, a minc'd man; and then to be bak'd with no date in the pie, for then the man's date is out. PANDARUS. You are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie. CRESSIDA. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie at, at a thousand watches. PANDARUS. Say one of your watches. CRESSIDA. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the chiefest of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it's past watching PANDARUS. You are such another! Enter TROILUS' BOY BOY. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. PANDARUS. Where? BOY. At your own house; there he unarms him. PANDARUS. Good boy, tell him I come. Exit Boy I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece. CRESSIDA. Adieu, uncle. PANDARUS. I will be with you, niece, by and by. CRESSIDA. To bring, uncle. PANDARUS. Ay, a token from Troilus. CRESSIDA. By the same token, you are a bawd. Exit PANDARUS Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise; But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing. That she belov'd knows nought that knows not this: Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is. That she was never yet that ever knew Love got so sweet as when desire did sue; Therefore this maxim out of love I teach: Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech. Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear, Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. Exit ACT I. SCENE 3. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON'S tent Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, MENELAUS, and others AGAMEMNON. Princes, What grief hath set these jaundies o'er your cheeks? The ample proposition that hope makes In all designs begun on earth below Fails in the promis'd largeness; checks and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd, As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain Tortive and errant from his course of growth. Nor, princes, is it matter new to us That we come short of our suppose so far That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand; Sith every action that hath gone before, Whereof we have record, trial did draw Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, And that unbodied figure of the thought That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works And call them shames, which are, indeed, nought else But the protractive trials of great Jove To find persistive constancy in men; The fineness of which metal is not found In fortune's love? For then the bold and coward, The wise and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin. But in the wind and tempest of her frown Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mass or matter by itself Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. NESTOR. With due observance of thy godlike seat, Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth, How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk! But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, Bounding between the two moist elements Like Perseus' horse. Where's then the saucy boat, Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, And flies fled under shade-why, then the thing of courage As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathise, And with an accent tun'd in self-same key Retorts to chiding fortune. ULYSSES. Agamemnon, Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit In whom the tempers and the minds of all Should be shut up-hear what Ulysses speaks. Besides the applause and approbation The which, [To AGAMEMNON] most mighty, for thy place and sway, [To NESTOR] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch'd-out life, I give to both your speeches- which were such As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece Should hold up high in brass; and such again As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears To his experienc'd tongue-yet let it please both, Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. AGAMEMNON. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect That matter needless, of importless burden, Divide thy lips than we are confident, When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. ULYSSES. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, But for these instances: The specialty of rule hath been neglected; And look how many Grecian tents do stand Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. When that the general is not like the hive, To whom the foragers shall all repair, What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, Th' unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order; And therefore is the glorious planet Sol In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak'd, Which is the ladder of all high designs, The enterprise is sick! How could communities, Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, The primogenity and due of birth, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand in authentic place? Take but degree away, untune that string, And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe; Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead; Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong- Between whose endless jar justice resides- Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then everything includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite; And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when degree is suffocate, Follows the choking. And this neglection of degree it is That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd By him one step below, he by the next, That next by him beneath; so ever step, Exampl'd by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation. And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. NESTOR. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd The fever whereof all our power is sick. AGAMEMNON. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy? ULYSSES. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The sinew and the forehand of our host, Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus Upon a lazy bed the livelong day Breaks scurril jests; And with ridiculous and awkward action- Which, slanderer, he imitation calls- He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on; And like a strutting player whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage- Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks 'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar'd, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just. Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard, As he being drest to some oration.' That's done-as near as the extremest ends Of parallels, as like Vulcan and his wife; Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent! 'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus, Arming to answer in a night alarm.' And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus; Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, Severals and generals of grace exact, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, Excitements to the field or speech for truce, Success or loss, what is or is not, serves As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. NESTOR. And in the imitation of these twain- Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice-many are infect. Ajax is grown self-will'd and bears his head In such a rein, in full as proud a place As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him; Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, To match us in comparisons with dirt, To weaken and discredit our exposure, How rank soever rounded in with danger. ULYSSES. They tax our policy and call it cowardice, Count wisdom as no member of the war, Forestall prescience, and esteem no act But that of hand. The still and mental parts That do contrive how many hands shall strike When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight- Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet-war; So that the ram that batters down the wall, For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise, They place before his hand that made the engine, Or those that with the fineness of their souls By reason guide his execution. NESTOR. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Makes many Thetis' sons. [Tucket] AGAMEMNON. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus. MENELAUS. From Troy. Enter AENEAS AGAMEMNON. What would you fore our tent? AENEAS. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you? AGAMEMNON. Even this. AENEAS. May one that is a herald and a prince Do a fair message to his kingly eyes? AGAMEMNON. With surety stronger than Achilles' an Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general. AENEAS. Fair leave and large security. How may A stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other mortals? AGAMEMNON. How? AENEAS. Ay; I ask, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modest as Morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phoebus. Which is that god in office, guiding men? Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? AGAMEMNON. This Troyan scorns us, or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers. AENEAS. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending angels; that's their fame in peace. But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's accord, Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas, Peace, Troyan; lay thy finger on thy lips. The worthiness of praise distains his worth, If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth; But what the repining enemy commends, That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends. AGAMEMNON. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas? AENEAS. Ay, Greek, that is my name. AGAMEMNON. What's your affair, I pray you? AENEAS. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. AGAMEMNON. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy. AENEAS. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him; I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, To set his sense on the attentive bent, And then to speak. AGAMEMNON. Speak frankly as the wind; It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour. That thou shalt know, Troyan, he is awake, He tells thee so himself. AENEAS. Trumpet, blow loud, Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; And every Greek of mettle, let him know What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. [Sound trumpet] We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince called Hector-Priam is his father- Who in this dull and long-continued truce Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords! If there be one among the fair'st of Greece That holds his honour higher than his ease, That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril, That knows his valour and knows not his fear, That loves his mistress more than in confession With truant vows to her own lips he loves, And dare avow her beauty and her worth In other arms than hers-to him this challenge. Hector, in view of Troyans and of Greeks, Shall make it good or do his best to do it: He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer, Than ever Greek did couple in his arms; And will to-morrow with his trumpet call Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy To rouse a Grecian that is true in love. If any come, Hector shall honour him; If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires, The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth The splinter of a lance. Even so much. AGAMEMNON. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas. If none of them have soul in such a kind, We left them all at home. But we are soldiers; And may that soldier a mere recreant prove That means not, hath not, or is not in love. If then one is, or hath, or means to be, That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. NESTOR. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector's grandsire suck'd. He is old now; But if there be not in our Grecian mould One noble man that hath one spark of fire To answer for his love, tell him from me I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn, And, meeting him, will tell him that my lady Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste As may be in the world. His youth in flood, I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood. AENEAS. Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth! ULYSSES. Amen. AGAMEMNON. Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand; To our pavilion shall I lead you, first. Achilles shall have word of this intent; So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent. Yourself shall feast with us before you go, And find the welcome of a noble foe. Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR ULYSSES. Nestor! NESTOR. What says Ulysses? ULYSSES. I have a young conception in my brain; Be you my time to bring it to some shape. NESTOR. What is't? ULYSSES. This 'tis: Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil To overbulk us all. NESTOR. Well, and how? ULYSSES. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles. NESTOR. True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance Whose grossness little characters sum up; And, in the publication, make no strain But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya-though, Apollo knows, 'Tis dry enough-will with great speed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Pointing on him. ULYSSES. And wake him to the answer, think you? NESTOR. Why, 'tis most meet. Who may you else oppose That can from Hector bring those honours off, If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat, Yet in this trial much opinion dwells; For here the Troyans taste our dear'st repute With their fin'st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd In this vile action; for the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general; And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mas Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd He that meets Hector issues from our choice; And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, Makes merit her election, and doth boil, As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, What heart receives from hence a conquering part, To steel a strong opinion to themselves? Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, In no less working than are swords and bows Directive by the limbs. ULYSSES. Give pardon to my speech. Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares And think perchance they'll sell; if not, the lustre Of the better yet to show shall show the better, By showing the worst first. Do not consent That ever Hector and Achilles meet; For both our honour and our shame in this Are dogg'd with two strange followers. NESTOR. I see them not with my old eyes. What are they? ULYSSES. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should wear with him; But he already is too insolent; And it were better parch in Afric sun Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd, Why, then we do our main opinion crush In taint of our best man. No, make a lott'ry; And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves Give him allowance for the better man; For that will physic the great Myrmidon, Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, We'll dress him up in voices; if he fail, Yet go we under our opinion still That we have better men. But, hit or miss, Our project's life this shape of sense assumes- Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. NESTOR. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice; And I will give a taste thereof forthwith To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight. Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. Exeunt <> ACT II. SCENE 1. The Grecian camp Enter Ajax and THERSITES AJAX. Thersites! THERSITES. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally? AJAX. Thersites! THERSITES. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run then? Were not that a botchy core? AJAX. Dog! THERSITES. Then there would come some matter from him; I see none now. AJAX. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then. [Strikes him] THERSITES. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord! AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee into handsomeness. THERSITES. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o' thy jade's tricks! AJAX. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. THERSITES. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? AJAX. The proclamation! THERSITES. Thou art proclaim'd, a fool, I think. AJAX. Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch. THERSITES. I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. AJAX. I say, the proclamation. THERSITES. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him. AJAX. Mistress Thersites! THERSITES. Thou shouldst strike him. AJAX. Cobloaf! THERSITES. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. AJAX. You whoreson cur! [Strikes him] THERSITES. Do, do. AJAX. Thou stool for a witch! THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! AJAX. You dog! THERSITES. You scurvy lord! AJAX. You cur! [Strikes him] THERSITES. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do. Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS ACHILLES. Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus? How now, Thersites! What's the matter, man? THERSITES. You see him there, do you? ACHILLES. Ay; what's the matter? THERSITES. Nay, look upon him. ACHILLES. So I do. What's the matter? THERSITES. Nay, but regard him well. ACHILLES. Well! why, so I do. THERSITES. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever you take him to be, he is Ajax. ACHILLES. I know that, fool. THERSITES. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. AJAX. Therefore I beat thee. THERSITES. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain more than he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax-who wears his wit in his belly and his guts in his head-I'll tell you what I say of him. ACHILLES. What? THERSITES. I say this Ajax- [AJAX offers to strike him] ACHILLES. Nay, good Ajax. THERSITES. Has not so much wit- ACHILLES. Nay, I must hold you. THERSITES. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight. ACHILLES. Peace, fool. THERSITES. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not- he there; that he; look you there. AJAX. O thou damned cur! I shall- ACHILLES. Will you set your wit to a fool's? THERSITES. No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it. PATROCLUS. Good words, Thersites. ACHILLES. What's the quarrel? AJAX. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. THERSITES. I serve thee not. AJAX. Well, go to, go to. THERSITES. I serve here voluntary. ACHILLES. Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. THERSITES. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch an he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. ACHILLES. What, with me too, Thersites? THERSITES. There's Ulysses and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars. ACHILLES. What, what? THERSITES. Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to- AJAX. I shall cut out your tongue. THERSITES. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards. PATROCLUS. No more words, Thersites; peace! THERSITES. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I? ACHILLES. There's for you, Patroclus. THERSITES. I will see you hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. Exit PATROCLUS. A good riddance. ACHILLES. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host, That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow morning, call some knight to arms That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare Maintain I know not what; 'tis trash. Farewell. AJAX. Farewell. Who shall answer him? ACHILLES. I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry. Otherwise. He knew his man. AJAX. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 2. Troy. PRIAM'S palace Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS PRIAM. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: 'Deliver Helen, and all damage else- As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd In hot digestion of this cormorant war- Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't? HECTOR. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, As far as toucheth my particular, Yet, dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?' Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go. Since the first sword was drawn about this question, Every tithe soul 'mongst many thousand dismes Hath been as dear as Helen-I mean, of ours. If we have lost so many tenths of ours To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us, Had it our name, the value of one ten, What merit's in that reason which denies The yielding of her up? TROILUS. Fie, fie, my brother! Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, So great as our dread father's, in a scale Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum The past-proportion of his infinite, And buckle in a waist most fathomless With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame! HELENUS. No marvel though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are so empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, Because your speech hath none that tells him so? TROILUS. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest; You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons: You know an enemy intends you harm; You know a sword employ'd is perilous, And reason flies the object of all harm. Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set The very wings of reason to his heels And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason, Let's shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm'd reason. Reason and respect Make livers pale and lustihood deject. HECTOR. Brother, she is not worth what she doth, cost The keeping. TROILUS. What's aught but as 'tis valued? HECTOR. But value dwells not in particular will: It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer. 'Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god-I And the will dotes that is attributive To what infectiously itself affects, Without some image of th' affected merit. TROILUS. I take to-day a wife, and my election Is led on in the conduct of my will; My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment: how may I avoid, Although my will distaste what it elected, The wife I chose? There can be no evasion To blench from this and to stand firm by honour. We turn not back the silks upon the merchant When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands We do not throw in unrespective sieve, Because we now are full. It was thought meet Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks; Your breath with full consent benied his sails; The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce, And did him service. He touch'd the ports desir'd; And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning. Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt. Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went- As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go'- If you'll confess he brought home worthy prize- As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands, And cried 'Inestimable!' -why do you now The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, And do a deed that never fortune did- Beggar the estimation which you priz'd Richer than sea and land? O theft most base, That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep! But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol'n That in their country did them that disgrace We fear to warrant in our native place! CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans, cry. PRIAM. What noise, what shriek is this? TROILUS. 'Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice. CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans. HECTOR. It is Cassandra. Enter CASSANDRA, raving CASSANDRA. Cry, Troyans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetic tears. HECTOR. Peace, sister, peace. CASSANDRA. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld, Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, Add to my clamours. Let us pay betimes A moiety of that mass of moan to come. Cry, Troyans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears. Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. Cry, Troyans, cry, A Helen and a woe! Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go. Exit HECTOR. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains Of divination in our sister work Some touches of remorse, or is your blood So madly hot that no discourse of reason, Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, Can qualify the same? TROILUS. Why, brother Hector, We may not think the justness of each act Such and no other than event doth form it; Nor once deject the courage of our minds Because Cassandra's mad. Her brain-sick raptures Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel Which hath our several honours all engag'd To make it gracious. For my private part, I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons; And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us Such things as might offend the weakest spleen To fight for and maintain. PARIS. Else might the world convince of levity As well my undertakings as your counsels; But I attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension, and cut of All fears attending on so dire a project. For what, alas, can these my single arms? What propugnation is in one man's valour To stand the push and enmity of those This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties, And had as ample power as I have will, Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done Nor faint in the pursuit. PRIAM. Paris, you speak Like one besotted on your sweet delights. You have the honey still, but these the gall; So to be valiant is no praise at all. PARIS. Sir, I propose not merely to myself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; But I would have the soil of her fair rape Wip'd off in honourable keeping her. What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, Now to deliver her possession up On terms of base compulsion! Can it be That so degenerate a strain as this Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? There's not the meanest spirit on our party Without a heart to dare or sword to draw When Helen is defended; nor none so noble Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfam'd Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say, Well may we fight for her whom we know well The world's large spaces cannot parallel. HECTOR. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; And on the cause and question now in hand Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristode thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy. The reasons you allege do more conduce To the hot passion of distemp'red blood Than to make up a free determination 'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision. Nature craves All dues be rend'red to their owners. Now, What nearer debt in all humanity Than wife is to the husband? If this law Of nature be corrupted through affection; And that great minds, of partial indulgence To their benumbed wills, resist the same; There is a law in each well-order'd nation To curb those raging appetites that are Most disobedient and refractory. If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king- As it is known she is-these moral laws Of nature and of nations speak aloud To have her back return'd. Thus to persist In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne'er the less, My spritely brethren, I propend to you In resolution to keep Helen still; For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence Upon our joint and several dignities. TROILUS. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design. Were it not glory that we more affected Than the performance of our heaving spleens, I would not wish a drop of Troyan blood Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, She is a theme of honour and renown, A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, Whose present courage may beat down our foes, And fame in time to come canonize us; For I presume brave Hector would not lose So rich advantage of a promis'd glory As smiles upon the forehead of this action For the wide world's revenue. HECTOR. I am yours, You valiant offspring of great Priamus. I have a roisting challenge sent amongst The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits. I was advertis'd their great general slept, Whilst emulation in the army crept. This, I presume, will wake him. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 3. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES Enter THERSITES, solus THERSITES. How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me! 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that little little less-than-little wit from them that they have! which short-arm'd ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil Envy say 'Amen.' What ho! my Lord Achilles! Enter PATROCLUS PATROCLUS. Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail. THERSITES. If I could 'a rememb'red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipp'd out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles? PATROCLUS. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer? THERSITES. Ay, the heavens hear me! PATROCLUS. Amen. Enter ACHILLES ACHILLES. Who's there? PATROCLUS. Thersites, my lord. ACHILLES. Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon? THERSITES. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? PATROCLUS. Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what's Thersites? THERSITES. Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou? PATROCLUS. Thou must tell that knowest. ACHILLES. O, tell, tell, THERSITES. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool. PATROCLUS. You rascal! THERSITES. Peace, fool! I have not done. ACHILLES. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Thersites. THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. ACHILLES. Derive this; come. THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; and this Patroclus is a fool positive. PATROCLUS. Why am I a fool? THERSITES. Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here? ACHILLES. Come, Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites. Exit THERSITES. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the argument is a whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject, and war and lechery confound all! Exit Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, AJAX, and CALCHAS AGAMEMNON. Where is Achilles? PATROCLUS. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. AGAMEMNON. Let it be known to him that we are here. He shent our messengers; and we lay by Our appertainings, visiting of him. Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think We dare not move the question of our place Or know not what we are. PATROCLUS. I shall say so to him. Exit ULYSSES. We saw him at the opening of his tent. He is not sick. AJAX. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, 'tis pride. But why, why? Let him show us a cause. A word, my lord. [Takes AGAMEMNON aside] NESTOR. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? ULYSSES. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. NESTOR.Who, Thersites? ULYSSES. He. NESTOR. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument ULYSSES. No; you see he is his argument that has his argument- Achilles. NESTOR. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But it was a strong composure a fool could disunite! ULYSSES. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. Re-enter PATROCLUS Here comes Patroclus. NESTOR. No Achilles with him. ULYSSES. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. PATROCLUS. Achilles bids me say he is much sorry If any thing more than your sport and pleasure Did move your greatness and this noble state To call upon him; he hopes it is no other But for your health and your digestion sake, An after-dinner's breath. AGAMEMNON. Hear you, Patroclus. We are too well acquainted with these answers; But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, Cannot outfly our apprehensions. Much attribute he hath, and much the reason Why we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues, Not virtuously on his own part beheld, Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss; Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin If you do say we think him over-proud And under-honest, in self-assumption greater Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, Disguise the holy strength of their command, And underwrite in an observing kind His humorous predominance; yea, watch His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if The passage and whole carriage of this action Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and ad That if he overhold his price so much We'll none of him, but let him, like an engine Not portable, lie under this report: Bring action hither; this cannot go to war. A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant. Tell him so. PATROCLUS. I shall, and bring his answer presently. Exit AGAMEMNON. In second voice we'll not be satisfied; We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. Exit ULYSSES AJAX. What is he more than another? AGAMEMNON. No more than what he thinks he is. AJAX. Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I am? AGAMEMNON. No question. AJAX. Will you subscribe his thought and say he is? AGAMEMNON. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable. AJAX. Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is. AGAMEMNON. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed in the praise. Re-enter ULYSSES AJAX. I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend'ring of toads. NESTOR. [Aside] And yet he loves himself: is't not strange? ULYSSES. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. AGAMEMNON. What's his excuse? ULYSSES. He doth rely on none; But carries on the stream of his dispose, Without observance or respect of any, In will peculiar and in self-admission. AGAMEMNON. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his person and share the air with us? ULYSSES. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only, He makes important; possess'd he is with greatness, And speaks not to himself but with a pride That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin'd worth Holds in his blood such swol'n and hot discourse That 'twixt his mental and his active parts Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himself. What should I say? He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it Cry 'No recovery.' AGAMEMNON. Let Ajax go to him. Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent. 'Tis said he holds you well; and will be led At your request a little from himself. ULYSSES. O Agamemnon, let it not be so! We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord That bastes his arrogance with his own seam And never suffers matter of the world Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve And ruminate himself-shall he be worshipp'd Of that we hold an idol more than he? No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd, Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, As amply titled as Achilles is, By going to Achilles. That were to enlard his fat-already pride, And add more coals to Cancer when he burns With entertaining great Hyperion. This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid, And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.' NESTOR. [Aside] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him. DIOMEDES. [Aside] And how his silence drinks up this applause! AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him o'er the face. AGAMEMNON. O, no, you shall not go. AJAX. An 'a be proud with me I'll pheeze his pride. Let me go to him. ULYSSES. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. AJAX. A paltry, insolent fellow! NESTOR. [Aside] How he describes himself! AJAX. Can he not be sociable? ULYSSES. [Aside] The raven chides blackness. AJAX. I'll let his humours blood. AGAMEMNON. [Aside] He will be the physician that should be the patient. AJAX. An all men were a my mind- ULYSSES. [Aside] Wit would be out of fashion. AJAX. 'A should not bear it so, 'a should eat's words first. Shall pride carry it? NESTOR. [Aside] An 'twould, you'd carry half. ULYSSES. [Aside] 'A would have ten shares. AJAX. I will knead him, I'll make him supple. NESTOR. [Aside] He's not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. ULYSSES. [To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. NESTOR. Our noble general, do not do so. DIOMEDES. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. ULYSSES. Why 'tis this naming of him does him harm. Here is a man-but 'tis before his face; I will be silent. NESTOR. Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous, as Achilles is. ULYSSES. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. AJAX. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus! Would he were a Troyan! NESTOR. What a vice were it in Ajax now- ULYSSES. If he were proud. DIOMEDES. Or covetous of praise. ULYSSES. Ay, or surly borne. DIOMEDES. Or strange, or self-affected. ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck; Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice-fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition; But he that disciplin'd thine arms to fight- Let Mars divide eternity in twain And give him half; and, for thy vigour, Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor, Instructed by the antiquary times- He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax. AJAX. Shall I call you father? NESTOR. Ay, my good son. DIOMEDES. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. ULYSSES. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Please it our great general To call together all his state of war; Fresh kings are come to Troy. To-morrow We must with all our main of power stand fast; And here's a lord-come knights from east to west And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. AGAMEMNON. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep. Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE 1. Troy. PRIAM'S palace Music sounds within. Enter PANDARUS and a SERVANT PANDARUS. Friend, you-pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris? SERVANT. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. PANDARUS. You depend upon him, I mean? SERVANT. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. PANDARUS. You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him. SERVANT. The lord be praised! PANDARUS. You know me, do you not? SERVANT. Faith, sir, superficially. PANDARUS. Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus. SERVANT. I hope I shall know your honour better. PANDARUS. I do desire it. SERVANT. You are in the state of grace. PANDARUS. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is this? SERVANT. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts. PANDARUS. Know you the musicians? SERVANT. Wholly, sir. PANDARUS. Who play they to? SERVANT. To the hearers, sir. PANDARUS. At whose pleasure, friend? SERVANT. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. PANDARUS. Command, I mean, friend. SERVANT. Who shall I command, sir? PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am to courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play? SERVANT. That's to't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul- PANDARUS. Who, my cousin, Cressida? SERVANT. No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes? PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes. SERVANT. Sodden business! There's a stew'd phrase indeed! Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended PANDARUS. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them- especially to you, fair queen! Fair thoughts be your fair pillow. HELEN. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. PANDARUS. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music. PARIS. You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. HELEN. He is full of harmony. PANDARUS. Truly, lady, no. HELEN. O, sir- PANDARUS. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. PARIS. Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits. PANDARUS. I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word? HELEN. Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We'll hear you sing, certainly- PANDARUS. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus- HELEN. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord- PANDARUS. Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most affectionately to you- HELEN. You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon your head! PANDARUS. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i' faith. HELEN. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence. PANDARUS. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no. -And, my lord, he desires you that, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse. HELEN. My Lord Pandarus! PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen? PARIS. What exploit's in hand? Where sups he to-night? HELEN. Nay, but, my lord- PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with you. HELEN. You must not know where he sups. PARIS. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. PANDARUS. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick. PARIS. Well, I'll make's excuse. PANDARUS. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? No, your poor disposer's sick. PARIS. I spy. PANDARUS. You spy! What do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen. HELEN. Why, this is kindly done. PANDARUS. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen. HELEN. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris. PANDARUS. He! No, she'll none of him; they two are twain. HELEN. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three. PANDARUS. Come, come. I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a song now. HELEN. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. PANDARUS. Ay, you may, you may. HELEN. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid! PANDARUS. Love! Ay, that it shall, i' faith. PARIS. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. PANDARUS. In good troth, it begins so. [Sings] Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more! For, oh, love's bow Shoots buck and doe; The shaft confounds Not that it wounds, But tickles still the sore. These lovers cry, O ho, they die! Yet that which seems the wound to kill Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he! So dying love lives still. O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha! O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!