Mr. VVilliam Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Published according to the true originall copies. Plays Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. 1623 Approx. 6904 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 458 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2006-06 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A11954 STC 22273 ESTC S111228 99846615 99846615 11596

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A11954) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 11596) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 774:11) Mr. VVilliam Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Published according to the true originall copies. Plays Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Heminge, John, ca. 1556-1630. Condell, Henry, d. 1627. [18], 303, [1], 46, 49-100, [2], 69-232, [2], 79-80, [26], 98, [2], 109-156, 257-993 [i.e. 399], [1] p. Printed by Isaac Iaggard, and Ed. Blount [at the charges of W. Iaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke, and W. Aspley], London : 1623. Editors' dedication signed: Iohn Heminge. Henry Condell. Mostly in verse. With an engraved title-page portrait of the author signed: "Martin· Droeshout: sculpsit· London." There is a shadow on the collar. An early state has no shadow. Colophon reads: Printed at the charges of W. Iaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke, and W. Aspley. 1623. The title page is an insert. "The life and death of King Iohn" begins new pagination on leaf a1r; "The tragedy of Coriolanus" begins new pagination on leaf 2a1r. P. 399 misnumbered 993. For details see Hinman, Charleton. The printing and proof-reading of the First Folio of Shakespeare: Oxford, 1963. Reproduction of an original in the Folger Shakespeare Library.

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To the Reader. This Figure, that thou here ſeeſt put, It was for gentle Shakeſpeare cut; Wherein the Grauer had a ſtrife with Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but haue drawne his wit As well in braſſe, as he hath hit His face; the Print would then ſurpaſſe All, that vvas euer vvrit in braſſe. But, ſince he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke. B.I.

MR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARES COMEDIES, HISTORIES, & TRAGEDIES.

Publiſhed according to the True Originall Copies.

portrait of William Shakespeare

LONDON Printed by Iſaac Iaggard, and Ed. Blount. 1623.

TO THE MOST NOBLE AND INCOMPARABLE PAIRE OF BRETHREN. WILLIAM Earle of Pembroke, &c. Lord Chamberlaine to the Kings moſt Excellent Maieſty. AND PHILIP Earle of Montgomery, &c. Gentleman of his Maieſties Bed-Chamber. Both Knights of the moſt Noble Order of the Garter, and our ſingular good LORDS. Right Honourable,

WHilſt we ſtudie to be thankful in our particular, for the many fauors we haue receiued from your L.L we are falne vpon the ill fortune, to mingle two the moſt diuerſe things that can bee, feare, and raſhneſſe; raſhneſſe in the enterprize, and feare of the ſucceſſe. For, when we valew the places your H.H. ſuſtaine, we cannot but know their dignity greater, then to deſcend to the reading of theſe trifles: and, vvhile we name them trifles, we haue depriu'd our ſelues of the defence of our Dedication. But ſince your L.L. haue beene pleas'd to thinke theſe trifles ſome-thing, heeretofore; and haue proſequuted both them, and their Authour liuing, vvith ſo much fauour: we hope, that (they out-liuing him, and he not hauing the fate, common with ſome, to be exequutor to his owne writings) you will vſe the like indulgence toward them, you haue done vnto their parent. There is a great difference, vvhether any Booke chooſe his Patrones, or finde them: This hath done both. For, ſo much were your L L. likings of the ſeuerall parts, vvhen they were acted as before they vvere publiſhed, the Volume ask'd to be yours. We haue but collected them, and done an office to the dead, to procure his Orphanes, Guardians; vvithout ambition either of ſelfe-profit, or fame: onely to keepe the memory of ſo worthy a Friend, & Fellow aliue, as was our SHAKESPEARE, by humble offer of his playes, to your moſt noble patronage. Wherein, as we haue iuſtly obſerued, no man to come neere your L.L. but vvith a kind of religious addreſſe; it hath bin the height of our care, vvho are the Preſenters, to make the preſent worthy of your H.H. by the perfection. But, there we muſt alſo craue our abilities to be conſiderd, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our owne powers. Country hands reach foorth milke, creame, fruites, or what they haue: and many Nations (we haue heard) that had not gummes & incenſe, obtained their requeſts with a leauened Cake. It vvas no fault to approch their Gods, by what meanes they could: And the moſt, though meaneſt, of things are made more precious, when they are dedicated to Temples. In that name therefore, we moſt humbly conſecrate to your H.H. theſe remaines of your ſeruant Shakeſpeare; that what delight is in them, may be euer your L.L. the reputation his, & the faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre ſo carefull to ſhew their gratitude both to the liuing, and the dead, as is

Your Lordſhippes moſt bounden, IOHN HEMINGE. HENRY CONDELL.
To the great Variety of Readers.