-hey ho! HELEN. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. PARIS. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. PANDARUS. Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's a-field today? PARIS. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not? HELEN. He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus. PANDARUS. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse? PARIS. To a hair. PANDARUS. Farewell, sweet queen. HELEN. Commend me to your niece. PANDARUS. I will, sweet queen. Exit. Sound a retreat PARIS. They're come from the field. Let us to Priam's hall To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you To help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles, With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, Shall more obey than to the edge of steel Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more Than all the island kings-disarm great Hector. HELEN. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris; Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty Gives us more palm in beauty than we have, Yea, overshines ourself. PARIS. Sweet, above thought I love thee. Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 2. Troy. PANDARUS' orchard Enter PANDARUS and TROILUS' BOY, meeting PANDARUS. How now! Where's thy master? At my cousin Cressida's? BOY. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither. Enter TROILUS PANDARUS. O, here he comes. How now, how now! TROILUS. Sirrah, walk off. Exit Boy PANDARUS. Have you seen my cousin? TROILUS. No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, And give me swift transportance to these fields Where I may wallow in the lily beds Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandar, From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, And fly with me to Cressid! PANDARUS. Walk here i' th' orchard, I'll bring her straight. Exit TROILUS. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. Th' imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense; what will it be When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed Love's thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me; Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine, Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, For the capacity of my ruder powers. I fear it much; and I do fear besides That I shall lose distinction in my joys; As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps The enemy flying. Re-enter PANDARUS PANDARUS. She's making her ready, she'll come straight; you must be witty now. She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray'd with a sprite. I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en sparrow. Exit TROILUS. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom. My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse, And all my powers do their bestowing lose, Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring The eye of majesty. Re-enter PANDARUS With CRESSIDA PANDARUS. Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby.-Here she is now; swear the oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.- What, are you gone again? You must be watch'd ere you be made tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw backward, we'll put you i' th' fills.-Why do you not speak to her?-Come, draw this curtain and let's see your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight! An 'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i' th' river. Go to, go to. TROILUS. You have bereft me of all words, lady. PANDARUS. Words pay no debts, give her deeds; but she'll bereave you o' th' deeds too, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here's 'In witness whereof the parties interchangeably.' Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire. Exit CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord? TROILUS. O Cressid, how often have I wish'd me thus! CRESSIDA. Wish'd, my lord! The gods grant-O my lord! TROILUS. What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love? CRESSIDA. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. TROILUS. Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly. CRESSIDA. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse. TROILUS. O, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. CRESSIDA. Nor nothing monstrous neither? TROILUS. Nothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire, cat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposition enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. CRESSIDA. They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are they not monsters? TROILUS. Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert before his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak truest not truer than Troilus. CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord? Re-enter PANDARUS PANDARUS. What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet? CRESSIDA. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you. PANDARUS. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it. TROILUS. You know now your hostages: your uncle's word and my firm faith. PANDARUS. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where they are thrown. CRESSIDA. Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart. Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day For many weary months. TROILUS. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win? CRESSIDA. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord, With the first glance that ever-pardon me. If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. I love you now; but till now not so much But I might master it. In faith, I lie; My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools! Why have I blabb'd? Who shall be true to us, When we are so unsecret to ourselves? But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man, Or that we women had men's privilege Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue, For in this rapture I shall surely speak The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth. TROILUS. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. PANDARUS. Pretty, i' faith. CRESSIDA. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. I am asham'd. O heavens! what have I done? For this time will I take my leave, my lord. TROILUS. Your leave, sweet Cressid! PANDARUS. Leave! An you take leave till to-morrow morning- CRESSIDA. Pray you, content you. TROILUS. What offends you, lady? CRESSIDA. Sir, mine own company. TROILUS. You cannot shun yourself. CRESSIDA. Let me go and try. I have a kind of self resides with you; But an unkind self, that itself will leave To be another's fool. I would be gone. Where is my wit? I know not what I speak. TROILUS. Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely. CRESSIDA. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love; And fell so roundly to a large confession To angle for your thoughts; but you are wise- Or else you love not; for to be wise and love Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above. TROILUS. O that I thought it could be in a woman- As, if it can, I will presume in you- To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love; To keep her constancy in plight and youth, Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind That doth renew swifter than blood decays! Or that persuasion could but thus convince me That my integrity and truth to you Might be affronted with the match and weight Of such a winnowed purity in love. How were I then uplifted! but, alas, I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth. CRESSIDA. In that I'll war with you. TROILUS. O virtuous fight, When right with right wars who shall be most right! True swains in love shall in the world to come Approve their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes, Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration- As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to th' centre- Yet, after all comparisons of truth, As truth's authentic author to be cited, 'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse And sanctify the numbers. CRESSIDA. Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself, When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing-yet let memory From false to false, among false maids in love, Upbraid my falsehood when th' have said 'As false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son'- Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 'As false as Cressid.' PANDARUS. Go to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I'll be the witness. Here I hold your hand; here my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all pitiful goers- between be call'd to the world's end after my name-call them all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say 'Amen.' TROILUS. Amen. CRESSIDA. Amen. PANDARUS. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away! And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear! Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 3. The Greek camp Flourish. Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX, MENELAUS, and CALCHAS CALCHAS. Now, Princes, for the service I have done, Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind That, through the sight I bear in things to come, I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself From certain and possess'd conveniences To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, Made tame and most familiar to my nature; And here, to do you service, am become As new into the world, strange, unacquainted- I do beseech you, as in way of taste, To give me now a little benefit Out of those many regist'red in promise, Which you say live to come in my behalf. AGAMEMNON. What wouldst thou of us, Troyan? Make demand. CALCHAS. You have a Troyan prisoner call'd Antenor, Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. Oft have you-often have you thanks therefore- Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor, I know, is such a wrest in their affairs That their negotiations all must slack Wanting his manage; and they will almost Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes, And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence Shall quite strike off all service I have done In most accepted pain. AGAMEMNON. Let Diomedes bear him, And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have What he requests of us. Good Diomed, Furnish you fairly for this interchange; Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready. DIOMEDES. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden Which I am proud to bear. Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent ULYSSES. Achilles stands i' th' entrance of his tent. Please it our general pass strangely by him, As if he were forgot; and, Princes all, Lay negligent and loose regard upon him. I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him? If so, I have derision med'cinable To use between your strangeness and his pride, Which his own will shall have desire to drink. It may do good. Pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride; for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees. AGAMEMNON. We'll execute your purpose, and put on A form of strangeness as we pass along. So do each lord; and either greet him not, Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. ACHILLES. What comes the general to speak with me? You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. AGAMEMNON. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us? NESTOR. Would you, my lord, aught with the general? ACHILLES. No. NESTOR. Nothing, my lord. AGAMEMNON. The better. Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR ACHILLES. Good day, good day. MENELAUS. How do you? How do you? Exit ACHILLES. What, does the cuckold scorn me? AJAX. How now, Patroclus? ACHILLES. Good morrow, Ajax. AJAX. Ha? ACHILLES. Good morrow. AJAX. Ay, and good next day too. Exit ACHILLES. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles? PATROCLUS. They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend, To send their smiles before them to Achilles, To come as humbly as they us'd to creep To holy altars. ACHILLES. What, am I poor of late? 'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune, Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd is, He shall as soon read in the eyes of others As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; And not a man for being simply man Hath any honour, but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, and favour, Prizes of accident, as oft as merit; Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, Doth one pluck down another, and together Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me: Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy At ample point all that I did possess Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out Something not worth in me such rich beholding As they have often given. Here is Ulysses. I'll interrupt his reading. How now, Ulysses! ULYSSES. Now, great Thetis' son! ACHILLES. What are you reading? ULYSSES. A strange fellow here Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted, How much in having, or without or in- Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the first giver. ACHILLES. This is not strange, Ulysses. The beauty that is borne here in the face The bearer knows not, but commends itself To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself- That most pure spirit of sense-behold itself, Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed Salutes each other with each other's form; For speculation turns not to itself Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. ULYSSES. I do not strain at the position- It is familiar-but at the author's drift; Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves That no man is the lord of anything, Though in and of him there be much consisting, Till he communicate his parts to others; Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them formed in th' applause Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate The voice again; or, like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; And apprehended here immediately Th' unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! A very horse that has he knows not what! Nature, what things there are Most abject in regard and dear in use! What things again most dear in the esteem And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow- An act that very chance doth throw upon him- Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, While some men leave to do! How some men creep in skittish Fortune's-hall, Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes! How one man eats into another's pride, While pride is fasting in his wantonness! To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder, As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, And great Troy shrinking. ACHILLES. I do believe it; for they pass'd by me As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot? ULYSSES. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes. Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mock'ry. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow - Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path, For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue; if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost; Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours; For Time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating Time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin- That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust that is a little gilt More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. The present eye praises the present object. Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax, Since things in motion sooner catch the eye Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee, And still it might, and yet it may again, If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive And case thy reputation in thy tent, Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves, And drave great Mars to faction. ACHILLES. Of this my privacy I have strong reasons. ULYSSES. But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical. 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters. ACHILLES. Ha! known! ULYSSES. Is that a wonder? The providence that's in a watchful state Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps; Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods, Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery-with whom relation Durst never meddle-in the soul of state, Which hath an operation more divine Than breath or pen can give expressure to. All the commerce that you have had with Troy As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord; And better would it fit Achilles much To throw down Hector than Polyxena. But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, When fame shall in our island sound her trump, And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing 'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.' Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak. The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. Exit PATROCLUS. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you. A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this; They think my little stomach to the war And your great love to me restrains you thus. Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to airy air. ACHILLES. Shall Ajax fight with Hector? PATROCLUS. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him. ACHILLES. I see my reputation is at stake; My fame is shrewdly gor'd. PATROCLUS. O, then, beware: Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves; Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when they sit idly in the sun. ACHILLES. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus. I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him T' invite the Troyan lords, after the combat, To see us here unarm'd. I have a woman's longing, An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; To talk with him, and to behold his visage, Even to my full of view. Enter THERSITES A labour sav'd! THERSITES. A wonder! ACHILLES. What? THERSITES. Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself. ACHILLES. How so? THERSITES. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing. ACHILLES. How can that be? THERSITES. Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock-a stride and a stand; ruminaies like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say 'There were wit in this head, an 'twould out'; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' combat, he'll break't himself in vainglory. He knows not me. I said 'Good morrow, Ajax'; and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think you of this man that takes me for the general? He's grown a very land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin. ACHILLES. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. THERSITES. Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking is for beggars: he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. ACHILLES. To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd Captain General of the Grecian army, et cetera, Agamemnon. Do this. PATROCLUS. Jove bless great Ajax! THERSITES. Hum! PATROCLUS. I come from the worthy Achilles- THERSITES. Ha! PATROCLUS. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent- THERSITES. Hum! PATROCLUS. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon. THERSITES. Agamemnon! PATROCLUS. Ay, my lord. THERSITES. Ha! PATROCLUS. What you say to't? THERSITES. God buy you, with all my heart. PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir. THERSITES. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir. THERSITES. Fare ye well, with all my heart. ACHILLES. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? THERSITES. No, but he's out a tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knock'd out his brains I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. ACHILLES. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. THERSITES. Let me carry another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature. ACHILLES. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; And I myself see not the bottom of it. Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS THERSITES. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance. Exit <> ACT IV. SCENE 1. Troy. A street Enter, at one side, AENEAS, and servant with a torch; at another, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES the Grecian, and others, with torches PARIS. See, ho! Who is that there? DEIPHOBUS. It is the Lord Aeneas. AENEAS. Is the Prince there in person? Had I so good occasion to lie long As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business Should rob my bed-mate of my company. DIOMEDES. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas. PARIS. A valiant Greek, Aeneas -take his hand: Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field. AENEAS. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce; But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance As heart can think or courage execute. DIOMEDES. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health! But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life With all my force, pursuit, and policy. AENEAS. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly With his face backward. In humane gentleness, Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life, Welcome indeed! By Venus' hand I swear No man alive can love in such a sort The thing he means to kill, more excellently. DIOMEDES. We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live, If to my sword his fate be not the glory, A thousand complete courses of the sun! But in mine emulous honour let him die With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow! AENEAS. We know each other well. DIOMEDES.We do; and long to know each other worse. PARIS. This is the most despiteful'st gentle greeting The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. What business, lord, so early? AENEAS. I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not. PARIS. His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek To Calchas' house, and there to render him, For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid. Let's have your company; or, if you please, Haste there before us. I constantly believe- Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge- My brother Troilus lodges there to-night. Rouse him and give him note of our approach, With the whole quality wherefore; I fear We shall be much unwelcome. AENEAS. That I assure you: Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece Than Cressid borne from Troy. PARIS. There is no help; The bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you. AENEAS. Good morrow, all. Exit with servant PARIS. And tell me, noble Diomed-faith, tell me true, Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship- Who in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best, Myself or Menelaus? DIOMEDES. Both alike: He merits well to have her that doth seek her, Not making any scruple of her soilure, With such a hell of pain and world of charge; And you as well to keep her that defend her, Not palating the taste of her dishonour, With such a costly loss of wealth and friends. He like a puling cuckold would drink up The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors. Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more; But he as he, the heavier for a whore. PARIS. You are too bitter to your country-woman. DIOMEDES. She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris: For every false drop in her bawdy veins A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple Of her contaminated carrion weight A Troyan hath been slain; since she could speak, She hath not given so many good words breath As for her Greeks and Troyans suff'red death. PARIS. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; But we in silence hold this virtue well: We'll not commend what we intend to sell. Here lies our way. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE 2. Troy. The court of PANDARUS' house Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA TROILUS. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. CRESSIDA. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down; He shall unbolt the gates. TROILUS. Trouble him not; To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes, And give as soft attachment to thy senses As infants' empty of all thought! CRESSIDA. Good morrow, then. TROILUS. I prithee now, to bed. CRESSIDA. Are you aweary of me? TROILUS. O Cressida! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee. CRESSIDA. Night hath been too brief. TROILUS. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me. CRESSIDA. Prithee tarry. You men will never tarry. O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up. PANDARUS. [Within] What's all the doors open here? TROILUS. It is your uncle. Enter PANDARUS CRESSIDA. A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking. I shall have such a life! PANDARUS. How now, how now! How go maidenheads? Here, you maid! Where's my cousin Cressid? CRESSIDA. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. PANDARUS. To do what? to do what? Let her say what. What have I brought you to do? CRESSIDA. Come, come, beshrew your heart! You'll ne'er be good, Nor suffer others. PANDARUS. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capocchia! hast not slept to-night? Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him! CRESSIDA. Did not I tell you? Would he were knock'd i' th' head! [One knocks] Who's that at door? Good uncle, go and see. My lord, come you again into my chamber. You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. TROILUS. Ha! ha! CRESSIDA. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing. [Knock] How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in: I would not for half Troy have you seen here. Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA PANDARUS. Who's there? What's the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? What's the matter? Enter AENEAS AENEAS. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. PANDARUS. Who's there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth, I knew you not. What news with you so early? AENEAS. Is not Prince Troilus here? PANDARUS. Here! What should he do here? AENEAS. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me. PANDARUS. Is he here, say you? It's more than I know, I'll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here? AENEAS. Who!-nay, then. Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are ware; you'll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go. Re-enter TROILUS TROILUS. How now! What's the matter? AENEAS. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The Lady Cressida. TROILUS. Is it so concluded? AENEAS. By Priam, and the general state of Troy. They are at hand and ready to effect it. TROILUS. How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them; and, my lord Aeneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here. AENEAS. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in taciturnity. Exeunt TROILUS and AENEAS PANDARUS. Is't possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke's neck. Re-enter CRESSIDA CRESSIDA. How now! What's the matter? Who was here? PANDARUS. Ah, ah! CRESSIDA. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where's my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? PANDARUS. Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above! CRESSIDA. O the gods! What's the matter? PANDARUS. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor! CRESSIDA. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what's the matter? PANDARUS. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang'd for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. 'Twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it. CRESSIDA. O you immortal gods! I will not go. PANDARUS. Thou must. CRESSIDA. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; I know no touch of consanguinity, No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine, Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, Do to this body what extremes you can, But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weep- PANDARUS. Do, do. CRESSIDA. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, With sounding 'Troilus.' I will not go from Troy. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE 3. Troy. A street before PANDARUS' house Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES PARIS. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd For her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, Tell you the lady what she is to do And haste her to the purpose. TROILUS. Walk into her house. I'll bring her to the Grecian presently; And to his hand when I deliver her, Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus A priest, there off'ring to it his own heart. Exit PARIS. I know what 'tis to love, And would, as I shall pity, I could help! Please you walk in, my lords. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE 4. Troy. PANDARUS' house Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA PANDARUS. Be moderate, be moderate. CRESSIDA. Why tell you me of moderation? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affections Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief. My love admits no qualifying dross; No more my grief, in such a precious loss. Enter TROILUS PANDARUS. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks! CRESSIDA. O Troilus! Troilus! [Embracing him] PANDARUS. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. 'O heart,' as the goodly saying is, O heart, heavy heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking? where he answers again Because thou canst not ease thy smart By friendship nor by speaking. There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now, lambs! TROILUS. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me. CRESSIDA. Have the gods envy? PANDARUS. Ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case. CRESSIDA. And is it true that I must go from Troy? TROILUS. A hateful truth. CRESSIDA. What, and from Troilus too? TROILUS. From Troy and Troilus. CRESSIDA. Is't possible? TROILUS. And suddenly; where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows Even in the birth of our own labouring breath. We two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude brevity and discharge of one. Injurious time now with a robber's haste Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how. As many farewells as be stars in heaven, With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu, And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken tears. AENEAS. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready? TROILUS. Hark! you are call'd. Some say the Genius so Cries 'Come' to him that instantly must die. Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. PANDARUS. Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by th' root? Exit CRESSIDA. I must then to the Grecians? TROILUS. No remedy. CRESSIDA. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! When shall we see again? TROILUS. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart- CRESSIDA. I true! how now! What wicked deem is this? TROILUS. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us. I speak not 'Be thou true' as fearing thee, For I will throw my glove to Death himself That there's no maculation in thy heart; But 'Be thou true' say I to fashion in My sequent protestation: be thou true, And I will see thee. CRESSIDA. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true. TROILUS. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve. CRESSIDA. And you this glove. When shall I see you? TROILUS. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels To give thee nightly visitation. But yet be true. CRESSIDA. O heavens! 'Be true' again! TROILUS. Hear why I speak it, love. The Grecian youths are full of quality; They're loving, well compos'd with gifts of nature, And flowing o'er with arts and exercise. How novelties may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealousy, Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin, Makes me afeard. CRESSIDA. O heavens! you love me not. TROILUS. Die I a villain, then! In this I do not call your faith in question So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing, Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, Nor play at subtle games-fair virtues all, To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant; But I can tell that in each grace of these There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted. CRESSIDA. Do you think I will? TROILUS. No. But something may be done that we will not; And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency. AENEAS. [Within] Nay, good my lord! TROILUS. Come, kiss; and let us part. PARIS. [Within] Brother Troilus! TROILUS. Good brother, come you hither; And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you. CRESSIDA. My lord, will you be true? TROILUS. Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault! Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS, and DIOMEDES Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit Is 'plain and true'; there's all the reach of it. Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady Which for Antenor we deliver you; At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand, And by the way possess thee what she is. Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe As Priam is in Ilion. DIOMEDES. Fair Lady Cressid, So please you, save the thanks this prince expects. The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. TROILUS. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously To shame the zeal of my petition to the In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. I charge thee use her well, even for my charge; For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, I'll cut thy throat. DIOMEDES. O, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus. Let me be privileg'd by my place and message To be a speaker free: when I am hence I'll answer to my lust. And know you, lord, I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth She shall be priz'd. But that you say 'Be't so,' I speak it in my spirit and honour, 'No.' TROILUS. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed, This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk, To our own selves bend we our needful talk. Exeunt TROILUS, CRESSIDA, and DIOMEDES [Sound trumpet] PARIS. Hark! Hector's trumpet. AENEAS. How have we spent this morning! The Prince must think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him to the field. PARIS. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come to field with him. DEIPHOBUS. Let us make ready straight. AENEAS. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity Let us address to tend on Hector's heels. The glory of our Troy doth this day lie On his fair worth and single chivalry. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE 5. The Grecian camp. Lists set out Enter AJAX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, PATROCLUS, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, and others AGAMEMNON. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, Anticipating time with starting courage. Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air May pierce the head of the great combatant, And hale him hither. AJAX. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe; Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek Out-swell the colic of puff Aquilon'd. Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood: Thou blowest for Hector. [Trumpet sounds] ULYSSES. No trumpet answers. ACHILLES. 'Tis but early days. Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA AGAMEMNON. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daughter? ULYSSES. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait: He rises on the toe. That spirit of his In aspiration lifts him from the earth. AGAMEMNON. Is this the lady Cressid? DIOMEDES. Even she. AGAMEMNON. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. NESTOR. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. ULYSSES. Yet is the kindness but particular; 'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. NESTOR. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin. So much for Nestor. ACHILLES. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady. Achilles bids you welcome. MENELAUS. I had good argument for kissing once. PATROCLUS. But that's no argument for kissing now; For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment, And parted thus you and your argument. ULYSSES. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns! For which we lose our heads to gild his horns. PATROCLUS. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine- [Kisses her again] Patroclus kisses you. MENELAUS. O, this is trim! PATROCLUS. Paris and I kiss evermore for him. MENELAUS. I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave. CRESSIDA. In kissing, do you render or receive? PATROCLUS. Both take and give. CRESSIDA. I'll make my match to live, The kiss you take is better than you give; Therefore no kiss. MENELAUS. I'll give you boot; I'll give you three for one. CRESSIDA. You are an odd man; give even or give none. MENELAUS. An odd man, lady? Every man is odd. CRESSIDA. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true That you are odd, and he is even with you. MENELAUS. You fillip me o' th' head. CRESSIDA. No, I'll be sworn. ULYSSES. It were no match, your nail against his horn. May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you? CRESSIDA. You may. ULYSSES. I do desire it. CRESSIDA. Why, beg then. ULYSSES. Why then, for Venus' sake give me a kiss When Helen is a maid again, and his. CRESSIDA. I am your debtor; claim it when 'tis due. ULYSSES. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. DIOMEDES. Lady, a word. I'll bring you to your father. Exit with CRESSIDA NESTOR. A woman of quick sense. ULYSSES. Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body. O these encounters so glib of tongue That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every ticklish reader! Set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity, And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within] ALL. The Troyans' trumpet. Enter HECTOR, armed; AENEAS, TROILUS, PARIS, HELENUS, and other Trojans, with attendants AGAMEMNON. Yonder comes the troop. AENEAS. Hail, all the state of Greece! What shall be done To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose A victor shall be known? Will you the knights Shall to the edge of all extremity Pursue each other, or shall they be divided By any voice or order of the field? Hector bade ask. AGAMEMNON. Which way would Hector have it? AENEAS. He cares not; he'll obey conditions. ACHILLES. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely done, A little proudly, and great deal misprizing The knight oppos'd. AENEAS. If not Achilles, sir, What is your name? ACHILLES. If not Achilles, nothing. AENEAS. Therefore Achilles. But whate'er, know this: In the extremity of great and little Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; The one almost as infinite as all, The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, And that which looks like pride is courtesy. This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood; In love whereof half Hector stays at home; Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek This blended knight, half Troyan and half Greek. ACHILLES. A maiden battle then? O, I perceive you! Re-enter DIOMEDES AGAMEMNON. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight, Stand by our Ajax. As you and Lord ]Eneas Consent upon the order of their fight, So be it; either to the uttermost, Or else a breath. The combatants being kin Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. [AJAX and HECTOR enter the lists] ULYSSES. They are oppos'd already. AGAMEMNON. What Troyan is that same that looks so heavy? ULYSSES. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue; Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd soon calm'd; His heart and hand both open and both free; For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows, Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath; Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes To tender objects, but he in heat of action Is more vindicative than jealous love. They call him Troilus, and on him erect A second hope as fairly built as Hector. Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth Even to his inches, and, with private soul, Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. [Alarum. HECTOR and AJAX fight] AGAMEMNON. They are in action. NESTOR. Now, Ajax, hold thine own! TROILUS. Hector, thou sleep'st; Awake thee. AGAMEMNON. His blows are well dispos'd. There, Ajax! [Trumpets cease] DIOMEDES. You must no more. AENEAS. Princes, enough, so please you. AJAX. I am not warm yet; let us fight again. DIOMEDES. As Hector pleases. HECTOR. Why, then will I no more. Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, A cousin-german to great Priam's seed; The obligation of our blood forbids A gory emulation 'twixt us twain: Were thy commixtion Greek and Troyan so That thou could'st say 'This hand is Grecian all, And this is Troyan; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister Bounds in my father's'; by Jove multipotent, Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member Wherein my sword had not impressure made Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax. By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; Hector would have them fall upon him thus. Cousin, all honour to thee! AJAX. I thank thee, Hector. Thou art too gentle and too free a man. I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence A great addition earned in thy death. HECTOR. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes Cries 'This is he' could promise to himself A thought of added honour torn from Hector. AENEAS. There is expectance here from both the sides What further you will do. HECTOR. We'll answer it: The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell. AJAX. If I might in entreaties find success, As seld I have the chance, I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. DIOMEDES. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish; and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. HECTOR. Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me, And signify this loving interview To the expecters of our Troyan part; Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin; I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. AGAMEMNON and the rest of the Greeks come forward AJAX. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. HECTOR. The worthiest of them tell me name by name; But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size. AGAMEMNON.Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one That would be rid of such an enemy. But that's no welcome. Understand more clear, What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion; But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. HECTOR. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. AGAMEMNON. [To Troilus] My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. MENELAUS. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting. You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. HECTOR. Who must we answer? AENEAS. The noble Menelaus. HECTOR. O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks! Mock not that I affect the untraded oath; Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove. She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. MENELAUS. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme. HECTOR. O, pardon; I offend. NESTOR. I have, thou gallant Troyan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th' air, Not letting it decline on the declined; That I have said to some my standers-by 'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!' And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen; But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, And once fought with him. He was a soldier good, But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee; And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. AENEAS. 'Tis the old Nestor. HECTOR. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time. Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. NESTOR. I would my arms could match thee in contention As they contend with thee in courtesy. HECTOR. I would they could. NESTOR. Ha! By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow. Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time. ULYSSES. I wonder now how yonder city stands, When we have here her base and pillar by us. HECTOR. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well. Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Troyan dead, Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilion on your Greekish embassy. ULYSSES. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue. My prophecy is but half his journey yet; For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet. HECTOR. I must not believe you. There they stand yet; and modestly I think The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all; And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it. ULYSSES. So to him we leave it. Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome. After the General, I beseech you next To feast with me and see me at my tent. ACHILLES. I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou! Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, And quoted joint by joint. HECTOR. Is this Achilles? ACHILLES. I am Achilles. HECTOR. Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee. ACHILLES. Behold thy fill. HECTOR. Nay, I have done already. ACHILLES. Thou art too brief. I will the second time, As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. HECTOR. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er; But there's more in me than thou understand'st. Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? ACHILLES. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there? That I may give the local wound a name, And make distinct the very breach whereout Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens. HECTOR. It would discredit the blest gods, proud man, To answer such a question. Stand again. Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly As to prenominate in nice conjecture Where thou wilt hit me dead? ACHILLES. I tell thee yea. HECTOR. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, I'll kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er. You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. His insolence draws folly from my lips; But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never- AJAX. Do not chafe thee, cousin; And you, Achilles, let these threats alone Till accident or purpose bring you to't. You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. HECTOR. I pray you let us see you in the field; We have had pelting wars since you refus'd The Grecians' cause. ACHILLES. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; To-night all friends. HECTOR. Thy hand upon that match. AGAMEMNON. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; There in the full convive we; afterwards, As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall Concur together, severally entreat him. Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow, That this great soldier may his welcome know. Exeunt all but TROILUS and ULYSSES TROILUS. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? ULYSSES. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus. There Diomed doth feast with him to-night, Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view On the fair Cressid. TROILUS. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, After we part from Agamemnon's tent, To bring me thither? ULYSSES. You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me of what honour was This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there That wails her absence? TROILUS. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth; But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. Exeunt <> ACT V. SCENE 1. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS ACHILLES. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. PATROCLUS. Here comes Thersites. Enter THERSITES ACHILLES. How now, thou core of envy! Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? THERSITES. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee. ACHILLES. From whence, fragment? THERSITES. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. PATROCLUS. Who keeps the tent now? THERSITES. The surgeon's box or the patient's wound. PATROCLUS. Well said, Adversity! and what needs these tricks? THERSITES. Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles' male varlet. PATROCLUS. Male varlet, you rogue! What's that? THERSITES. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel in the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i' th' palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee- simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries! PATROCLUS. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus? THERSITES. Do I curse thee? PATROCLUS. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no. THERSITES. No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleid silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pest'red with such water-flies-diminutives of nature! PATROCLUS. Out, gall! THERSITES. Finch egg! ACHILLES. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, A token from her daughter, my fair love, Both taxing me and gaging me to keep An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it. Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; This night in banqueting must all be spent. Away, Patroclus! Exit with PATROCLUS THERSITES. With too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if with too much brain and to little blood they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg-to what form but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a put-tock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires! Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights AGAMEMNON. We go wrong, we go wrong. AJAX. No, yonder 'tis; There, where we see the lights. HECTOR. I trouble you. AJAX. No, not a whit. Re-enter ACHILLES ULYSSES. Here comes himself to guide you. ACHILLES. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. AGAMEMNON. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night; Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. HECTOR. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' general. MENELAUS. Good night, my lord. HECTOR. Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus. THERSITES. Sweet draught! 'Sweet' quoth 'a? Sweet sink, sweet sewer! ACHILLES. Good night and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry. AGAMEMNON. Good night. Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS ACHILLES. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, Keep Hector company an hour or two. DIOMEDES. I cannot, lord; I have important business, The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector. HECTOR. Give me your hand. ULYSSES. [Aside to TROILUS] Follow his torch; he goes to Calchas' tent; I'll keep you company. TROILUS. Sweet sir, you honour me. HECTOR. And so, good night. Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following ACHILLES. Come, come, enter my tent. Exeunt all but THERSITES THERSITES. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses. He will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps a Troyan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent. I'll after. Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets! Exit ACT V. SCENE 2. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS' tent Enter DIOMEDES DIOMEDES. What, are you up here, ho? Speak. CALCHAS. [Within] Who calls? DIOMEDES. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter? CALCHAS. [Within] She comes to you. Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance; after them THERSITES ULYSSES. Stand where the torch may not discover us. Enter CRESSIDA TROILUS. Cressid comes forth to him. DIOMEDES. How now, my charge! CRESSIDA. Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you. [Whispers] TROILUS. Yea, so familiar! ULYSSES. She will sing any man at first sight. THERSITES. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she's noted. DIOMEDES. Will you remember? CRESSIDA. Remember? Yes. DIOMEDES. Nay, but do, then; And let your mind be coupled with your words. TROILUS. What shall she remember? ULYSSES. List! CRESSIDA. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. THERSITES. Roguery! DIOMEDES. Nay, then- CRESSIDA. I'll tell you what- DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn- CRESSIDA. In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do? THERSITES. A juggling trick, to be secretly open. DIOMEDES. What did you swear you would bestow on me? CRESSIDA. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath; Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek. DIOMEDES. Good night. TROILUS. Hold, patience! ULYSSES. How now, Troyan! CRESSIDA. Diomed! DIOMEDES. No, no, good night; I'll be your fool no more. TROILUS. Thy better must. CRESSIDA. Hark! a word in your ear. TROILUS. O plague and madness! ULYSSES. You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray, Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous; The time right deadly; I beseech you, go. TROILUS. Behold, I pray you. ULYSSES. Nay, good my lord, go off; You flow to great distraction; come, my lord. TROILUS. I prithee stay. ULYSSES. You have not patience; come. TROILUS. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments, I will not speak a word. DIOMEDES. And so, good night. CRESSIDA. Nay, but you part in anger. TROILUS. Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth! ULYSSES. How now, my lord? TROILUS. By Jove, I will be patient. CRESSIDA. Guardian! Why, Greek! DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! adieu! you palter. CRESSIDA. In faith, I do not. Come hither once again. ULYSSES. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go? You will break out. TROILUS. She strokes his cheek. ULYSSES. Come, come. TROILUS. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: There is between my will and all offences A guard of patience. Stay a little while. THERSITES. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry! DIOMEDES. But will you, then? CRESSIDA. In faith, I will, lo; never trust me else. DIOMEDES. Give me some token for the surety of it. CRESSIDA. I'll fetch you one. Exit ULYSSES. You have sworn patience. TROILUS. Fear me not, my lord; I will not be myself, nor have cognition Of what I feel. I am all patience. Re-enter CRESSIDA THERSITES. Now the pledge; now, now, now! CRESSIDA. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. TROILUS. O beauty! where is thy faith? ULYSSES. My lord! TROILUS. I will be patient; outwardly I will. CRESSIDA. You look upon that sleeve; behold it well. He lov'd me-O false wench!-Give't me again. DIOMEDES. Whose was't? CRESSIDA. It is no matter, now I ha't again. I will not meet with you to-morrow night. I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more. THERSITES. Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone. DIOMEDES. I shall have it. CRESSIDA. What, this? DIOMEDES. Ay, that. CRESSIDA. O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge! Thy master now lies thinking on his bed Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove, And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me; He that takes that doth take my heart withal. DIOMEDES. I had your heart before; this follows it. TROILUS. I did swear patience. CRESSIDA. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not; I'll give you something else. DIOMEDES. I will have this. Whose was it? CRESSIDA. It is no matter. DIOMEDES. Come, tell me whose it was. CRESSIDA. 'Twas one's that lov'd me better than you will. But, now you have it, take it. DIOMEDES. Whose was it? CRESSIDA. By all Diana's waiting women yond, And by herself, I will not tell you whose. DIOMEDES. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm, And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. TROILUS. Wert thou the devil and wor'st it on thy horn, It should be challeng'd. CRESSIDA. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not; I will not keep my word. DIOMEDES. Why, then farewell; Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. CRESSIDA. You shall not go. One cannot speak a word But it straight starts you. DIOMEDES. I do not like this fooling. THERSITES. Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you Pleases me best. DIOMEDES. What, shall I come? The hour- CRESSIDA. Ay, come-O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu'd. DIOMEDES. Farewell till then. CRESSIDA. Good night. I prithee come. Exit DIOMEDES Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee; But with my heart the other eye doth see. Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find, The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err; O, then conclude, Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. Exit THERSITES. A proof of strength she could not publish more, Unless she said 'My mind is now turn'd whore.' ULYSSES. All's done, my lord. TROILUS. It is. ULYSSES. Why stay we, then? TROILUS. To make a recordation to my soul Of every syllable that here was spoke. But if I tell how these two did coact, Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, An esperance so obstinately strong, That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears; As if those organs had deceptious functions Created only to calumniate. Was Cressid here? ULYSSES. I cannot conjure, Troyan. TROILUS. She was not, sure. ULYSSES. Most sure she was. TROILUS. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. ULYSSES. Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now. TROILUS. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood. Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, For depravation, to square the general sex By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid. ULYSSES. What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers? TROILUS. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. THERSITES. Will 'a swagger himself out on's own eyes? TROILUS. This she? No; this is Diomed's Cressida. If beauty have a soul, this is not she; If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, If sanctimony be the god's delight, If there be rule in unity itself, This was not she. O madness of discourse, That cause sets up with and against itself! Bifold authority! where reason can revolt Without perdition, and loss assume all reason Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid. Within my soul there doth conduce a fight Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate Divides more wider than the sky and earth; And yet the spacious breadth of this division Admits no orifex for a point as subtle As Ariachne's broken woof to enter. Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates: Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven. Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself: The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd; And with another knot, five-finger-tied, The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. ULYSSES. May worthy Troilus be half-attach'd With that which here his passion doth express? TROILUS. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well In characters as red as Mars his heart Inflam'd with Venus. Never did young man fancy With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love, So much by weight hate I her Diomed. That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm; Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout Which shipmen do the hurricano call, Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear In his descent than shall my prompted sword Falling on Diomed. THERSITES. He'll tickle it for his concupy. TROILUS. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, And they'll seem glorious. ULYSSES. O, contain yourself; Your passion draws ears hither. Enter AENEAS AENEAS. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord. Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. TROILUS. Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu. Fairwell, revolted fair!-and, Diomed, Stand fast and wear a castle on thy head. ULYSSES. I'll bring you to the gates. TROILUS. Accept distracted thanks. Exeunt TROILUS, AENEAS. and ULYSSES THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for the intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them! Exit ACT V. SCENE 3. Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace Enter HECTOR and ANDROMACHE ANDROMACHE. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd To stop his ears against admonishment? Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. HECTOR. You train me to offend you; get you in. By all the everlasting gods, I'll go. ANDROMACHE. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day. HECTOR. No more, I say. Enter CASSANDRA CASSANDRA. Where is my brother Hector? ANDROMACHE. Here, sister, arm'd, and bloody in intent. Consort with me in loud and dear petition, Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. CASSANDRA. O, 'tis true! HECTOR. Ho! bid my trumpet sound. CASSANDRA. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother! HECTOR. Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear. CASSANDRA. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows; They are polluted off'rings, more abhorr'd Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. ANDROMACHE. O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy To hurt by being just. It is as lawful, For we would give much, to use violent thefts And rob in the behalf of charity. CASSANDRA. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; But vows to every purpose must not hold. Unarm, sweet Hector. HECTOR. Hold you still, I say. Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate. Life every man holds dear; but the dear man Holds honour far more precious dear than life. Enter TROILUS How now, young man! Mean'st thou to fight to-day? ANDROMACHE. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. Exit CASSANDRA HECTOR. No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth; I am to-day i' th' vein of chivalry. Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, I'll stand to-day for thee and me and Troy. TROILUS. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you Which better fits a lion than a man. HECTOR. What vice is that, good Troilus? Chide me for it. TROILUS. When many times the captive Grecian falls, Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, You bid them rise and live. HECTOR. O, 'tis fair play! TROILUS. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. HECTOR. How now! how now! TROILUS. For th' love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother; And when we have our armours buckled on, The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords, Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth! HECTOR. Fie, savage, fie! TROILUS. Hector, then 'tis wars. HECTOR. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. TROILUS. Who should withhold me? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beck'ning with fiery truncheon my retire; Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by my ruin. Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM CASSANDRA. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast; He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Fall all together. PRIAM. Come, Hector, come, go back. Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions; Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt To tell thee that this day is ominous. Therefore, come back. HECTOR. Aeneas is a-field; And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Even in the faith of valour, to appear This morning to them. PRIAM. Ay, but thou shalt not go. HECTOR. I must not break my faith. You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, Let me not shame respect; but give me leave To take that course by your consent and voice Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. CASSANDRA. O Priam, yield not to him! ANDROMACHE. Do not, dear father. HECTOR. Andromache, I am offended with you. Upon the love you bear me, get you in. Exit ANDROMACHE TROILUS. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements. CASSANDRA. O, farewell, dear Hector! Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale. Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents. Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out; How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth; Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, Like witless antics, one another meet, And all cry, Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector! TROILUS. Away, away! CASSANDRA. Farewell!-yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave. Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. Exit HECTOR. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim. Go in, and cheer the town; we'll forth, and fight, Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night. PRIAM. Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee! Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. Alarums TROILUS. They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe, I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve. Enter PANDARUS PANDARUS. Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear? TROILUS. What now? PANDARUS. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl. TROILUS. Let me read. PANDARUS. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o' th's days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs'd I cannot tell what to think on't. What says she there? TROILUS. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; Th' effect doth operate another way. [Tearing the letter] Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. My love with words and errors still she feeds, But edifies another with her deeds. Exeunt severally ACT V. SCENE 4. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp Enter THERSITES. Excursions THERSITES. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain see them meet, that that same young Troyan ass that loves the whore there might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve back to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. A th' t'other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals-that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses -is not prov'd worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur, Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other. TROILUS. Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx I would swim after. DIOMEDES. Thou dost miscall retire. I do not fly; but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude. Have at thee. THERSITES. Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore, Troyan-now the sleeve, now the sleeve! Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES fighting Enter HECTOR HECTOR. What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match? Art thou of blood and honour? THERSITES. No, no-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue. HECTOR. I do believe thee. Live. Exit THERSITES. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. Exit ACT V. SCENE 5. Another part of the plain Enter DIOMEDES and A SERVANT DIOMEDES. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid. Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Troyan, And am her knight by proof. SERVANT. I go, my lord. Exit Enter AGAMEMNON AGAMEMNON. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus Hath beat down enon; bastard Margarelon Hath Doreus prisoner, And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, Upon the pashed corses of the kings Epistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain; Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt; Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes Sore hurt and bruis'd. The dreadful Sagittary Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed, To reinforcement, or we perish all. Enter NESTOR NESTOR. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles, And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. There is a thousand Hectors in the field; Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot, And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls Before the belching whale; then is he yonder, And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, Fall down before him like the mower's swath. Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes; Dexterity so obeying appetite That what he will he does, and does so much That proof is call'd impossibility. Enter ULYSSES ULYSSES. O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance. Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons, That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to him, Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it, Roaring for Troilus; who hath done to-day Mad and fantastic execution, Engaging and redeeming of himself With such a careless force and forceless care As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, Bade him win all. Enter AJAX AJAX. Troilus! thou coward Troilus! Exit DIOMEDES. Ay, there, there. NESTOR. So, so, we draw together. Exit Enter ACHILLES ACHILLES. Where is this Hector? Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector. Exeunt ACT V. SCENE 6. Another part of the plain Enter AJAX AJAX. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head. Enter DIOMEDES DIOMEDES. Troilus, I say! Where's Troilus? AJAX. What wouldst thou? DIOMEDES. I would correct him. AJAX. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus! Enter TROILUS TROILUS. O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor, And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse. DIOMEDES. Ha! art thou there? AJAX. I'll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed. DIOMEDES. He is my prize. I will not look upon. TROILUS. Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you Exeunt fighting Enter HECTOR HECTOR. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother! Enter ACHILLES ACHILLES. Now do I see thee, ha! Have at thee, Hector! HECTOR. Pause, if thou wilt. ACHILLES. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Troyan. Be happy that my arms are out of use; My rest and negligence befriends thee now, But thou anon shalt hear of me again; Till when, go seek thy fortune. Exit HECTOR. Fare thee well. I would have been much more a fresher man, Had I expected thee. Re-enter TROILUS How now, my brother! TROILUS. Ajax hath ta'en Aeneas. Shall it be? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, He shall not carry him; I'll be ta'en too, Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say: I reck not though thou end my life to-day. Exit Enter one in armour HECTOR. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark. No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well; I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all But I'll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide? Why then, fly on; I'll hunt thee for thy hide. Exeunt ACT V. SCENE 7. Another part of the plain Enter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons ACHILLES. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel; Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath; And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about; In fellest manner execute your arms. Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye. It is decreed Hector the great must die. Exeunt Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting; then THERSITES THERSITES. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-horn'd Spartan! 'loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game. Ware horns, ho! Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS Enter MARGARELON MARGARELON. Turn, slave, and fight. THERSITES. What art thou? MARGARELON. A bastard son of Priam's. THERSITES. I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment. Farewell, bastard. Exit MARGARELON. The devil take thee, coward! Exit ACT V. SCENE 8. Another part of the plain Enter HECTOR HECTOR. Most putrified core so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath: Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death! [Disarms] Enter ACHILLES and his Myrmidons ACHILLES. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels; Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done. HECTOR. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek. ACHILLES. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. [HECTOR falls] So, Ilion, fall thou next! Come, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. On, Myrmidons, and cry you an amain 'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.' [A retreat sounded] Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part. MYRMIDON. The Troyan trumpets sound the like, my lord. ACHILLES. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth And, stickler-like, the armies separates. My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed. [Sheathes his sword] Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; Along the field I will the Troyan trail. Exeunt ACT V. SCENE 9. Another part of the plain Sound retreat. Shout. Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, and the rest, marching AGAMEMNON. Hark! hark! what shout is this? NESTOR. Peace, drums! SOLDIERS. [Within] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain. Achilles! DIOMEDES. The bruit is Hector's slain, and by Achilles. AJAX. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; Great Hector was as good a man as he. AGAMEMNON. March patiently along. Let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our tent. If in his death the gods have us befriended; Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. Exeunt ACT V. SCENE 10. Another part of the plain Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, and DEIPHOBUS AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. Never go home; here starve we out the night. Enter TROILUS TROILUS. Hector is slain. ALL. Hector! The gods forbid! TROILUS. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail, In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed. Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy. I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on. AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. TROILUS. You understand me not that tell me so. I do not speak of flight, of fear of death, But dare all imminence that gods and men Address their dangers in. Hector is gone. Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd Go in to Troy, and say there 'Hector's dead.' There is a word will Priam turn to stone; Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away; Hector is dead; there is no more to say. Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, Let Titan rise as early as he dare, I'll through and through you. And, thou great-siz'd coward, No space of earth shall sunder our two hates; I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go; Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. Enter PANDARUS PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you! TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame Pursue thy life and live aye with thy name! Exeunt all but PANDARUS PANDARUS. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! world! world! thus is the poor agent despis'd! traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov'd, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me see- Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; And being once subdu'd in armed trail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths. As many as be here of pander's hall, Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall; Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will shall here be made. It should be now, but that my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss. Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases, And at that time bequeath you my diseases. Exit THE END <> 1602 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL by William Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE ORSINO, Duke of Illyria SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia FABIAN, servant to Olivia FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia OLIVIA, a rich countess VIOLA, sister of Sebastian MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants <> SCENE: A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it ACT I. SCENE I. The DUKE'S palace Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again! It had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and low price Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical. CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord? DUKE. What, Curio? CURIO. The hart. DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence! That instant was I turn'd into a hart, And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me. Enter VALENTINE How now! what news from her? VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine; all this to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting in her sad remembrance. DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd, Her sweet perfections, with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs: Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs. Exeunt SCENE II. The sea-coast Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS VIOLA. What country, friends, is this? CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady. VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors? CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved. VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be. CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and those poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself- Courage and hope both teaching him the practice- To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves So long as I could see. VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country? CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place. VIOLA. Who governs here? CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name. VIOLA. What is his name? CAPTAIN. Orsino. VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him. He was a bachelor then. CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late; For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know, What great ones do the less will prattle of- That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. VIOLA. What's she? CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also died; for whose dear love, They say, she hath abjur'd the company And sight of men. VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady, And might not be delivered to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, What my estate is! CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass, Because she will admit no kind of suit- No, not the Duke's. VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am, and be my aid For such disguise as haply shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke: Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him; It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap to time I will commit; Only shape thou silence to my wit. CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt SCENE III. OLIVIA'S house Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life. MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted. MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. SIR TOBY. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. MARIA. That quaffing and drinking will undo you; I heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. SIR TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek? MARIA. Ay, he. SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. MARIA. What's that to th' purpose? SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool and a prodigal. SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they? MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria. He's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch! SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew! AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew. MARIA. And you too, sir. SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. AGUECHEEK. What's that? SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid. AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. MARIA. My name is Mary, sir. AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost- SIR Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her, woo her, assail her. AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'? MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen. SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again! AGUECHEEK. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? MARIA. Sir, I have not you by th' hand. AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th' buttry-bar and let it drink. AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor? MARIA. It's dry, sir. AGUECHEEK. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? MARIA. A dry jest, sir. AGUECHEEK. Are you full of them? MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. Exit MARIA SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see thee so put down? AGUECHEEK. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. SIR TOBY. No question. AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight? AGUECHEEK. What is 'pourquoi'- do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. Oh, had I but followed the arts! SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair? SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. AGUECHEEK. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs and spin it off. AGUECHEEK. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me; the Count himself here hard by woos her. SIR TOBY. She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man. AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest mind i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? AGUECHEEK. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper. SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't. AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the star of a galliard. AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels? SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus? AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's sides and heart. SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha, higher! Ha, ha, excellent! Exeunt SCENE IV. The DUKE'S palace Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? VALENTINE. No, believe me. Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count. DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho? VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here. DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd To thee the book even of my secret soul. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; Be not denied access, stand at her doors, And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou have audience. VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith! It shall become thee well to act my woes: She will attend it better in thy youth Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. VIOLA. I think not so, my lord. DUKE. Dear lad, believe it, For they shall yet belie thy happy years That say thou art a man: Diana's lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair. Some four or five attend him- All, if you will, for I myself am best When least in company. Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord To call his fortunes thine. VIOLA. I'll do my best To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. SCENE V. OLIVIA'S house Enter MARIA and CLOWN MARIA. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse; my lady will hang thee for thy absence. CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs to fear no colours. MARIA. Make that good. CLOWN. He shall see none to fear. MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.' CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary? MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. MARIA. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent; or to be turn'd away- is not that as good as a hanging to you? CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out. MARIA. You are resolute, then? CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points. MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall. CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO CLOWN. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' God bless thee, lady! OLIVIA. Take the fool away. CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest. CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend; for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you. CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. OLIVIA. Can you do it? CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna. OLIVIA. Make your proof. CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me. OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof. CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death. CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend? MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool. OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies. OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fools! Re-enter MARIA MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you. OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it? MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay? MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him! [Exit MARIA] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at home- what you will to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! For- here he comes- one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. Enter SIR TOBY OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin? SIR TOBY. A gentleman. OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman? SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these pickle-herring! How now, sot! CLOWN. Good Sir Toby! OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate. OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he? SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. Exit OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool? CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look after him. CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the madman. Exit Re-enter MALVOLIO MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? He's fortified against any denial. OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me. MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he? MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind. OLIVIA. What manner of man? MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no. OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he? MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him. OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit Re-enter MARIA OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter VIOLA VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will? VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir? VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. OLIVIA. Are you a comedian? VIOLA. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am. VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message. OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise. VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping dialogue. MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way. VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. OLIVIA. Tell me your mind. VIOLA. I am a messenger. OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as full of peace as matter. OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation. OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity. [Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text? VIOLA. Most sweet lady- OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom. OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom? VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart. OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face. OLIVIA. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain and show you the picture. [Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is't not well done? VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all. OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy. OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labell'd to my will: as- item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you- O, such love Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd The nonpareil of beauty! OLIVIA. How does he love me? VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in dimension and the shape of nature A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him. He might have took his answer long ago. VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame, With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense; I would not understand it. OLIVIA. Why, what would you? VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Halloo your name to the reverberate hals, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth But you should pity me! OLIVIA. You might do much. What is your parentage? VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. OLIVIA. Get you to your lord. I cannot love him; let him send no more- Unless perchance you come to me again To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well. I thank you for your pains; spend this for me. VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint that you shall love; And let your fervour, like my master's, be Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?' 'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft! Unless the master were the man. How now! Even so quickly may one catch the plague? Methinks I feel this youth's perfections With an invisible and subtle stealth To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What ho, Malvolio! Re-enter MALVOLIO MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service. OLIVIA. Run after that same peevish messenger, The County's man. He left this ring behind him, Would I or not. Tell him I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him. If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. Exit OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed must be; and be this so! Exit <> ACT II. SCENE I. The sea-coast Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with you? SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound. SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I call'd Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour; if the heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! But you, sir, alter'd that; for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drown'd. ANTONIO. Alas the day! SEBASTIAN. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her: she bore mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. ANTONIO. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. SEBASTIAN. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. ANTONIO. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. SEBASTIAN. If you will not undo what you have done- that is, kill him whom you have recover'd-desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court. Farewell. Exit ANTONIO. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many cnemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there. But come what may, I do adore thee so That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. Exit SCENE II. A street Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors MALVOLIO. Were you not ev'n now with the Countess Olivia? VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv'd but hither. MALVOLIO. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one thing more: that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. VIOLA. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. MALVOLIO. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be so return'd. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. Exit VIOLA. I left no ring with her; what means this lady? Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much That methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring! Why, he sent her none. I am the man. If it be so- as 'tis- Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper-false In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! For such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly, And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my master's love; As I am woman- now alas the day!- What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O Time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me t' untie! Exit SCENE III. OLIVIA'S house Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere' thou know'st- AGUECHEEK. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up late. SIR TOBY. A false conclusion! I hate it as an unfill'd can. To be up after midnight and to go to bed then is early; so that to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the four elements? AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking. SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine. Enter CLOWN AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith. CLOWN. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we three'? SIR TOBY. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. AGUECHEEK. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; hadst it? CLOWN. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. AGUECHEEK. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. SIR TOBY. Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let's have a song. AGUECHEEK. There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a- CLOWN. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? SIR TOBY. A love-song, a love-song. AGUECHEEK. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. CLOWN sings O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith! SIR TOBY. Good, good! CLOWN sings What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty; Youth's a stuff will not endure. AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. SIR TOBY. A contagious breath. AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that? AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch. CLOWN. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.' CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. AGUECHEEK. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.' CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [Catch sung] Enter MARIA MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings] Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady. [Sings] There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, lady. CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of December- MARIA. For the love o' God, peace! Enter MALVOLIO MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby. CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done. MALVOLIO. Is't even so? SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die. [Falls down] CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you lie. MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you. SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go? CLOWN. [Sings] What an if you do? SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and spare not? CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not. SIR TOBY. [Rising] Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth too. SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria! MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. Exit MARIA. Go shake your ears. AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry, to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him. SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the Count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it. SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. SIR TOBY. What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight? AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do? MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady, your niece; on forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device. AGUECHEEK. I have't in my nose too. SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him. MARIA. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. AGUECHEEK. And your horse now would make him an ass. MARIA. Ass, I doubt not. AGUECHEEK. O, 'twill be admirable! MARIA. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. Exit SIR TOBY. Good night, Penthesilea. AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench. SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me. What o' that? AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too. SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money. AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end, call me Cut. AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will. SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight. Exeunt SCENE IV. The DUKE'S palace Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night; Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse. CURIO. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. DUKE. Who was it? CURIO. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house. DUKE. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Exit CURIO. [Music plays] Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune? VIOLA. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron'd. DUKE. Thou dost speak masterly. My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves; Hath it not, boy? VIOLA. A little, by your favour. DUKE. What kind of woman is't? VIOLA. Of your complexion. DUKE. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith? VIOLA. About your years, my lord. DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, Than women's are. VIOLA. I think it well, my lord. DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r Being once display'd doth fall that very hour. VIOLA. And so they are; alas, that they are so! To die, even when they to perfection grow! Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN DUKE. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. CLOWN. Are you ready, sir? DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing. [Music] FESTE'S SONG Come away, come away, death; And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown; A thousand thousand to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there! DUKE. There's for thy pains. CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. CLOWN. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another. DUKE. Give me now leave to leave thee. CLOWN. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere: for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit CLOWN DUKE. Let all the rest give place. Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. Tell her my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune; But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul. VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir? DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd. VIOLA. Sooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia. You cannot love her; You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd? DUKE. There is no woman's sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart So big to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas, their love may be call'd appetite- No motion of the liver, but the palate- That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much. Make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia. VIOLA. Ay, but I know- DUKE. What dost thou know? VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe. In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. DUKE. And what's her history? VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought; And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more, but indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too- and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this lady? DUKE. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say My love can give no place, bide no denay. Exeunt SCENE V. OLIVIA'S garden Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. FABIAN. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be boil'd to death with melancholy. SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? FABIAN. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. SIR TOBY. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue- shall we not, Sir Andrew? AGUECHEEK. And we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter MARIA SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India! MARIA. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's coming down this walk. He has been yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [As the men hide she drops a letter] Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. Exit Enter MALVOLIO MALVOLIO. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? SIR TOBY. Here's an overweening rogue! FABIAN. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd plumes! AGUECHEEK. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue- SIR TOBY. Peace, I say. MALVOLIO. To be Count Malvolio! SIR TOBY. Ah, rogue! AGUECHEEK. Pistol him, pistol him. SIR TOBY. Peace, peace! MALVOLIO. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. AGUECHEEK. Fie on him, Jezebel! FABIAN. O, peace! Now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him. MALVOLIO. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state- SIR TOBY. O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye! MALVOLIO. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown, having come from a day-bed- where I have left Olivia sleeping- SIR TOBY. Fire and brimstone! FABIAN. O, peace, peace! MALVOLIO. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby- SIR TOBY. Bolts and shackles! FABIAN. O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now. MALVOLIO. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with my- some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me- SIR TOBY. Shall this fellow live? FABIAN. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. MALVOLIO. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control- SIR TOBY. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? MALVOLIO. Saying 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech'- SIR TOBY. What, what? MALVOLIO. 'You must amend your drunkenness'- SIR TOBY. Out, scab! FABIAN. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. MALVOLIO. 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight'- AGUECHEEK. That's me, I warrant you. MALVOLIO. 'One Sir Andrew.' AGUECHEEK. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool. MALVOLIO. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter] FABIAN. Now is the woodcock near the gin. SIR TOBY. O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him! MALVOLIO. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand. AGUECHEEK. Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that? MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes.' Her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the impressure her Lucrece with which she uses to seal; 'tis my lady. To whom should this be? FABIAN. This wins him, liver and all. MALVOLIO. [Reads] Jove knows I love, But who? Lips, do not move; No man must know.' 'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd! 'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio? SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee, brock! MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'I may command where I adore; But silence, like a Lucrece knife, With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.' FABIAN. A fustian riddle! SIR TOBY. Excellent wench, say I. MALVOLIO. 'M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.' Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see. FABIAN. What dish o' poison has she dress'd him! SIR TOBY. And with what wing the staniel checks at it! MALVOLIO. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity; there is no obstruction in this. And the end- what should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that resemble something in me. Softly! M. O. A. I.- SIR TOBY. O, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent. FABIAN. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. MALVOLIO. M- Malvolio; M- why, that begins my name. FABIAN. Did not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults. MALVOLIO. M- But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. FABIAN. And O shall end, I hope. SIR TOBY. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!' MALVOLIO. And then I comes behind. FABIAN. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you. MALVOLIO. M. O. A. I. This simulation is not as the former; and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose. [Reads] 'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember, Go to, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.' Daylight and champain discovers not more. This is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript. [Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.' Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou wilt have me. Exit FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device. AGUECHEEK. So could I too. SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. Enter MARIA AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither. FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either? SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave? AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either? SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image of it leaves him he must run mad. MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife. AIARIA. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors, and cross-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me. SIR TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too. Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE I. OLIVIA'S garden Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music! Dost thou live by thy tabor? CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church. VIOLA. Art thou a churchman? CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev'ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turn'd outward! VIOLA. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton. CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir. VIOLA. Why, man? CLOWN. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgrac'd them. VIOLA. Thy reason, man? CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them. VIOLA. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing. CLOWN. Not so, sir; I do care for something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible. VIOLA. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? CLOWN. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchers are to herrings- the husband's the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. VIOLA. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun- it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress: think I saw your wisdom there. VIOLA. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. [Giving a coin] CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send the a beard! VIOLA. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one; [Aside] though I would not have it grow on my chin.- Is thy lady within? CLOWN. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? VIOLA. Yes, being kept together and put to use. CLOWN. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. VIOLA. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. [Giving another coin] CLOWN. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin- I might say 'element' but the word is overworn. Exit CLOWN VIOLA. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit. He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man's art; For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman! VIOLA. And you, sir. AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. AGUECHEEK. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage. SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented. Enter OLIVIA and MARIA Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you! AGUECHEEK. That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours' well! VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed car. AGUECHEEK. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed'- I'll get 'em all three all ready. OLIVIA. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt all but OLIVIA and VIOLA] Give me your hand, sir. VIOLA. My duty, madam, and most humble service. OLIVIA. What is your name? VIOLA. Cesario is your servant's name, fair Princess. OLIVIA. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment. Y'are servant to the Count Orsino, youth. VIOLA. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. OLIVIA. For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts, Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me! VIOLA. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf. OLIVIA. O, by your leave, I pray you: I bade you never speak again of him; But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres. VIOLA. Dear lady- OLIVIA. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you in a shameful cunning Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom, Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak. VIOLA. I Pity YOU. OLIVIA. That's a degree to love. VIOLA. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof That very oft we pity enemies. OLIVIA. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again. O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes] The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. Be not afraid, good youth; I will not have you; And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man. There lies your way, due west. VIOLA. Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? OLIVIA. Stay. I prithee tell me what thou think'st of me. VIOLA. That you do think you are not what you are. OLIVIA. If I think so, I think the same of you. VIOLA. Then think you right: I am not what I am. OLIVIA. I would you were as I would have you be! VIOLA. Would it be better, madam, than I am? I wish it might, for now I am your fool. OLIVIA. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; But rather reason thus with reason fetter: Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. VIOLA. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam; never more Will I my master's tears to you deplore. OLIVIA. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move That heart which now abhors to like his love. Exeunt SCENE II. OLIVIA'S house Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN AGUECHEEK. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. SIR TOBY. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. FABIAN. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's servingman than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw't i' th' orchard. SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that. AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see you now. FABIAN. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. AGUECHEEK. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. SIR TOBY. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor. FABIAN. She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy. AGUECHEEK. An't be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician. SIR TOBY. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places. My niece shall take note of it; and assure thyself there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valour. FABIAN. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. AGUECHEEK. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? SIR TOBY. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the license of ink; if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it. AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you? SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go. Exit SIR ANDREW FABIAN. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. SIR TOBY. I have been dear to him, lad- some two thousand strong, or so. FABIAN. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver't? SIR TOBY. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th' anatomy. FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty. Enter MARIA SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. SIR TOBY. And cross-garter'd? MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th' church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile and take't for a great favour. SIR TOBY. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. Exeunt SCENE III. A street Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO SEBASTIAN. I would not by my will have troubled you; But since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you. ANTONIO. I could not stay behind you: my desire, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; And not all love to see you- though so much As might have drawn one to a longer voyage- But jealousy what might befall your travel, Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, Unguided and unfriended, often prove Rough and unhospitable. My willing love, The rather by these arguments of fear, Set forth in your pursuit. SEBASTIAN. My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns Are shuffl'd off with such uncurrent pay; But were my worth as is my conscience firm, You should find better dealing. What's to do? Shall we go see the reliques of this town? ANTONIO. To-morrow, sir; best first go see your lodging. SEBASTIAN. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night; I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes With the memorials and the things of fame That do renown this city. ANTONIO. Would you'd pardon me. I do not without danger walk these streets: Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his galleys I did some service; of such note, indeed, That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. SEBASTIAN. Belike you slew great number of his people. ANTONIO.Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature; Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel Might well have given us bloody argument. It might have since been answer'd in repaying What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake, Most of our city did. Only myself stood out; For which, if I be lapsed in this place, I shall pay dear. SEBASTIAN. Do not then walk too open. ANTONIO. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse; In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet, Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge With viewing of the town; there shall you have me. SEBASTIAN. Why I your purse? ANTONIO. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase; and your store, I think, is not for idle markets, sir. SEBASTIAN. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for An hour. ANTONIO. To th' Elephant. SEBASTIAN. I do remember. Exeunt SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S garden Enter OLIVIA and MARIA OLIVIA. I have sent after him; he says he'll come. How shall I feast him? What bestow of him? For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd. I speak too loud. Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil, And suits well for a servant with my fortunes. Where is Malvolio? MARIA. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He is sure possess'd, madam. OLIVIA. Why, what's the matter? Does he rave? MARIA. No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were best to have some guard about you if he come; for sure the man is tainted in's wits. OLIVIA. Go call him hither. Exit MARIA I am as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be. Re-enter MARIA with MALVOLIO How now, Malvolio! MALVOLIO. Sweet lady, ho, ho. OLIVIA. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. MALVOLIO. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that? If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: 'Please one and please all.' OLIVIA. Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee? MALVOLIO. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. OLIVIA. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee. OLIVIA. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft? MARIA. How do you, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws! MARIA. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? MALVOLIO. 'Be not afraid of greatness.' 'Twas well writ. OLIVIA. What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio? AIALVOLIO. 'Some are born great,'- OLIVIA. Ha? MALVOLIO. 'Some achieve greatness,'- OLIVIA. What say'st thou? MALVOLIO. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.' OLIVIA. Heaven restore thee! MALVOLIO. 'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'- OLIVIA. 'Thy yellow stockings?' MALVOLIO. 'And wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.' OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?' MALVOLIO. 'Go to, thou an made, if thou desir'st to be so';- OLIVIA. Am I made? MALVOLIO. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.' OLIVIA. Why, this is very midsummer madness. Enter SERVANT SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is return'd; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your ladyship's pleasure. OLIVIA. I'll come to him. [Exit SERVANT] Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA MALVOLIO. O, ho! do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' says she. 'Be opposite with kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang with arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity' and consequently sets down the manner how, as: a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have lim'd her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not 'Malvolio' nor after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance- What can be said? Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possess'd him, yet I'll speak to him. FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir? SIR TOBY. How is't with you, man? MALVOLIO. Go off; I discard you. Let me enjoy my private; go off. MARIA. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. MALVOLIO. Ah, ha! does she so? SIR TOBY. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently with him. Let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? How is't with you? What, man, defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to mankind. MALVOLIO. Do you know what you say? MARIA. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be not bewitched. FABIAN. Carry his water to th' wise woman. MARIA. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say. MALVOLIO. How now, mistress! MARIA. O Lord! SIR TOBY. Prithee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not see you move him? Let me alone with him. FABIAN. No way but gentleness- gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not be roughly us'd. SIR TOBY. Why, how now, my bawcock! How dost thou, chuck? MALVOLIO. Sir! SIR TOBY. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis not for gravity to play at cherrypit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier! MARIA. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray. MALVOLIO. My prayers, minx! MARIA. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness. MALVOLIO. Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle shallow things; I am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter. Exit SIR TOBY. Is't possible? FABIAN. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. SIR TOBY. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man. MARIA. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint. FABIAN. Why, we shall make him mad indeed. MARIA. The house will be the quieter. SIR TOBY. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in the belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. Enter SIR ANDREW FABIAN. More matter for a May morning. AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't. FABIAN. Is't so saucy? AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read. SIR TOBY. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.' FABIAN. Good and valiant. SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't.' FABIAN. A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law. SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Thou com'st to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee for.' FABIAN. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense- less. SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me'- FABIAN. Good. SIR TOBY. 'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.' FABIAN. Still you keep o' th' windy side of the law. Good! SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Fare thee well; and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, ANDREW AGUECHEEK.' If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I'll give't him. MARIA. You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart. SIR TOBY. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a bum-baily; so soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earn'd him. Away. AGUECHEEK. Nay, let me alone for swearing. Exit SIR TOBY. Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the gentleman- as know his youth will aptly receive it- into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. Re-enter OLIVIA. With VIOLA FABIAN. Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and presently after him. SIR TOBY. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge. Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and MARIA OLIVIA. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, And laid mine honour too unchary out; There's something in me that reproves my fault; But such a headstrong potent fault it is That it but mocks reproof. VIOLA. With the same haviour that your passion bears Goes on my master's griefs. OLIVIA. Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture. Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you. And I beseech you come again to-morrow. What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, That honour sav'd may upon asking give? VIOLA. Nothing but this- your true love for my master. OLIVIA. How with mine honour may I give him that Which I have given to you? VIOLA. I will acquit you. OLIVIA. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well; A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. Exit Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN SIR TOBY. Gentleman, God save thee. VIOLA. And you, sir. SIR TOBY. That defence thou hast, betake thee tot. Of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. VIOLA. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me; my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any man. SIR TOBY. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you; therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal. VIOLA. I pray you, sir, what is he? SIR TOBY. He is knight, dubb'd with unhatch'd rapier and on carpet consideration; but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorc'd three; and his incensement at this moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and sepulchre. Hob-nob is his word- give't or take't. VIOLA. I will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on others to taste their valour; belike this is a man of that quirk. SIR TOBY. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury; therefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety you might answer him; therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about you. VIOLA. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you do me this courteous office as to know of the knight what my offence to him is: it is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. SIR TOBY. I Will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return. Exit SIR TOBY VIOLA. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? FABIAN. I know the knight is incens'd against you, even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the circumstance more. VIOLA. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? FABIAN. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make your peace with him if I can. VIOLA. I shall be much bound to you for't. I am one that would rather go with sir priest than sir knight. I care not who knows so much of my mettle. Exeunt Re-enter SIR TOBY With SIR ANDREW SIR TOBY. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy. AGUECHEEK. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. SIR TOBY. Ay, but he will not now be pacified; Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. AGUECHEEK. Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damn'd ere I'd have challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet. SIR TOBY. I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on't; this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA [To FABIAN] I have his horse to take up the quarrel; I have persuaded him the youth's a devil. FABIAN. [To SIR TOBY] He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. SIR TOBY. [To VIOLA] There's no remedy, sir: he will fight with you for's oath sake. Marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore draw for the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you. VIOLA. [Aside] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man. FABIAN. Give ground if you see him furious. SIR TOBY. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with you; he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he has promis'd me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; to't. AGUECHEEK. Pray God he keep his oath! [They draw] Enter ANTONIO VIOLA. I do assure you 'tis against my will. ANTONIO. Put up your sword. If this young gentleman Have done offence, I take the fault on me: If you offend him, I for him defy you. SIR TOBY. You, sir! Why, what are you? ANTONIO. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more Than you have heard him brag to you he will. SIR TOBY. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you. [They draw] Enter OFFICERS FABIAN. O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers. SIR TOBY. [To ANTONIO] I'll be with you anon. VIOLA. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please. AGUECHEEK. Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promis'd you, I'll be as good as my word. He will bear you easily and reins well. FIRST OFFICER. This is the man; do thy office. SECOND OFFICER. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit Of Count Orsino. ANTONIO. You do mistake me, sir. FIRST OFFICER. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well, Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. Take him away; he knows I know him well. ANTONIO. I Must obey. [To VIOLA] This comes with seeking you; But there's no remedy; I shall answer it. What will you do, now my necessity Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me Much more for what I cannot do for you Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd; But be of comfort. SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, away. ANTONIO. I must entreat of you some of that money. VIOLA. What money, sir? For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, And part being prompted by your present trouble, Out of my lean and low ability I'll lend you something. My having is not much; I'll make division of my present with you; Hold, there's half my coffer. ANTONIO. Will you deny me now? Is't possible that my deserts to you Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, Lest that it make me so unsound a man As to upbraid you with those kindnesses That I have done for you. VIOLA. I know of none, Nor know I you by voice or any feature. I hate ingratitude more in a man Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness, Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption Inhabits our frail blood. ANTONIO. O heavens themselves! SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, I pray you go. ANTONIO. Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death, Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, And to his image, which methought did promise Most venerable worth, did I devotion. FIRST OFFICER. What's that to us? The time goes by; away. ANTONIO. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god! Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. In nature there's no blemish but the mind: None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind. Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. FIRST OFFICER. The man grows mad. Away with him. Come, come, sir. ANTONIO. Lead me on. Exit with OFFICERS VIOLA. Methinks his words do from such passion fly That he believes himself; so do not I. Prove true, imagination, O, prove true, That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you! SIR TOBY. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. VIOLA. He nam'd Sebastian. I my brother know Yet living in my glass; even such and so In favour was my brother; and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate. O, if it prove, Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! Exit SIR TOBY. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. FABIAN. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it. AGUECHEEK. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him. SIR TOBY. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. AGUECHEEK. And I do not- Exit FABIAN. Come, let's see the event. SIR TOBY. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet. Exeunt <> ACT IV. SCENE I. Before OLIVIA'S house Enter SEBASTIAN and CLOWN CLOWN. Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you? SEBASTIAN. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; let me be clear of thee. CLOWN. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not Master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so. SEBASTIAN. I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else. Thou know'st not me. CLOWN. Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art coming? SEBASTIAN. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me; There's money for thee; if you tarry longer I shall give worse payment. CLOWN. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools money get themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase. Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY, and FABIAN AGUECHEEK. Now, sir, have I met you again? [Striking SEBASTIAN] There's for you. SEBASTIAN. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there. Are all the people mad? SIR TOBY. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house. [Holding SEBASTIAN] CLOWN. This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats for two-pence. Exit SIR TOBY. Come on, sir; hold. AGUECHEEK. Nay, let him alone. I'll go another way to work with him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria; though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that. SEBASTIAN. Let go thy hand. SIR TOBY. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron; you are well flesh'd. Come on. SEBASTIAN. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. [Draws] SIR TOBY. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. [Draws] Enter OLIVIA OLIVIA. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee hold. SIR TOBY. Madam! OLIVIA. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne'er were preach'd! Out of my sight! Be not offended, dear Cesario- Rudesby, be gone! Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN I prithee, gentle friend, Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway In this uncivil and unjust extent Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby Mayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go; Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me! He started one poor heart of mine in thee. SEBASTIAN. What relish is in this? How runs the stream? Or I am mad, or else this is a dream. Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep! OLIVIA. Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be rul'd by me! SEBASTIAN. Madam, I will. OLIVIA. O, say so, and so be! Exeunt SCENE II. OLIVIA'S house Enter MARIA and CLOWN MARIA. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate; do it quickly. I'll call Sir Toby the whilst. Exit CLOWN. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to become the function well nor lean enough to be thought a good student; but to be said an honest man and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter. Enter SIR TOBY and MARIA SIR TOBY. Jove bless thee, Master Parson. CLOWN. Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to niece of King Gorboduc 'That that is is'; so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is 'that' but that, and 'is' but is? SIR TOBY. To him, Sir Topas. CLOWN. What ho, I say! Peace in this prison! SIR TOBY. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. MALVOLIO. [Within] Who calls there? CLOWN. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady. CLOWN. Out, hyperbolical fiend! How vexest thou this man! Talkest thou nothing but of ladies? SIR TOBY. Well said, Master Parson. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness. CLOWN. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy. Say'st thou that house is dark? MALVOLIO. As hell, Sir Topas. CLOWN. Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the clerestories toward the south north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of obstruction? MALVOLIO. I am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark. CLOWN. Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. MALVOLIO. I say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say there was never man thus abus'd. I am no more mad than you are; make the trial of it in any constant question. CLOWN. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl? MALVOLIO. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird. CLOWN. What think'st thou of his opinion? MALVOLIO. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion. CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas! SIR TOBY. My most exquisite Sir Topas! CLOWN. Nay, I am for all waters. MARIA. Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown: he sees thee not. SIR TOBY. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find'st him. I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd, I would he were; for I am now so far in offence with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber. Exit with MARIA CLOWN. [Sings] Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, Tell me how thy lady does. MALVOLIO. Fool! CLOWN. [Sings] My lady is unkind, perdy. MALVOLIO. Fool! CLOWN. [Sings] Alas, why is she so? MALVOLIO. Fool I say! CLOWN. [Sings] She loves another- Who calls, ha? MALVOLIO. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't. CLOWN. Master Malvolio? MALVOLIO. Ay, good fool. CLOWN. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? MALVOLIO. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abus'd; I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. CLOWN. But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool. MALVOLIO. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits. CLOWN. Advise you what. you say: the minister is here. [Speaking as SIR TOPAS] Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore! Endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas! CLOWN. Maintain no words with him, good fellow.- Who, I, sir? Not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas.- Marry, amen.- I will sir, I will. MALVOLIO. Fool, fool, fool, I say! CLOWN. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to you. MALVOLIO. Good fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria. CLOWN. Well-a-day that you were, sir! MALVOLIO. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light; and convey what I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did. CLOWN. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit? MALVOLIO. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. CLOWN. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink. MALVOLIO. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree; I prithe be gone. CLOWN. [Singing] I am gone, sir, And anon, sir, I'll be with you again, In a trice, Like to the old Vice, Your need to sustain; Who with dagger of lath, In his rage and his wrath, Cries, Ah, ha! to the devil, Like a mad lad, Pare thy nails, dad. Adieu, goodman devil. Exit SCENE III. OLIVIA'S garden Enter SEBASTIAN SEBASTIAN. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't; And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then? I could not find him at the Elephant; Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, That he did range the town to seek me out. His counsel now might do me golden service; For though my soul disputes well with my sense That this may be some error, but no madness, Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune So far exceed all instance, all discourse, That I am ready to distrust mine eyes And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me To any other trust but that I am mad, Or else the lady's mad; yet if 'twere so, She could not sway her house, command her followers, Take and give back affairs and their dispatch With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, As I perceive she does. There's something in't That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. Enter OLIVIA and PRIEST OLIVIA. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, Now go with me and with this holy man Into the chantry by; there, before him And underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the fun assurance of your faith, That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace. He shall conceal it Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, What time we will our celebration keep According to my birth. What do you say? SEBASTIAN. I'll follow this good man, and go with you; And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. OLIVIA. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine That they may fairly note this act of mine! Exeunt <> ACT V. SCENE I. Before OLIVIA's house Enter CLOWN and FABIAN FABIAN. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter. CLOWN. Good Master Fabian, grant me another request. FABIAN. Anything. CLOWN. Do not desire to see this letter. FABIAN. This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and LORDS DUKE. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? CLOWN. Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings. DUKE. I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow? CLOWN. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for my friends. DUKE. Just the contrary: the better for thy friends. CLOWN. No, sir, the worse. DUKE. How can that be? CLOWN. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused; so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. DUKE. Why, this is excellent. CLOWN. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends. DUKE. Thou shalt not be the worse for me. There's gold. CLOWN. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. DUKE. O, you give me ill counsel. CLOWN. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. DUKE. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer. There's another. CLOWN. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is 'The third pays for all.' The triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind- one, two, three. DUKE. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw; if you will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. CLOWN. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness. But, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap; I will awake it anon. Exit Enter ANTONIO and OFFICERS VIOLA. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. DUKE. That face of his I do remember well; Yet when I saw it last it was besmear'd As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war. A baubling vessel was he captain of, For shallow draught and bulk unprizable, With which such scathful grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet That very envy and the tongue of los Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter? FIRST OFFICER. Orsino, this is that Antonio That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy; And this is he that did the Tiger board When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, In private brabble did we apprehend him. VIOLA. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; But in conclusion put strange speech upon me. I know not what 'twas but distraction. DUKE. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief! What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, Hast made thine enemies? ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me: Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, Though I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: That most ingrateful boy there by your side From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. His life I gave him, and did thereto ad My love without retention or restraint, All his in dedication; for his sake, Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town; Drew to defend him when he was beset; Where being apprehended, his false cunning, Not meaning to partake with me in danger, Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, And grew a twenty years removed thing While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before. VIOLA. How can this be? DUKE. When came he to this town? ANTONIO. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, No int'rim, not a minute's vacancy, Both day and night did we keep company. Enter OLIVIA and ATTENDANTS DUKE. Here comes the Countess; now heaven walks on earth. But for thee, fellow- fellow, thy words are madness. Three months this youth hath tended upon me- But more of that anon. Take him aside. OLIVIA. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. VIOLA. Madam? DUKE. Gracious Olivia- OLIVIA. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord- VIOLA. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me. OLIVIA. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear As howling after music. DUKE. Still so cruel? OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord. DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st off'rings hath breath'd out That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? OLIVIA. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. DUKE. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, Kill what I love?- a savage jealousy That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still; But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, Him will I tear out of that cruel eye Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love To spite a raven's heart within a dove. VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. OLIVIA. Where goes Cesario? VIOLA. After him I love More than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. If I do feign, you witnesses above Punish my life for tainting of my love! OLIVIA. Ay me, detested! How am I beguil'd! VIOLA. Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong? OLIVIA. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? Call forth the holy father. Exit an ATTENDANT DUKE. Come, away! OLIVIA. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. DUKE. Husband? OLIVIA. Ay, husband; can he that deny? DUKE. Her husband, sirrah? VIOLA. No, my lord, not I. OLIVIA. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear That makes thee strangle thy propriety. Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up; Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st. Enter PRIEST O, welcome, father! Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, Here to unfold- though lately we intended To keep in darkness what occasion now Reveals before 'tis ripe- what thou dost know Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me. PRIEST. A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strength'ned by interchangement of your rings; And all the ceremony of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony; Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave, I have travell'd but two hours. DUKE. O thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be, When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case? Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. VIOLA. My lord, I do protest- OLIVIA. O, do not swear! Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby. OLIVIA. What's the matter? AGUECHEEK. Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home. OLIVIA. Who has done this, Sir Andrew? AGUECHEEK. The Count's gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate. DUKE. My gentleman, Cesario? AGUECHEEK. Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for nothing; and that that did, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby. VIOLA. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you. You drew your sword upon me without cause; But I bespake you fair and hurt you not. Enter SIR TOBY and CLOWN AGUECHEEK. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more; but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickl'd you othergates than he did. DUKE. How now, gentleman? How is't with you? SIR TOBY. That's all one; has hurt me, and there's th' end on't. Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot? CLOWN. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i' th' morning. SIR TOBY. Then he's a rogue and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue. OLIVIA. Away with him. Who hath made this havoc with them? AGUECHEEK. I'll help you, Sir Toby, because we'll be dress'd together. SIR TOBY. Will you help- an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave, a thin fac'd knave, a gull? OLIVIA. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. Exeunt CLOWN, FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW Enter SEBASTIAN SEBASTIAN. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; But, had it been the brother of my blood, I must have done no less with wit and safety. You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that I do perceive it hath offended you. Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows We made each other but so late ago. DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons! A natural perspective, that is and is not. SEBASTIAN. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me Since I have lost thee! ANTONIO. Sebastian are you? SEBASTIAN. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? ANTONIO. How have you made division of yourself? An apple cleft in two is not more twin Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? OLIVIA. Most wonderful! SEBASTIAN. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; Nor can there be that deity in my nature Of here and everywhere. I had a sister Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd. Of charity, what kin are you to me? What countryman, what name, what parentage? VIOLA. Of Messaline; Sebastian was my father. Such a Sebastian was my brother too; So went he suited to his watery tomb; If spirits can assume both form and suit, You come to fright us. SEBASTIAN. A spirit I am indeed, But am in that dimension grossly clad Which from the womb I did participate. Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, And say 'Thrice welcome, drowned Viola!' VIOLA. My father had a mole upon his brow. SEBASTIAN. And so had mine. VIOLA. And died that day when Viola from her birth Had numb'red thirteen years. SEBASTIAN. O, that record is lively in my soul! He finished indeed his mortal act That day that made my sister thirteen years. VIOLA. If nothing lets to make us happy both But this my masculine usurp'd attire, Do not embrace me till each circumstance Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump That I am Viola; which to confirm, I'll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help I was preserv'd to serve this noble Count. All the occurrence of my fortune since Hath been between this lady and this lord. SEBASTIAN. [To OLIVIA] So Comes it, lady, you have been mistook; But nature to her bias drew in that. You would have been contracted to a maid; Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd; You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. DUKE. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood. If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, I shall have share in this most happy wreck. [To VIOLA] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. VIOLA. And all those sayings will I overswear; And all those swearings keep as true in soul As doth that orbed continent the fire That severs day from night. DUKE. Give me thy hand; And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. VIOLA. The captain that did bring me first on shore Hath my maid's garments. He, upon some action, Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, A gentleman and follower of my lady's. OLIVIA. He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither; And yet, alas, now I remember me, They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. Re-enter CLOWN, with a letter, and FABIAN A most extracting frenzy of mine own From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. How does he, sirrah? CLOWN. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end as well as a man in his case may do. Has here writ a letter to you; I should have given 't you to-day morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are deliver'd. OLIVIA. Open't, and read it. CLOWN. Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the madman. [Reads madly ] 'By the Lord, madam-' OLIVIA. How now! Art thou mad? CLOWN. No, madam, I do but read madness. An your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow vox. OLIVIA. Prithee read i' thy right wits. CLOWN. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore perpend, my Princess, and give ear. OLIVIA. [To FABIAN] Read it you, sirrah. FABIAN. [Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know it. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put on, with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. THE MADLY-US'D MALVOLIO' OLIVIA. Did he write this? CLOWN. Ay, Madam. DUKE. This savours not much of distraction. OLIVIA. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither. Exit FABIAN My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown th' alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house, and at my proper cost. DUKE. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer. [To VIOLA] Your master quits you; and, for your service done him, So much against the mettle of your sex, So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, And since you call'd me master for so long, Here is my hand; you shall from this time be You master's mistress. OLIVIA. A sister! You are she. Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO DUKE. Is this the madman? OLIVIA. Ay, my lord, this same. How now, Malvolio! MALVOLIO. Madam, you have done me wrong, Notorious wrong. OLIVIA. Have I, Malvolio? No. MALVOLIO. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter. You must not now deny it is your hand; Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase; Or say 'tis not your seal, not your invention; You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, And tell me, in the modesty of honour, Why you have given me such clear lights of favour, Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you, To put on yellow stockings, and to frown Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; And, acting this in an obedient hope, Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, And made the most notorious geck and gul That e'er invention play'd on? Tell me why. OLIVIA. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, Though, I confess, much like the character; But out of question 'tis Maria's hand. And now I do bethink me, it was she First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling, And in such forms which here were presuppos'd Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content; This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee, But, when we know the grounds and authors of it, Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge Of thine own cause. FABIAN. Good madam, hear me speak, And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come Taint the condition of this present hour, Which I have wond'red at. In hope it shall not, Most freely I confess myself and Toby Set this device against Malvolio here, Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance, In recompense whereof he hath married her. How with a sportful malice it was follow'd May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, If that the injuries be justly weigh'd That have on both sides pass'd. OLIVIA. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffl'd thee! CLOWN. Why, 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude- one Sir Topas, sir; but that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad!' But do you remember- 'Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? An you smile not, he's gagg'd'? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. MALVOLIO. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. Exit OLIVIA. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. DUKE. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace; He hath not told us of the captain yet. When that is known, and golden time convents, A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, We will not part from hence. Cesario, come; For so you shall be while you are a man; But when in other habits you are seen, Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. Exeunt all but the CLOWN CLOWN sings When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken heads, For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, But that's all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you every day. Exit THE END <> 1595 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA by William Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen PROTEUS, " " " " " ANTONIO, father to Proteus THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine LAUNCE, the like to Proteus PANTHINO, servant to Antonio HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan OUTLAWS, with Valentine JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia SERVANTS MUSICIANS <> SCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua ACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. Were't not affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, Even as I would, when I to love begin. PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel. Wish me partaker in thy happiness When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy headsman, Valentine. VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success? PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee. VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love: How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love; For he was more than over shoes in love. VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never swum the Hellespont. PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots. VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. PROTEUS. What? VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights; If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; If lost, why then a grievous labour won; However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished. PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love. VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel the That art a votary to fond desire? Once more adieu. My father at the road Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. To Milan let me hear from thee by letters Of thy success in love, and what news else Betideth here in absence of thy friend; And I likewise will visit thee with mine. PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan! VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell! Exit VALENTINE PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love; He leaves his friends to dignify them more: I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me, Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, War with good counsel, set the world at nought; Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. Enter SPEED SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master? PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away. SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and I a sheep? PROTEUS. I do. SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. SPEED. This proves me still a sheep. PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd. SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another. SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; therefore, I am no sheep. PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master; thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a sheep. SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.' PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia? SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. SPEED. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her. PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you. SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold. SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. PROTEUS. But what said she? SPEED. [Nodding] Ay. PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.' SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she did nod; and I say 'Ay.' PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.' SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the word 'noddy' for my pains. PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she? SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered. PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she? SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her? SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as hard as steel. PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing? SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master. PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED I must go send some better messenger. I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit SCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA'S house Enter JULIA and LUCETTA JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love? LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully. JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love? LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I'll show my mind According to my shallow simple skill. JULIA. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine; But, were I you, he never should be mine. JULIA. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so. JULIA. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us! JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name? LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best. JULIA. Your reason? LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so. JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small. LUCETTA. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love. LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love. JULIA. I would I knew his mind. LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam. JULIA. 'To Julia'- Say, from whom? LUCETTA. That the contents will show. JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee? LUCETTA. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus. He would have given it you; but I, being in the way, Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? To whisper and conspire against my youth? Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place. There, take the paper; see it be return'd; Or else return no more into my sight. LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. JULIA. Will ye be gone? LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit JULIA. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. It were a shame to call her back again, And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. What fool is she, that knows I am a maid And would not force the letter to my view! Since maids, in modesty, say 'No' to that Which they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.' Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love, That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly I would have had her here! How angerly I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! My penance is to call Lucetta back And ask remission for my folly past. What ho! Lucetta! Re-enter LUCETTA LUCETTA. What would your ladyship? JULIA. Is't near dinner time? LUCETTA. I would it were, That you might kill your stomach on your meat And not upon your maid. JULIA. What is't that you took up so gingerly? LUCETTA. Nothing. JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then? LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall. JULIA. And is that paper nothing? LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me. JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter. JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. Give me a note; your ladyship can set. JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible. Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' Love.' LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune. JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then. LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. JULIA. And why not you? LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high. JULIA. Let's see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter] How now, minion! LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out. And yet methinks I do not like this tune. JULIA. You do not! LUCETTA. No, madam; 'tis too sharp. JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy. LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat And mar the concord with too harsh a descant; There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. JULIA. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter] Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie. You would be fing'ring them, to anger me. LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd To be so ang'red with another letter. Exit JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang'red with the same! O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia, As in revenge of thy ingratitude, I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.' Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed, Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down. Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away Till I have found each letter in the letter- Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, And throw it thence into the raging sea. Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ: 'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia.' That I'll tear away; And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names. Thus will I fold them one upon another; Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Re-enter LUCETTA LUCETTA. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your father stays. JULIA. Well, let us go. LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up. LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down; Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. JULIA. I see you have a month's mind to them. LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; I see things too, although you judge I wink. JULIA. Come, come; will't please you go? Exeunt SCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO'S house Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. ANTONIO. Why, what of him? PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, While other men, of slender reputation, Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: Some to the wars, to try their fortune there; Some to discover islands far away; Some to the studious universities. For any, or for all these exercises, He said that Proteus, your son, was meet; And did request me to importune you To let him spend his time no more at home, Which would be great impeachment to his age, In having known no travel in his youth. ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Whereon this month I have been hammering. I have consider'd well his loss of time, And how he cannot be a perfect man, Not being tried and tutor'd in the world: Experience is by industry achiev'd, And perfected by the swift course of time. Then tell me whither were I best to send him. PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the Emperor in his royal court. ANTONIO. I know it well. PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither: There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, And be in eye of every exercise Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd; And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known: Even with the speediest expedition I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court. PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso With other gentlemen of good esteem Are journeying to salute the Emperor, And to commend their service to his will. ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go. Enter PROTEUS And- in good time!- now will we break with him. PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. O that our fathers would applaud our loves, To seal our happiness with their consents! O heavenly Julia! ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there? PROTEUS. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes How happily he lives, how well-belov'd And daily graced by the Emperor; Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish? PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship's will, And not depending on his friendly wish. ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish. Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the Emperor's court; What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. To-morrow be in readiness to go- Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; Please you, deliberate a day or two. ANTONIO. Look what thou want'st shall be sent after thee. No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go. Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love; And with the vantage of mine own excuse Hath he excepted most against my love. O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by an by a cloud takes all away! Re-enter PANTHINO PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto; And yet a thousand times it answers 'No.' Exeunt <> ACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter VALENTINE and SPEED SPEED. Sir, your glove. VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on. SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one. VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it's mine; Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! Ah, Silvia! Silvia! SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia! VALENTINE. How now, sirrah? SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir. VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her? SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. VALENTINE. Well, you'll still be too forward. SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia? SPEED. She that your worship loves? VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love? SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money. And now you are metamorphis'd with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv'd in me? SPEED. They are all perceiv'd without ye. VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot. SPEED. Without you! Nay, that's certain; for, without you were so simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a physician to comment on your malady. VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? VALENTINE. Hast thou observ'd that? Even she, I mean. SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not. VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not? SPEED. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd. SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough. VALENTINE. What dost thou know? SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour'd. VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. SPEED. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count? SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty. VALENTINE. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty. SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform'd. VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform'd? SPEED. Ever since you lov'd her. VALENTINE. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful. SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her. VALENTINE. Why? SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungarter'd! VALENTINE. What should I see then? SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you swing'd me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves. SPEED. And have you? VALENTINE. I have. SPEED. Are they not lamely writ? VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Enter SILVIA Peace! here she comes. SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her. VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev'n! Here's a million of manners. SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him. VALENTINE. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship. SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done. VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For, being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at random, very doubtfully. SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much; And yet- SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not. And yet take this again- and yet I thank you- Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another' yet.' VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it? SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ; But, since unwillingly, take them again. Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter] VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you. SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request; But I will none of them; they are for you: I would have had them writ more movingly. VALENTINE. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. SILVIA. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over; And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then? SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better, That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself? SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason. VALENTINE. To do what? SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia? VALENTINE. To whom? SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure. VALENTINE. What figure? SPEED. By a letter, I should say. VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me. SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? VALENTINE. No, believe me. SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her earnest? VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word. SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter. VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend. SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. VALENTINE. I would it were no worse. SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well. 'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover, Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.' All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir? 'Tis dinner time. VALENTINE. I have din'd. SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved. Exeunt SCENE II. Verona. JULIA'S house Enter PROTEUS and JULIA PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia. JULIA. I must, where is no remedy. PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return. JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a ring] PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this. JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'erslips me in the day Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! My father stays my coming; answer not; The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears: That tide will stay me longer than I should. Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. Enter PANTHINO PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt SCENE III. Verona. A street Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog LAUNCE. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on 't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her- why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears. Enter PANTHINO PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? Why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. PANTHINO. What's the unkindest tide? LAUNCE. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog. PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth? LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue? LAUNCE. In thy tale. PANTHINO. In thy tail! LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs. PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. PANTHINO. Will thou go? LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt SCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED SILVIA. Servant! VALENTINE. Mistress? SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it's for love. SPEED. Not of you. VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then. SPEED. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Exit SILVIA. Servant, you are sad. VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so. THURIO. Seem you that you are not? VALENTINE. Haply I do. THURIO. So do counterfeits. VALENTINE. So do you. THURIO. What seem I that I am not? VALENTINE. Wise. THURIO. What instance of the contrary? VALENTINE. Your folly. THURIO. And how quote you my folly? VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin. THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet. VALENTINE. Well, then, I'll double your folly. THURIO. How? SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour? VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your air. VALENTINE. You have said, sir. THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. VALENTINE. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. SILVIA. Who is that, servant? VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words. Enter DUKE SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father is in good health. What say you to a letter from your friends Of much good news? VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. DUKE. Hath he not a son? VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. DUKE. You know him well? VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy We have convers'd and spent our hours together; And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, Made use and fair advantage of his days: His years but young, but his experience old; His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe; And, in a word, for far behind his worth Comes all the praises that I now bestow, He is complete in feature and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman. DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, He is as worthy for an empress' love As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me With commendation from great potentates, And here he means to spend his time awhile. I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. VALENTINE. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth- Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio; For Valentine, I need not cite him to it. I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship Had come along with me but that his mistresss Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them Upon some other pawn for fealty. VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you? VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO Enter PROTEUS SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you Confirm his welcome with some special favour. SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress. VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability; Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed. Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. PROTEUS. I'll die on him that says so but yourself. SILVIA. That you are welcome? PROTEUS. That you are worthless. Re-enter THURIO THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome. I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; When you have done we look to hear from you. PROTEUS. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. VALENTINE. And how do yours? PROTEUS. I left them all in health. VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you; I know you joy not in a love-discourse. VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now; I have done penance for contemning Love, Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord, And hath so humbled me as I confess There is no woe to his correction, Nor to his service no such joy on earth. Now no discourse, except it be of love; Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, Upon the very naked name of love. PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. Was this the idol that you worship so? VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon. VALENTINE. Call her divine. PROTEUS. I will not flatter her. VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises! PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, And I must minister the like to you. VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine, Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. PROTEUS. Except my mistress. VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any; Except thou wilt except against my love. PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too: She shall be dignified with this high honour- To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss And, of so great a favour growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow'r And make rough winter everlastingly. PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; She is alone. PROTEUS. Then let her alone. VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, Because thou seest me dote upon my love. My foolish rival, that her father likes Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along; and I must after, For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. PROTEUS. But she loves you? VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay more, our marriage-hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight, Determin'd of- how I must climb her window, The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth; I must unto the road to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use; And then I'll presently attend you. VALENTINE. Will you make haste? PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE Even as one heat another heat expels Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it my mind, or Valentinus' praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me reasonless to reason thus? She is fair; and so is Julia that I love- That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; Which like a waxen image 'gainst a fire Bears no impression of the thing it was. Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, And that I love him not as I was wont. O! but I love his lady too too much, And that's the reason I love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice That thus without advice begin to love her! 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason's light; But when I look on her perfections, There is no reason but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will; If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. Exit SCENE V. Milan. A street Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua. LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang'd, nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say 'Welcome!' SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with Madam Julia? LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. SPEED. But shall she marry him? LAUNCE. No. SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her? LAUNCE. No, neither. SPEED. What, are they broken? LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish. SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them? LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff understands me. SPEED. What thou say'st? LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed. LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. SPEED. But tell me true, will't be a match? LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will. LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. SPEED. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou that my master is become a notable lover? LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise. SPEED. Than how? LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover. LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. SPEED. Why? LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt SCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE's palace Enter PROTEUS PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury: Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear. O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; And he wants wit that wants resolved will To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths! I cannot leave to love, and yet I do; But there I leave to love where I should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose; If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I by their loss: For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend; For love is still most precious in itself; And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!- Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. I cannot now prove constant to myself Without some treachery us'd to Valentine. This night he meaneth with a corded ladder To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window, Myself in counsel, his competitor. Now presently I'll give her father notice Of their disguising and pretended flight, Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter; But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit SCENE VII. Verona. JULIA'S house Enter JULIA and LUCETTA JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, To lesson me and tell me some good mean How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus. LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long! JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, And when the flight is made to one so dear, Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return. JULIA. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food? Pity the dearth that I have pined in By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow As seek to quench the fire of love with words. LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. JULIA. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns. The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium. LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along? JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent The loose encounters of lascivious men; Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair. JULIA. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots- To be fantastic may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? JULIA. That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale.' Why ev'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta. LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour'd. LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me For undertaking so unstaid a journey? I fear me it will make me scandaliz'd. LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. JULIA. Nay, that I will not. LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey when you come, No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone. I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal. JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, And instances of infinite of love, Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men. JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth; His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. LUCETTA. Pray heav'n he prove so when you come to him. JULIA. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong To bear a hard opinion of his truth; Only deserve my love by loving him. And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of To furnish me upon my longing journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation; Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come, answer not, but to it presently; I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover The law of friendship bids me to conceal; But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter; Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know you have determin'd to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; And should she thus be stol'n away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company and my court; But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, I nightly lodge her in an upper tow'r, The key whereof myself have ever kept; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean How he her chamber window will ascend And with a corded ladder fetch her down; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly That my discovery be not aimed at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence. DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit Enter VALENTINE DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them. DUKE. Be they of much import? VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify My health and happy being at your court. DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; I am to break with thee of some affairs That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child Nor fearing me as if I were her father; And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty, I now am full resolv'd to take a wife And turn her out to who will take her in. Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow'r; For me and my possessions she esteems not. VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this? DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here, Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence. Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor- For long agone I have forgot to court; Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd- How and which way I may bestow myself To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words: Dumb jewels often in their silent kind More than quick words do move a woman's mind. DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her. Send her another; never give her o'er, For scorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you; If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone, For why, the fools are mad if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For 'Get you gone' she doth not mean 'Away!' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. DUKE. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night. DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by night. VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window? DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tow'r, So bold Leander would adventure it. DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that. DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child, That longs for everything that he can come by. VALENTINE. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither? VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length. DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord. DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak. I'll get me one of such another length. VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'! And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads] 'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly, And slaves they are to me, that send them flying. O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying! My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them, While I, their king, that thither them importune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them, Because myself do want my servants' fortune. I curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should be.' What's here? 'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.' 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops' son- Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee? Go, base intruder, over-weening slave, Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; And think my patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence. Thank me for this more than for all the favours Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. But if thou linger in my territories Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter or thyself. Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse, But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself, And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her Is self from self, a deadly banishment. What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence, and I leave to be If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: Tarry I here, I but attend on death; But fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out. LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho! PROTEUS. What seest thou? LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a Valentine. PROTEUS. Valentine? VALENTINE. No. PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit? VALENTINE. Neither. PROTEUS. What then? VALENTINE. Nothing. LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike? LAUNCE. Nothing. PROTEUS. Villain, forbear. LAUNCE. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing. I pray you- PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. VALENTINE. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead? PROTEUS. No, Valentine. VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. Hath she forsworn me? PROTEUS. No, Valentine. VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. What is your news? LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that's the news!- From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished? PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom- Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force- A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears; Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self, Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them As if but now they waxed pale for woe. But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire- But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of biding there. VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour. PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence, Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate. Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate; And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love affairs. As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me. VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate. PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. 'Inprimis: She can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade. 'Item: She can milk.' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. Enter SPEED SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership? LAUNCE. With my master's ship? Why, it is at sea. SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news, then, in your paper? LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st. SPEED. Why, man? how black? LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink. SPEED. Let me read them. LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. SPEED. Thou liest; I can. LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee? SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather. LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed. SPEED. [Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.' LAUNCE. Ay, that she can. SPEED. 'Item: She brews good ale.' LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. SPEED. 'Item: She can sew.' LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'Can she so?' SPEED. 'Item: She can knit.' LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock. SPEED. 'Item: She can wash and scour.' LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and scour'd. SPEED. 'Item: She can spin.' LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living. SPEED. 'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.' LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'bastard virtues'; that indeed know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. SPEED. 'Here follow her vices.' LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues. SPEED. 'Item: She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her breath.' LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on. SPEED. 'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.' LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath. SPEED. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.' LAUNCE. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. SPEED. 'Item: She is slow in words.' LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue. I pray thee, out with't; and place it for her chief virtue. SPEED. 'Item: She is proud.' LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. SPEED. 'Item: She hath no teeth.' LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. SPEED. 'Item: She is curst.' LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. SPEED. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.' LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will; for good things should be praised. SPEED. 'Item: She is too liberal.' LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut. Now of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults.' LAUNCE. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit'- LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I'll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What's next? SPEED. 'And more faults than hairs'- LAUNCE. That's monstrous. O that that were out! SPEED. 'And more wealth than faults.' LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible- SPEED. What then? LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee at the Northgate. SPEED. For me? LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay'd for a better man than thee. SPEED. And must I go to him? LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long that going will scarce serve the turn. SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! Exit LAUNCE. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. Exit SCENE II. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter DUKE and THURIO DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most, Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, That I am desperate of obtaining her. DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. Enter PROTEUS How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone? PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord. DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously. PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee- For thou hast shown some sign of good desert- Makes me the better to confer with thee. PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace Let me not live to look upon your Grace. DUKE. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. PROTEUS. I do, my lord. DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will. PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. What might we do to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio? PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent- Three things that women highly hold in hate. DUKE. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it; Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him. PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do: 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, Especially against his very friend. DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Your slander never can endamage him; Therefore the office is indifferent, Being entreated to it by your friend. PROTEUS. You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, She shall not long continue love to him. But say this weed her love from Valentine, It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, Lest it should ravel and be good to none, You must provide to bottom it on me; Which must be done by praising me as much As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, Because we know, on Valentine's report, You are already Love's firm votary And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. Upon this warrant shall you have access Where you with Silvia may confer at large- For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you- Where you may temper her by your persuasion To hate young Valentine and love my friend. PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect. But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; You must lay lime to tangle her desires By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. DUKE. Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart; Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity; For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire-lamenting elegies, Visit by night your lady's chamber window With some sweet consort; to their instruments Tune a deploring dump- the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance. This, or else nothing, will inherit her. DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. THURIO. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice; Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, Let us into the city presently To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. I have a sonnet that will serve the turn To give the onset to thy good advice. DUKE. About it, gentlemen! PROTEUS. We'll wait upon your Grace till after supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt ACT_4|SC_1 <> ACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest Enter certain OUTLAWS FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye; If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much. VALENTINE. My friends- FIRST OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him. THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man. VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose; A man I am cross'd with adversity; My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have. SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you? VALENTINE. To Verona. FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you? VALENTINE. From Milan. THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there? VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence? VALENTINE. I was. SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence? VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse: I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; But yet I slew him manfully in fight, Without false vantage or base treachery. FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. But were you banish'd for so small a fault? VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues? VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy, Or else I often had been miserable. THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction! FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery. VALENTINE. Peace, villain! SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to? VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune. THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of awful men; Myself was from Verona banished For practising to steal away a lady, An heir, and near allied unto the Duke. SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose- for we cite our faults That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives; And, partly, seeing you are beautified With goodly shape, and by your own report A linguist, and a man of such perfection As we do in our quality much want- SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. Are you content to be our general- To make a virtue of necessity, And live as we do in this wilderness? THIRD OUTLAW. What say'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort? Say 'ay' and be the captain of us all. We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, Love thee as our commander and our king. FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest. SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you, Provided that you do no outrages On silly women or poor passengers. THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us; we'll bring thee to our crews, And show thee all the treasure we have got; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt SCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window Enter PROTEUS PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine, And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. When I protest true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; When to her beauty I commend my vows, She bids me think how I have been forsworn In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd; And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love The more it grows and fawneth on her still. Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window, And give some evening music to her ear. THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us? PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go. THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. THURIO. Who? Silvia? PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake. THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it? JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. HOST. Come, we'll have you merry; I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for. JULIA. But shall I hear him speak? HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays] JULIA. That will be music. HOST. Hark, hark! JULIA. Is he among these? HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em. SONG Who is Silvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling. 'To her let us garlands bring. HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before? How do you, man? The music likes you not. JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not. HOST. Why, my pretty youth? JULIA. He plays false, father. HOST. How, out of tune on the strings? JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings. HOST. You have a quick ear. JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart. HOST. I perceive you delight not in music. JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so. HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music! JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite. HOST. You would have them always play but one thing? JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing. But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, Often resort unto this gentlewoman? HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov'd her out of all nick. JULIA. Where is Launce? HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts. PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead That you shall say my cunning drift excels. THURIO. Where meet we? PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory's well. THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS Enter SILVIA above, at her window PROTEUS. Madam, good ev'n to your ladyship. SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that that spake? PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it. PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. SILVIA. What's your will? PROTEUS. That I may compass yours. SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this, That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man, Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, I am so far from granting thy request That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, And by and by intend to chide myself Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; But she is dead. JULIA. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it; For I am sure she is not buried. SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives, to whom, thyself art witness, I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd To wrong him with thy importunacy? PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave Assure thyself my love is buried. PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. SILVIA. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence; Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that. PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, The picture that is hanging in your chamber; To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; For, since the substance of your perfect self Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; And to your shadow will I make true love. JULIA. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it And make it but a shadow, as I am. SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; But since your falsehood shall become you well To worship shadows and adore false shapes, Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it; And so, good rest. PROTEUS. As wretches have o'ernight That wait for execution in the morn. Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA JULIA. Host, will you go? HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep. JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. Exeunt SCENE III. Under SILVIA'S window Enter EGLAMOUR EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia Entreated me to call and know her mind; There's some great matter she'd employ me in. Madam, madam! Enter SILVIA above, at her window SILVIA. Who calls? EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend; One that attends your ladyship's command. SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow! EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself! According to your ladyship's impose, I am thus early come to know what service It is your pleasure to command me in. SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman- Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not- Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. Thou art not ignorant what dear good will I bear unto the banish'd Valentine; Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say No grief did ever come so near thy heart As when thy lady and thy true love died, Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode; And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, I do desire thy worthy company, Upon whose faith and honour I repose. Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, And on the justice of my flying hence To keep me from a most unholy match, Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues. I do desire thee, even from a heart As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, To bear me company and go with me; If not, to hide what I have said to thee, That I may venture to depart alone. EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances; Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, I give consent to go along with you, Recking as little what betideth me As much I wish all good befortune you. When will you go? SILVIA. This evening coming. EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you? SILVIA. At Friar Patrick's cell, Where I intend holy confession. EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady. SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt SCENE IV. Under SILVIA'S Window Enter LAUNCE with his dog LAUNCE. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav'd from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely 'Thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hang'd for't; sure as I live, he had suffer'd for't. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table; he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the chamber smelt him. 'Out with the dog' says one; 'What cur is that?' says another; 'Whip him out' says the third; 'Hang him up' says the Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. 'Friend,' quoth I 'you mean to whip the dog.' 'Ay, marry do I' quoth he. 'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I; "twas I did the thing you wot of.' He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stock for puddings he hath stol'n, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had suffer'd for't. Thou think'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you serv'd me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick? Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy's clothes PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, And will employ thee in some service presently. JULIA. In what you please; I'll do what I can. PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson peasant! Where have you been these two days loitering? LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel? LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish thanks is good enough for such a present. PROTEUS. But she receiv'd my dog? LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back again. PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me? LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol'n from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place; and then I offer'd her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again, Or ne'er return again into my sight. Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE A slave that still an end turns me to shame! Sebastian, I have entertained thee Partly that I have need of such a youth That can with some discretion do my business, For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, Which, if my augury deceive me not, Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth; Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. Go presently, and take this ring with thee, Deliver it to Madam Silvia- She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. JULIA. It seems you lov'd not her, to leave her token. She is dead, belike? PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives. JULIA. Alas! PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry 'Alas'? JULIA. I cannot choose But pity her. PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? JULIA. Because methinks that she lov'd you as well As you do love your lady Silvia. She dreams on him that has forgot her love: You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking on it makes me cry 'Alas!' PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS JULIA. How many women would do such a message? Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain'd A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him That with his very heart despiseth me? Because he loves her, he despiseth me; Because I love him, I must pity him. This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, To bind him to remember my good will; And now am I, unhappy messenger, To plead for that which I would not obtain, To carry that which I would have refus'd, To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. I am my master's true confirmed love, But cannot be true servant to my master Unless I prove false traitor to myself. Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. Enter SILVIA, attended Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she? JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience To hear me speak the message I am sent on. SILVIA. From whom? JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture? JULIA. Ay, madam. SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there. Go, give your master this. Tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter. Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd Deliver'd you a paper that I should not. This is the letter to your ladyship. SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again. JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me. SILVIA. There, hold! I will not look upon your master's lines. I know they are stuff'd with protestations, And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break As easily as I do tear his paper. JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me; For I have heard him say a thousand times His Julia gave it him at his departure. Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. JULIA. She thanks you. SILVIA. What say'st thou? JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much. SILVIA. Dost thou know her? JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself. To think upon her woes, I do protest That I have wept a hundred several times. SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. JULIA. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. SILVIA. Is she not passing fair? JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. When she did think my master lov'd her well, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you; But since she did neglect her looking-glass And threw her sun-expelling mask away, The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, That now she is become as black as I. SILVIA. How tall was she? JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost, When all our pageants of delight were play'd, Our youth got me to play the woman's part, And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown; Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, As if the garment had been made for me; Therefore I know she is about my height. And at that time I made her weep a good, For I did play a lamentable part. Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; Which I so lively acted with my tears That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. Alas, poor lady, desolate and left! I weep myself, to think upon thy words. Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS JULIA. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her. A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful! I hope my master's suit will be but cold, Since she respects my mistress' love so much. Alas, how love can trifle with itself! Here is her picture; let me see. I think, If I had such a tire, this face of mine Were full as lovely as is this of hers; And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, Unless I flatter with myself too much. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow; If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine; Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. What should it be that he respects in her But I can make respective in myself, If this fond Love were not a blinded god? Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd! And were there sense in his idolatry My substance should be statue in thy stead. I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, To make my master out of love with thee. Exit <> ACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey Enter EGLAMOUR EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky, And now it is about the very hour That Silvia at Friar Patrick's cell should meet me. She will not fail, for lovers break not hours Unless it be to come before their time, So much they spur their expedition. Enter SILVIA See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening! SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour, Out at the postern by the abbey wall; I fear I am attended by some spies. EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off; If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt SCENE II. Milan. The DUKE'S palace Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was; And yet she takes exceptions at your person. THURIO. What, that my leg is too long? PROTEUS. No; that it is too little. THURIO. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes. THURIO. What says she to my face? PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one. THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black. PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is: Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. JULIA. [Aside] 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; For I had rather wink than look on them. THURIO. How likes she my discourse? PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war. THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace? JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. THURIO. What says she to my valour? PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. THURIO. What says she to my birth? PROTEUS. That you are well deriv'd. JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool. THURIO. Considers she my possessions? PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them. THURIO. Wherefore? JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them. PROTEUS. That they are out by lease. JULIA. Here comes the Duke. Enter DUKE DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio! Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late? THURIO. Not I. PROTEUS. Nor I. DUKE. Saw you my daughter? PROTEUS. Neither. DUKE. Why then, She's fled unto that peasant Valentine; And Eglamour is in her company. 'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both As he in penance wander'd through the forest; Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she, But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it; Besides, she did intend confession At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not. These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence; Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, But mount you presently, and meet with me Upon the rising of the mountain foot That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled. Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl That flies her fortune when it follows her. I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit SCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest Enter OUTLAWS with SILVA FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come. Be patient; we must bring you to our captain. SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away. FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her? SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us, But Moyses and Valerius follow him. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood; There is our captain; we'll follow him that's fled. The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape. FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave; Fear not; he bears an honourable mind, And will not use a woman lawlessly. SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest Enter VALENTINE VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man! This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses and record my woes. O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall And leave no memory of what it was! Repair me with thy presence, Silvia: Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain. What halloing and what stir is this to-day? These are my mates, that make their wills their law, Have some unhappy passenger in chase. They love me well; yet I have much to do To keep them from uncivil outrages. Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here? [Steps aside] Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you, Though you respect not aught your servant doth, To hazard life, and rescue you from him That would have forc'd your honour and your love. Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear! Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am! PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; But by my coming I have made you happy. SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence. SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, I would have been a breakfast to the beast Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, Whose life's as tender to me as my soul! And full as much, for more there cannot be, I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus. Therefore be gone; solicit me no more. PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Would I not undergo for one calm look? O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, When women cannot love where they're belov'd! SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd! Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths Descended into perjury, to love me. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, And that's far worse than none; better have none Than plural faith, which is too much by one. Thou counterfeit to thy true friend! PROTEUS. In love, Who respects friend? SILVIA. All men but Proteus. PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words Can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, And love you 'gainst the nature of love- force ye. SILVIA. O heaven! PROTEUS. I'll force thee yield to my desire. VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch; Thou friend of an ill fashion! PROTEUS. Valentine! VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love- For such is a friend now; treacherous man, Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst! 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer As e'er I did commit. VALENTINE. Then I am paid; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas'd; By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd. And, that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons] PROTEUS. Look to the boy. VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! What's the matter? Look up; speak. JULIA. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done. PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy? JULIA. Here 'tis; this is it. PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook; This is the ring you sent to Silvia. PROTEUS. But how cam'st thou by this ring? At my depart I gave this unto Julia. JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me; And Julia herself have brought it hither. PROTEUS. How! Julia! JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! Be thou asham'd that I have took upon me Such an immodest raiment- if shame live In a disguise of love. It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, Women to change their shapes than men their minds. PROTEUS. Than men their minds! 'tis true. O heaven, were man But constant, he were perfect! That one error Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th' sins: Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. What is in Silvia's face but I may spy More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either. Let me be blest to make this happy close; 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. JULIA. And I mine. Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize! VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke. Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, Banished Valentine. DUKE. Sir Valentine! THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death; Come not within the measure of my wrath; Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands Take but possession of her with a touch- I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I; I hold him but a fool that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not. I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou To make such means for her as thou hast done And leave her on such slight conditions. Now, by the honour of my ancestry, I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, And think thee worthy of an empress' love. Know then, I here forget all former griefs, Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine, Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd; Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy. I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. VALENTINE. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, Are men endu'd with worthy qualities; Forgive them what they have committed here, And let them be recall'd from their exile: They are reformed, civil, full of good, And fit for great employment, worthy lord. DUKE. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee; Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. Come, let us go; we will include all jars With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold With our discourse to make your Grace to smile. What think you of this page, my lord? DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy. DUKE. What mean you by that saying? VALENTINE. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, That you will wonder what hath fortuned. Come, Proteus, 'tis your penance but to hear The story of your loves discovered. That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt THE END <> 1611 THE WINTER'S TALE by William Shakespeare Dramatis Personae LEONTES, King of Sicilia MAMILLIUS, his son, the young Prince of Sicilia CAMILLO, lord of Sicilia ANTIGONUS, " " " CLEOMENES, " " " DION, " " " POLIXENES, King of Bohemia FLORIZEL, his son, Prince of Bohemia ARCHIDAMUS, a lord of Bohemia OLD SHEPHERD, reputed father of Perdita CLOWN, his son AUTOLYCUS, a rogue A MARINER A GAOLER TIME, as Chorus HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione PAULINA, wife to Antigonus EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen MOPSA, shepherdess DORCAS, " Other Lords, Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, Servants, Shepherds, Shepherdesses SCENE: Sicilia and Bohemia <> ACT I. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed- CAMILLO. Beseech you- ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They were train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man. ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die? CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. Exeunt SCENE II. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and ATTENDANTS POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been The shepherd's note since we have left our throne Without a burden. Time as long again Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks; And yet we should for perpetuity Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe That go before it. LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while, And pay them when you part. POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow. I am question'd by my fears of what may chance Or breed upon our absence, that may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty. LEONTES. We are tougher, brother, Than you can put us to't. POLIXENES. No longer stay. LEONTES. One sev'night longer. POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow. LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that I'll no gainsaying. POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world, So soon as yours could win me. So it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder Were in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble. To save both, Farewell, our brother. LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you. HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him, He's beat from his best ward. LEONTES. Well said, Hermione. HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong; But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay; We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. [To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission To let him there a month behind the gest Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind What lady she her lord.- You'll stay? POLIXENES. No, madam. HERMIONE. Nay, but you will? POLIXENES. I may not, verily. HERMIONE. Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is As potent as a lord's. Will go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,' One of them you shall be. POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam: To be your prisoner should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit Than you to punish. HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then, But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys. You were pretty lordings then! POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. HERMIONE. Was not my lord The verier wag o' th' two? POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd That any did. Had we pursu'd that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd Hereditary ours. HERMIONE. By this we gather You have tripp'd since. POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to 's, for In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young playfellow. HERMIONE. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on; Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer, If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. LEONTES. Is he won yet? HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord. LEONTES. At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st To better purpose. HERMIONE. Never? LEONTES. Never but once. HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before? I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages; you may ride's With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay; What was my first? It has an elder sister, Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When? Nay, let me have't; I long. LEONTES. Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter 'I am yours for ever.' HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; Th' other for some while a friend. [Giving her hand to POLIXENES] LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot! To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances, But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment May a free face put on; derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant; But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, As now they are, and making practis'd smiles As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius, Art thou my boy? MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord. LEONTES. I' fecks! Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain, We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain. And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf, Art thou my calf? MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord. LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, To be full like me; yet they say we are Almost as like as eggs. Women say so, That will say anything. But were they false As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain! Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be? Affection! thy intention stabs the centre. Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?- With what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost- And that beyond commission; and I find it, And that to the infection of my brains And hard'ning of my brows. POLIXENES. What means Sicilia? HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled. POLIXENES. How, my lord! What cheer? How is't with you, best brother? HERMIONE. You look As if you held a brow of much distraction. Are you mov'd, my lord? LEONTES. No, in good earnest. How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd, Lest it should bite its master and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money? MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight. LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince as we Do seem to be of ours? POLIXENES. If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter; Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. He makes a July's day short as December, And with his varying childness cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. LEONTES. So stands this squire Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap; Next to thyself and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. HERMIONE. If you would seek us, We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there? LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to! How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband! Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS Gone already! Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one! Go, play, boy, play; thy mother plays, and I Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; And many a man there is, even at this present, Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence, And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd, As mine, against their will. Should all despair That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it, From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded, No barricado for a belly. Know't, It will let in and out the enemy With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy! MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say. LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort. What! Camillo there? CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord. LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man. Exit MAMILLIUS Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold; When you cast out, it still came home. LEONTES. Didst note it? CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made His business more material. LEONTES. Didst perceive it? [Aside] They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding, 'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo, That he did stay? CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty. LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent; But so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't, But of the finer natures, by some severals Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes Perchance are to this business purblind? Say. CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand Bohemia stays here longer. LEONTES. Ha? CAMILLO. Stays here longer. LEONTES. Ay, but why? CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. LEONTES. Satisfy Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy! Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd In that which seems so. CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord! LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or, If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in my serious trust, And therein negligent; or else a fool That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, And tak'st it all for jest. CAMILLO. My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: In every one of these no man is free But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Among the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilfull-negligent, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing where I the issue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord, Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage; if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. LEONTES. Ha' not you seen, Camillo- But that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn- or heard- For to a vision so apparent rumour Cannot be mute- or thought- for cogitation Resides not in that man that does not think- My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess- Or else be impudently negative, To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought- then say My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench that puts to Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't. CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart! You never spoke what did become you less Than this; which to reiterate were sin As deep as that, though true. LEONTES. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift; Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing. CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true. CAMILLO. No, no, my lord. LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie. I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, Or else a hovering temporizer that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. CAMILLO. Who does her? LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I Had servants true about me that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as their profits, Their own particular thrifts, they would do that Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou, His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see, Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven, How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup To give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. CAMILLO. Sir, my lord, I could do this; and that with no rash potion, But with a ling'ring dram that should not work Maliciously like poison. But I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honourable. I have lov'd thee- LEONTES. Make that thy question, and go rot! Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation; sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets- Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps; Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my son- Who I do think is mine, and love as mine- Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this? Could man so blench? CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir. I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness Will take again your queen as yours at first, Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. LEONTES. Thou dost advise me Even so as I mine own course have set down. I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. CAMILLO. My lord, Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia And with your queen. I am his cupbearer; If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant. LEONTES. This is all: Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord. LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Exit CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master; one Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All that are his so too. To do this deed, Promotion follows. If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villainy itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now! Here comes Bohemia. Enter POLIXENES POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? Good day, Camillo. CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir! POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court? CAMILLO. None rare, my lord. POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance As he had lost some province, and a region Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him With customary compliment, when he, Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; So leaves me to consider what is breeding That changes thus his manners. CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord. POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with't. CAMILLO. There is a sickness Which puts some of us in distemper; but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well. POLIXENES. How! caught of me? Make me not sighted like the basilisk; I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo- As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns Our gentry than our parents' noble names, In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my knowledge Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not In ignorant concealment. CAMILLO. I may not answer. POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo? I conjure thee, by all the parts of man Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you; Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel, Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me Cry lost, and so goodnight. POLIXENES. On, good Camillo. CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you. POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo? CAMILLO. By the King. POLIXENES. For what? CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, As he had seen 't or been an instrument To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen Forbiddenly. POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly, and my name Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best! Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard or read! CAMILLO. Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon As or by oath remove or counsel shake The fabric of his folly, whose foundation Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue The standing of his body. POLIXENES. How should this grow? CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty, That lies enclosed in this trunk which you Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night. Your followers I will whisper to the business; And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put My fortunes to your service, which are here By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain, For, by the honour of my parents, I Have utt'red truth; which if you seek to prove, I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Than one condemn'd by the King's own mouth, thereon His execution sworn. POLIXENES. I do believe thee: I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand; Be pilot to me, and thy places shall Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago. This jealousy Is for a precious creature; as she's rare, Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty, Must it be violent; and as he does conceive He is dishonour'd by a man which ever Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me. Good expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious Queen, part of this theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; I will respect thee as a father, if Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid. CAMILLO. It is in mine authority to command The keys of all the posterns. Please your Highness To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. Exeunt <> ACT II. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and LADIES HERMIONE. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me, 'Tis past enduring. FIRST LADY. Come, my gracious lord, Shall I be your playfellow? MAMILLIUS. No, I'll none of you. FIRST LADY. Why, my sweet lord? MAMILLIUS. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if I were a baby still. I love you better. SECOND LADY. And why so, my lord? MAMILLIUS. Not for because Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, Become some women best; so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semicircle Or a half-moon made with a pen. SECOND LADY. Who taught't this? MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now, What colour are your eyebrows? FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord. MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. FIRST LADY. Hark ye: The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall Present our services to a fine new prince One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us, If we would have you. SECOND LADY. She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her! HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now I am for you again. Pray you sit by us, And tell's a tale. MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be? HERMIONE. As merry as you will. MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one Of sprites and goblins. HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir. Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it. MAMILLIUS. There was a man- HERMIONE. Nay, come, sit down; then on. MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly; Yond crickets shall not hear it. HERMIONE. Come on then, And give't me in mine ear. Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him? FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them Even to their ships. LEONTES. How blest am I In my just censure, in my true opinion! Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd In being so blest! There may be in the cup A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge Is not infected; but if one present Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander. There is a plot against my life, my crown; All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him; He has discover'd my design, and I Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick For them to play at will. How came the posterns So easily open? FIRST LORD. By his great authority; Which often hath no less prevail'd than so On your command. LEONTES. I know't too well. Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him; Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. HERMIONE. What is this? Sport? LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her; Away with him; and let her sport herself [MAMILLIUS is led out] With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not, And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to th' nayward. LEONTES. You, my lords, Look on her, mark her well; be but about To say 'She is a goodly lady' and The justice of your hearts will thereto ad 'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.' Praise her but for this her without-door form, Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands That calumny doth use- O, I am out!- That mercy does, for calumny will sear Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's, When you have said she's goodly, come between, Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known, From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, She's an adultress. HERMIONE. Should a villain say so, The most replenish'd villain in the world, He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Do but mistake. LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing! Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, Should a like language use to all degrees And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said She's an adultress; I have said with whom. More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is A federary with her, and one that knows What she should shame to know herself But with her most vile principal- that she's A bed-swerver, even as bad as those That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy To this their late escape. HERMIONE. No, by my life, Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, You scarce can right me throughly then to say You did mistake. LEONTES. No; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, The centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison. He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty But that he speaks. HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns. I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are- the want of which vain dew Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords, With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so The King's will be perform'd! LEONTES. [To the GUARD] Shall I be heard? HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness My women may be with me, for you see My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears As I come out: this action I now go on Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord. I never wish'd to see you sorry; now I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave. LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence! Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and LADIES FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, call the Queen again. ANTIGONUS. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son. FIRST LORD. For her, my lord, I dare my life lay down- and will do't, sir, Please you t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean In this which you accuse her. ANTIGONUS. If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her; For every inch of woman in the world, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be. LEONTES. Hold your peaces. FIRST LORD. Good my lord- ANTIGONUS. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves. You are abus'd, and by some putter-on That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain! I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd- I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven; The second and the third, nine and some five; If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour, I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see To bring false generations. They are co-heirs; And I had rather glib myself than they Should not produce fair issue. LEONTES. Cease; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't As you feel doing thus; and see withal The instruments that feel. ANTIGONUS. If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty; There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. LEONTES. What! Lack I credit? FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, Upon this ground; and more it would content me To have her honour true than your suspicion, Be blam'd for't how you might. LEONTES. Why, what need we Commune with you of this, but rather follow Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves We need no more of your advice. The matter, The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all Properly ours. ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege, You had only in your silent judgment tried it, Without more overture. LEONTES. How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, Added to their familiarity- Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation But only seeing, all other circumstances Made up to th' deed- doth push on this proceeding. Yet, for a greater confirmation- For, in an act of this importance, 'twere Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had, Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord. LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to th' minds of others such as he Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good From our free person she should be confin'd, Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; We are to speak in public; for this business Will raise us all. ANTIGONUS. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it, If the good truth were known. Exeunt SCENE II. Sicilia. A prison Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him; Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit GENTLEMAN Good lady! No court in Europe is too good for thee; What dost thou then in prison? Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER Now, good sir, You know me, do you not? GAOLER. For a worthy lady, And one who much I honour. PAULINA. Pray you, then, Conduct me to the Queen. GAOLER. I may not, madam; To the contrary I have express commandment. PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, To see her women- any of them? Emilia? GAOLER. So please you, madam, To put apart these your attendants, Shall bring Emilia forth. PAULINA. I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS GAOLER. And, madam, I must be present at your conference. PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER Here's such ado to make no stain a stain As passes colouring. Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA Dear gentlewoman, How fares our gracious lady? EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn May hold together. On her frights and griefs, Which never tender lady hath borne greater, She is, something before her time, deliver'd. PAULINA. A boy? EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe, Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, I am as innocent as you.' PAULINA. I dare be sworn. These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall. The office Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me; If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister, And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the Queen; If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show't the King, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o' th' child: The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails. EMILIA. Most worthy madam, Your honour and your goodness is so evident That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue; there is no lady living So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Lest she should be denied. PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia, I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted I shall do good. EMILIA. Now be you blest for it! I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer. GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur to pass it, Having no warrant. PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir. This child was prisoner to the womb, and is By law and process of great Nature thence Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to The anger of the King, nor guilty of, If any be, the trespass of the Queen. GAOLER. I do believe it. PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt SCENE III. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and SERVANTS LEONTES. Nor night nor day no rest! It is but weakness To bear the matter thus- mere weakness. If The cause were not in being- part o' th' cause, She, th' adultress; for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she I can hook to me- say that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again. Who's there? FIRST SERVANT. My lord? LEONTES. How does the boy? FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd. LEONTES. To see his nobleness! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply, Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go, See how he fares. [Exit SERVANT] Fie, fie! no thought of him! The very thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty, And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be, Until a time may serve; for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow. They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor Shall she, within my pow'r. Enter PAULINA, with a CHILD FIRST LORD. You must not enter. PAULINA. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me. Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the Queen's life? A gracious innocent soul, More free than he is jealous. ANTIGONUS. That's enough. SECOND SERVANT. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded None should come at him. PAULINA. Not so hot, good sir; I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh At each his needless heavings- such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as medicinal as true, Honest as either, to purge him of that humour That presses him from sleep. LEONTES. What noise there, ho? PAULINA. No noise, my lord; but needful conference About some gossips for your Highness. LEONTES. How! Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, I charg'd thee that she should not come about me; I knew she would. ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord, On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, She should not visit you. LEONTES. What, canst not rule her? PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this, Unless he take the course that you have done- Commit me for committing honour- trust it, He shall not rule me. ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear! When she will take the rein, I let her run; But she'll not stumble. PAULINA. Good my liege, I come- And I beseech you hear me, who professes Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares Less appear so, in comforting your evils, Than such as most seem yours- I say I come From your good Queen. LEONTES. Good Queen! PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you. LEONTES. Force her hence. PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off; But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. [Laying down the child] LEONTES. Out! A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door! A most intelligencing bawd! PAULINA. Not so. I am as ignorant in that as you In so entitling me; and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. LEONTES. Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. [To ANTIGONUS] Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard; Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. PAULINA. For ever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't! LEONTES. He dreads his wife. PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt You'd call your children yours. LEONTES. A nest of traitors! ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light. PAULINA. Nor I; nor any But one that's here; and that's himself; for he The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not- For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten As ever oak or stone was sound. LEONTES. A callat Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes. Hence with it, and together with the dam Commit them to the fire. PAULINA. It is yours. And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge, So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip, The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles; The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger. And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's! LEONTES. A gross hag! And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd That wilt not stay her tongue. ANTIGONUS. Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. LEONTES. Once more, take her hence. PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. LEONTES. I'll ha' thee burnt. PAULINA. I care not. It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant But this most cruel usage of your Queen- Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hing'd fancy- something savours Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. LEONTES. On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? She durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her! PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? You that are thus so tender o'er his follies Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so. Farewell; we are gone. Exit LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, And see it instantly consum'd with fire; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight. Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life, With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou set'st on thy wife. ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir. These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. LORDS. We can. My royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither. LEONTES. You're liars all. FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit. We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg, As recompense of our dear services Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, Which being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows. Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel And call me father? Better burn it now Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you hither. You that have been so tenderly officious With Lady Margery, your midwife there, To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure To save this brat's life? ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord, That my ability may undergo, And nobleness impose. At least, thus much: I'll pawn the little blood which I have left To save the innocent- anything possible. LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword Thou wilt perform my bidding. ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord. LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail Of any point in't shall not only be Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it To some remote and desert place, quite out Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, Without more mercy, to it own protection And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, That thou commend it strangely to some place Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe. Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, Casting their savageness aside, have done Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed does require! And blessing Against this cruelty fight on thy side, Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child LEONTES. No, I'll not rear Another's issue. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts From those you sent to th' oracle are come An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, Hasting to th' court. FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. LEONTES. Twenty-three days They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives, My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; And think upon my bidding. Exeunt <> ACT III. SCENE I. Sicilia. On the road to the Capital Enter CLEOMENES and DION CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. DION. I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits- Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, It was i' th' off'ring! CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense That I was nothing. DION. If th' event o' th' journey Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. CLEOMENES. Great Apollo Turn all to th' best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. DION. The violent carriage of it Will clear or end the business. When the oracle- Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up- Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses. And gracious be the issue! Exeunt SCENE II. Sicilia. A court of justice Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce, Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried, The daughter of a king, our wife, and one Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, Even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen Appear in person here in court. Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES Silence! LEONTES. Read the indictment. OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night.' HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that Which contradicts my accusation, and The testimony on my part no other But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it, Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know- Who least will seem to do so- my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devis'd And play'd to take spectators; for behold me- A fellow of the royal bed, which owe A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing To prate and talk for life and honour fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond The bound of honour, or in act or will That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry fie upon my grave! LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did Than to perform it first. HERMIONE. That's true enough; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. LEONTES. You will not own it. HERMIONE. More than mistress of Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accus'd, I do confess I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd; With such a kind of love as might become A lady like me; with a love even such, So and no other, as yourself commanded; Which not to have done, I think had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke, Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely, That it was yours. Now for conspiracy: I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd For me to try how; all I know of it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in's absence. HERMIONE. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not. My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams. You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame- Those of your fact are so- so past all truth; Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it- which is indeed More criminal in thee than it- so thou Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death. HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats. The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me can life be no commodity. The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went; my second joy And first fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort, Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast- The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth- Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i' th' open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge! FIRST LORD. This your request Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth, And in Apollo's name, his oracle. Exeunt certain OFFICERS HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father; O that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then You have not dar'd to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in't. CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear. LEONTES. Break up the seals and read. OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.' LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo! HERMIONE. Praised! LEONTES. Hast thou read truth? OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down. LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle. The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. My lord the King, the King! LEONTES. What is the business? SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the Queen's speed, is gone. LEONTES. How! Gone? SERVANT. Is dead. LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons] How now, there! PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down And see what death is doing. LEONTES. Take her hence. Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover. I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion. Beseech you tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE Apollo, pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle. I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo- Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy. For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison My friend Polixenes; which had been done But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it and being done. He, most humane And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard Of all incertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour. How he glisters Thorough my rust! And how his piety Does my deeds make the blacker! Re-enter PAULINA PAULINA. Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too! FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady? PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling In leads or oils? What old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine- O, think what they have done, And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king- poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter To be or none or little, though a devil Would have shed water out of fire ere done't; Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts- Thoughts high for one so tender- cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no, Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords, When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen, The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance For't not dropp'd down yet. FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid! PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. LEONTES. Go on, go on. Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd All tongues to talk their bitt'rest. FIRST LORD. Say no more; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' th' boldness of your speech. PAULINA. I am sorry for't. All faults I make, when I shall come to know them. I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punish'd that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again! I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I'll not remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son. One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there Shall be my recreation. So long as nature Will bear up with this exercise, so long I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me To these sorrows. Exeunt SCENE III. Bohemia. The sea-coast Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia? MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown upon 's. ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before I call upon thee. MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. ANTIGONUS. Go thou away; I'll follow instantly. MARINER. I am glad at heart To be so rid o' th' business. Exit ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe. I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side some another- I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me; And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost for ever, Perdita I prithee call't. For this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks, She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself, and thought This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys; Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this. I do believe Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, Either for life or death, upon the earth Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! [Laying down the child] There lie, and there thy character; there these [Laying down a bundle] Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch, That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have A lullaby too rough; I never saw The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard! This is the chase; I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear Enter an old SHEPHERD SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now! Would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work; they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he halloo'd but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Hilloa, loa! SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man? CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it? CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the ship- to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now. SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man! CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing. SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy? CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. Home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go. Come, good boy, the next way home. CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst but when they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it. SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him. CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th' ground. SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't. Exeunt <> ACT IV. SCENE I. Enter TIME, the CHORUS TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing As you had slept between. Leontes leaving- Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving That he shuts up himself- imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia; and remember well I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues I list not prophesy; but let Time's news Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit SCENE II. Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. Exeunt SCENE III. Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I' th' name of me! AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the Prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the court. CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run. AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. CLOWN. How do you now? AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's. CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir. CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue! [Sings] Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit SCENE IV. Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the Queen on't. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me- O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! How would he look to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's; for I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing. POLIXENES. Shepherdess- A fair one are you- well you fit our ages With flow'rs of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature- change it rather; but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! You'd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL. What, like a corse? PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs. Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. O Doricles, Your praises are too large. But that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair That never mean to part. PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO. He tells her something That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. CLOWN. Come on, strike up. DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA. Now, in good time! CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Music] Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it: He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read, As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel- What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come, buy. CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. MOPSA. Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you. SONG AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. O, whither? DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. What, neither? AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither? CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a meddler That doth utter all men's ware-a. Re-enter SERVANT SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance: you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By th' northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out. But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL. And he, and more Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Contract us fore these witnesses. SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? POLIXENES. Knows he of this? FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, Know man from man, dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason The father- all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity- should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop'st with- SHEPHERD. O, my heart! POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly The self-same sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of fourscore-three That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: More straining on for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech- which I do guess You do not purpose to him- and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. I think Camillo? CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO. Be advis'd. FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more- cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver: I am put to sea With her who here I cannot hold on shore. And most opportune to her need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO. O my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services i' th' love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL. Very nobly Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. CAMILLO. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the King, And through him what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your Highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; And with my best endeavours in your absence Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL. Not any yet; But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess- For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say, that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. CAMILLO. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA. One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' th' rear o' our birth. CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita! But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house- how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there. It shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want- one word. [They talk aside] Re-enter AUTOLYCUS AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming, that you may- For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA. I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO. No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after; in whose company I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me. CLOWN. Nay- but hear me. SHEPHERD. Go to, then. CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's brother-in-law. CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither are you bound? SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known- discover. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I command the to open thy affair. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you. CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier. SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box? SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of grief. SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. CLOWN. Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd alive. SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it. AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit <> ACT V. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES. Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady. You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. PAULINA. You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort, and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES. Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips- PAULINA. And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse, And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we offend her now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin 'Why to me'- PAULINA. Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES. She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA. I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES. Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA. Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much. PAULINA. Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES. Good madam- PAULINA. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir, No remedy but you will- give me the office To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES. My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA. That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Enter a GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access To your high presence. LEONTES. What with him? He comes not Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need and accident. What train? GENTLEMAN. But few, And those but mean. LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him? GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot- your pardon; The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA. How! not women? GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA. Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and ATTENDANTS They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost- All mine own folly- the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother; and, but infirmity, Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves, He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES. O my brother- Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Th' adventure of her person? FLORIZEL. Good, my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your Highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman, against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin, For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Enter a LORD LORD. Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has- His dignity and duty both cast off- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak. LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple- meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endur'd all weathers. LORD. Lay't so to his charge; He's with the King your father. LEONTES. Who? Camillo? LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak. Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA. O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES. You are married? FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES. My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL. She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES. I thought of her Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father. Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt SCENE II. Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child. AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it. FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in the extremity of the one it must needs be. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the King found his heir? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court? THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relish'd among my other discredits. Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy. CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince, my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father. And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the Prince my master. SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it: I'll swear it. SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy good masters. Exeunt SCENE III. Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LORDS and ATTENDANTS LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well. All my services You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES. O Paulina, We honour you with trouble; but we came To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE standing like a statue] I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege. Comes it not something near? LEONTES. Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES. O, not by much! PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence, Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she liv'd now. LEONTES. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty- warm life, As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee! PERDITA. And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition that I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry. Scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine- I'd not have show'd it. LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that methinks already- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES. Masterly done! The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain. My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES. No, not these twenty years. PERDITA. So long could I Stand by, a looker-on. PAULINA. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend, And take you by the hand, but then you'll think- Which I protest against- I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES. What you can make her do I am content to look on; what to speak I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA. It is requir'd You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; Or those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES. Proceed. No foot shall stir. PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES. O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES. She embraces him. CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. If she pertain to life, let her speak too. POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Or how stol'n from the dead. PAULINA. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears she lives Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE. You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Myself to see the issue. PAULINA. There's time enough for that, Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES. O peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife. This is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far- For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Is richly noted, and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Each one demand and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt THE END <> 1609 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT by William Shakespeare From off a hill whose concave womb reworded A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale, My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded, And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale, Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain, Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. Upon her head a platted hive of straw, Which fortified her visage from the sun, Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw The carcase of a beauty spent and done. Time had not scythed all that youth begun, Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age. Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, Which on it had conceited characters, Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears, And often reading what contents it bears; As often shrieking undistinguished woe, In clamours of all size, both high and low. Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride, As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend; Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend Their view right on; anon their gazes lend To every place at once, and nowhere fixed, The mind and sight distractedly commixed. Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride; For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat, Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, Though slackly braided in loose negligence. A thousand favours from a maund she drew Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet, Which one by one she in a river threw, Upon whose weeping margent she was set; Like usury applying wet to wet, Or monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. Of folded schedules had she many a one, Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood; Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone, Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood, With sleided silk feat and affectedly Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy. These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear; Cried, 'O false blood, thou register of lies, What unapproved witness dost thou bear! Ink would have seemed more black and damned here! This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, Big discontents so breaking their contents. A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh, Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew Of court, of city, and had let go by The swiftest hours observed as they flew, Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew; And, privileged by age, desires to know In brief the grounds and motives of her woe. So slides he down upon his grained bat, And comely distant sits he by her side; When he again desires her, being sat, Her grievance with his hearing to divide. If that from him there may be aught applied Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 'Tis promised in the charity of age. 'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold The injury of many a blasting hour, Let it not tell your judgement I am old: Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power. I might as yet have been a spreading flower, Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied Love to myself, and to no love beside. 'But woe is me! too early I attended A youthful suit- it was to gain my grace- O, one by nature's outwards so commended That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face. Love lacked a dwelling and made him her place; And when in his fair parts she did abide, She was new lodged and newly deified. 'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; And every light occasion of the wind Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find: Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind; For on his visage was in little drawn What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. 'Small show of man was yet upon his chin; His phoenix down began but to appear, Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, Whose bare out-bragged the web it seemed to wear: Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear; And nice affections wavering stood in doubt If best were as it was, or best without. 'His qualities were beauteous as his form, For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. His rudeness so with his authorized youth Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 'Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by th' well-doing steed. 'But quickly on this side the verdict went: His real habitude gave life and grace To appertainings and to ornament, Accomplished in himself, not in his case, All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, Came for additions; yet their purposed trim Pierced not his grace, but were all graced by him. 'So on the tip of his subduing tongue All kind of arguments and question deep, All replication prompt, and reason strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep. To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, He had the dialect and different skill, Catching all passions in his craft of will, 'That he did in the general bosom reign Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted, To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain In personal duty, following where he haunted. Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted, And dialogued for him what he would say, Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey. 'Many there were that did his picture get, To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; Like fools that in th' imagination set The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned; And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. 'So many have, that never touched his hand, Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart. My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee-simple, not in part, What with his art in youth, and youth in art, Threw my affections in his charmed power Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower. 'Yet did I not, as some my equals did, Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; Finding myself in honour so forbid, With safest distance I mine honour shielded. Experience for me many bulwarks builded Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 'But ah, who ever shunned by precedent The destined ill she must herself assay? Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content, To put the by-past perils in her way? Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay; For when we rage, advice is often seen By blunting us to make our wills more keen. 'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood That we must curb it upon others' proof, To be forbod the sweets that seems so good For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. O appetite, from judgement stand aloof! The one a palate hath that needs will taste, Though Reason weep, and cry it is thy last. 'For further I could say this man's untrue, And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew; Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; Thought characters and words merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 'And long upon these terms I held my city, Till thus he 'gan besiege me: "Gentle maid, Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, And be not of my holy vows afraid. That's to ye sworn to none was ever said; For feasts of love I have been called unto, Till now did ne'er invite nor never woo. '"All my offences that abroad you see Are errors of the blood, none of the mind; Love made them not; with acture they may be, Where neither party is nor true nor kind. They sought their shame that so their shame did find; And so much less of shame in me remains By how much of me their reproach contains. '"Among the many that mine eyes have seen, Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, Or my affection put to th' smallest teen, Or any of my leisures ever charmed. Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed; Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, And reigned commanding in his monarchy. '"Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood; Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me Of grief and blushes, aptly understood In bloodless white and the encrimsoned mood- Effects of terror and dear modesty, Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly. '"And, lo, behold these talents of their hair, With twisted metal amorously empleached, I have receiv'd from many a several fair, Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched, With the annexions of fair gems enriched, And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. '"The diamond? why, 'twas beautiful and hard, Whereto his invised properties did tend; The deep-green em'rald, in whose fresh regard Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend With objects manifold; each several stone, With wit well blazoned, smiled, or made some moan. '"Lo, all these trophies of affections hot, Of pensived and subdued desires the tender, Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not, But yield them up where I myself must render- That is, to you, my origin and ender; For these, of force, must your oblations be, Since I their altar, you enpatron me. '"O then advance of yours that phraseless hand Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise; Take all these similes to your own command, Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise; What me your minister for you obeys Works under you; and to your audit comes Their distract parcels in combined sums. '"Lo, this device was sent me from a nun, Or sister sanctified, of holiest note, Which late her noble suit in court did shun, Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, But kept cold distance, and did thence remove To spend her living in eternal love. '"But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives, Playing the place which did no form receive, Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves! She that her fame so to herself contrives, The scars of battle scapeth by the flight, And makes her absence valiant, not her might. '"O pardon me in that my boast is true! The accident which brought me to her eye Upon the moment did her force subdue, And now she would the caged cloister fly. Religious love put out religion's eye. Not to be tempted, would she be immured, And now to tempt all liberty procured. '"How mighty then you are, O hear me tell! The broken bosoms that to me belong Have emptied all their fountains in my well, And mine I pour your ocean all among. I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, Must for your victory us all congest, As compound love to physic your cold breast. '"My parts had pow'r to charm a sacred nun, Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace, Believed her eyes when they t'assail begun, All vows and consecrations giving place, O most potential love, vow, bond, nor space, In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, For thou art all, and all things else are thine. '"When thou impressest, what are precepts worth Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame, How coldly those impediments stand forth, Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame! Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame. And sweetens, in the suff'ring pangs it bears, The aloes of all forces, shocks and fears. '"Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine, And supplicant their sighs to your extend, To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine, Lending soft audience to my sweet design, And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, That shall prefer and undertake my troth." 'This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount, Whose sights till then were levelled on my face; Each cheek a river running from a fount With brinish current downward flowed apace. O, how the channel to the stream gave grace! Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses That flame through water which their hue encloses. 'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies In the small orb of one particular tear! But with the inundation of the eyes What rocky heart to water will not wear? What breast so cold that is not warmed here? O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath, Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath. 'For lo, his passion, but an art of craft, Even there resolved my reason into tears; There my white stole of chastity I daffed, Shook off my sober guards and civil fears; Appear to him as he to me appears, All melting; though our drops this diff'rence bore: His poisoned me, and mine did him restore. 'In him a plenitude of subtle matter, Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, Of burning blushes or of weeping water, Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves, In either's aptness, as it best deceives, To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows; 'That not a heart which in his level came Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, Showing fair nature is both kind and tame; And, veiled in them, did win whom he would maim. Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; When he most burned in heart-wished luxury, He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity. 'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace The naked and concealed fiend he covered, That th' unexperient gave the tempter place, Which, like a cherubin, above them hovered. Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered? Ay me, I fell, and yet do question make What I should do again for such a sake. 'O, that infected moisture of his eye, O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed, O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly, O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed, O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed, Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed, And new pervert a reconciled maid.' THE END <> End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, by William Shakespeare *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMPLETE WORKS--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE *** ***** This file should be named 100.txt or 100.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/100/ Produced by World Library, Inc., from their Library of the Future Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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