FRom the moſt able, to him that can but ſpell: There you are number'd. We had rather you were weighd. Eſpecially, when the fate of all Bookes depends vpon your capacities: and not of your heads alone, but of your purſes. Well! It is now publique, & you wil ſtand for your priuiledges wee know: to read, and cenſure. Do ſo, but buy it firſt. That doth beſt commend a Booke, the Stationer ſaies. Then, how odde ſoeuer your braines be, or your wiſedomes, make your licence the ſame, and ſpare not. Iudge your ſixe-pen'orth, your ſhillings worth, your fiue ſhillings worth at a time, or higher, ſo you riſe to the iuſt rates, and welcome. But, what euer you do, Buy. Cenſure will not driue a Trade, or make the Iacke go. And though you be a Magiſtrate of wit, and ſit on the Stage at Black-Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes dailie, know, theſe Playes haue had their triall alreadie, and ſtood out all Appeales; and do now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of Court, then any purchas'd Letters of commendation.

It had bene a thing, we confeſſe, worthie to haue bene wiſhed, that the Author himſelfe had liu'd to haue ſet forth, and ouerſeen his owne writings; But ſince it hath bin ordain'd otherwiſe, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envie his Friends, the office of their care, and paine, to haue collected & publiſh'd them; and ſo to haue publiſh'd them, as where (before) you were abu • 'd with diuerſe ſtolne, and ſurreptitious copies, maimed, and deformed by the frauds and ſtealthes of iniurious impoſtors, that expos'd them: euen thoſe, are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes; and all the reſt, abſolute in their numbers, as he conceiued thē. Who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a moſt gentle expreſſer of it. His mind and hand went together: And what he thought, he vttered with that eaſineſſe, that wee haue ſcarſe receiued from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our prouince, who onely gather his works, and giue them you, to praiſe him. It is yours that reade him. And there we hope, to your diuers capacities, you will finde enough, both to draw, and hold you: for his wit can no more lie hid, then it could be loſt. Reade him, therefore; and againe, and againe: And if then you doe not like him, ſurely you are in ſome manifeſt danger, not to vnderſtand him. And ſo we leaue you to other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee your guides: if you neede them not, you can leade your ſelues, and others. And ſuch Readers we wiſh him.

Iohn Heminge. Henrie Condell.
To the memory of my beloued, The AVTHOR MR. VVILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: AND what he hath left vs. TO draw no enuy (Shakeſpeare) on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy Booke, and Fame: While I confeſſe thy writings to be ſuch, As neither Man, nor Muſe, can praiſe too much. 'Tis true, and all mens ſuffrage. But theſe wayes Were not the paths I meant vnto thy praiſe: For ſeelieſt Ignorance on theſe may light, Which, when it ſounds at beſt, but eccho's right; Or blinde Affection, which doth ne're aduance The truth, but gropes, and vrgeth all by chance; Or crafty Malice, might pretend this praiſe, And thinke to ruine, where it ſeem'd to raiſe. Theſe are, as ſome infamous Baud, or Whore, Should praiſe a Matron. What could hurt her more? But thou art proofe againſt them, and indeed Aboue th' ill fortune of them, or the need. I, therefore will begin. Soule of the Age! The applauſe! delight! the wonder of our Stage! My Shakeſpeare, riſe; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenſer, or bid Beaumont lye A little further, to make thee a roome: Thou art a Moniment, without a tombe, And art aliue ſtill, while thy Booke doth liue, And we haue wits to read, and praiſe to giue. That I not mixe thee ſo, my braine excuſes; I meane with great, but diſproportion'd Muſes: For, if I thought my iudgement were of yeeres, I ſhould commit thee ſurely with thy peeres, And tell, how farre thou didstſt our Lily out-ſhine, Or ſporting Kid, or Marlowes mighty line. And though thou hadſt ſmall Latine, and leſſe Greeke, From thence to honour thee, I would not ſeeke For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeſchilus, Euripides, and Sophocles to vs, Paccuuius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead, To life againe, to heare thy Buskin tread, And ſhake a Stage: Or, when thy Sockes were on, Leaue thee alone, for the compariſon Of all, that inſolent Greece, or haughtie Rome ſent forth, or ſince did from their aſhes come. Triumph, my Britaine, thou haſt one to ſhowe, To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muſes ſtill were in their prime, When like Apollo he came forth to warme Our eares, or like a Mercury to charme! Nature her ſelfe was proud of his deſignes, And ioy'd to weare the dreſsing of his lines! Which were ſo richly ſpun, and wouen ſo fit, As, ſince, ſhe will vouchſafe no other Wit. The merry Greeke, tart Ariſtophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not pleaſe; But antiquated, and deſerted lye As they were not of Natures family. Yet muſt I not giue Nature all: Thy Art, My gentle Shakeſpeare, muſt enioy a part. For though the Poets matter, Nature be, His Art doth giue the faſhion. And, that he, Who caſts to write a liuing line, muſt ſweat, (ſuch as thine are) and ſtrike the ſecond heat Vpon the Muſes anuile: turne the ſame, (And himſelfe with it) that he thinkes to frame; Or for the lawrell, he may gaine a ſcorne, For a good Poet's made, as well as borne. And ſuch wert thou. Looke how the fathers face Liues in his iſſue, euen ſo, the race Of Shakeſpeares minde, and manners brightly ſhines In his well torned, and true-filed lines: In each of which, he ſeemes to ſhake a Lance, As brandiſh't at the eyes of Ignorance. Sweet Swan of Auon! what a ſight it were To ſee thee in our waters yet appeare, And make thoſe flights vpon the bankes of Thames, That ſo did take Eliza, and our Iames! But ſtay, I ſee thee in the Hemiſphere Aduanc'd, and made a Conſtellation there! Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage; Which, ſince thy flight frō hence, hath mourn'd like night, And deſpaires day, but for thy Volumes light. BEN: IONSON.
Vpon the Lines and Life of the Famous Scenicke Poet, Maſter VVILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. THoſe hands, which you ſo clapt, go now, and wring You Britaines braue; for done are Shakeſpeares dayes: His dayes are done, that made the dainty Playes, Which made the Globe of heau'n and earth to ring. Dry'de is that veine, dry'd is the Theſpian Spring, Turn'd all to teares, and Phoebus clouds his rayes: That corp's, that coffin now beſticke thoſe bayes, Which crown'd him Poet firſt, then Poets King. If Tragedies might any Prologue haue, All thoſe he made, would ſcarſe make one to this: Where Fame, now that he gone is to the graue (Deaths publique tyring-houſe) the Nuncius is. For though his line of life went ſoone about, The life yet of his lines ſhall neuer out. HVGH HOLLAND.
TO THE MEMORIE of the deceaſed Authour Maiſter W. SHAKESPEARE. SHake-ſpeare, at length thy pious fellowes giue The world thy Workes: thy Workes, by which, out-liue Thy Tombe, thy name muſt when that ſtone is rent, And Time diſſolues thy Stratford Moniment, Here we aliue ſhall view thee ſtill. This Booke, When Braſſe and Marble fade, ſhall make thee looke Freſh to all Ages: when Poſteritie Shall loath what's new, thinke all is prodegie That is not Shake-ſpeares; eu'ry Line, each Ʋerſe Here ſhall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herſe. Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naſo ſaid, Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke ſhall once inuade Nor ſhall I e're beleeue, or thinke thee dead (Though miſt) vntill our bankrout Stage be ſp • l (Jmpoſsible) with ſome new ſtraine t' out-do Paſsions of Iuliet, and her Romeo; Or till J heare a Scene more nobly take, Then when thy half-Sword parlying Romans ſpake. Till theſe, till any of thy Volumes reſt Shall with more fire, more feeling be expreſt, Be ſure, our Shake-ſpeare, thou canſt neuer dye, But crown'd with Lawrell, liue eternally. L. Digges.
To the memorie of M.W. Shake-ſpeare. VVEE wondred (Shake-ſpeare) that thou went'ſt ſo ſoone From the Worlds-Stage, to the Graues-Tyring-roome. Wee thought thee dead, but this thy printed worth, Tels thy Spectators, that thou went'ſt but forth To enter with applauſe. An Actors Art, Can dye, and liue, to acte a ſecond part. That's but an Exit of Mortalitie; This, a Re-entrance to a Plaudite. I.M.
The Workes of William Shakeſpeare, containing all his Comedies, Hiſtories, and Tragedies: Truely ſet forth, according to their firſt ORJGJNALL. The Names of the Principall Actors in all theſe Playes. WIlliam Shakeſpeare. Richard Burbadge. John Hemmings. Auguſtine Phillips. William Kempt. Thomas Poope. George Bryan. Henry Condell. William Slye. Richard Cowlye. John Lowine. Samuell Croſſe. Alexander Cooke. Samuel Gilburne. Robert Armin. William Oſtler. Nathan Field. John Ʋnderwood. Nicholas Tooley. William Eccleſtone. Joſeph Taylor. Robert Benfield. Robert Goughe. Richard Robinſon. Iohn Shancke. Iohn Rice.
A CATALOGVE of the ſeuerall Comedies, Hiſtories, and Tragedies contained in this Volume.
COMEDIES. THe Tempeſt. Folio 1. The two Gentlemen of Ʋerona. 20 The Merry Wiues of Windſor. 38 Meaſure for Meaſure. 61 The Comedy of Errours. 85 Much adoo about Nothing. 101 Loues Labour lost. 122 Midſommer Nights Dreame. 145 The Merchant of Ʋenice. 163 As you Like it. 185 The Taming of the Shrew. 208 All is well, that Ends well. 230 Twelfe-Night, or what you will. 255 The Winters Tale. 304
HISTORIES. The Life and Death of King John. Fol. 1. The Life & death of Richard the ſecond. 23 The Firſt part of King Henry the fourth. 46 The Second part of K. Henry the fourth. 74 The Life of King Henry the Fift. 69 The Firſt part of King Henry the Sixt. 96 The Second part of King Hen. the Sixt. 120 The Third part of King Henry the Sixt. 147 The Life & Death of Richard the Third. 173 The Life of King Henry the Eight. 205
TRAGEDIES. The Tragedy of Coriolanus. Fol. 1. Titus Andronicus. 31 Romeo and Juliet. 53 Timon of Athens. 80 The Life and death of Julius Caeſar. 109 The Tragedy of Macbeth. 131 The Tragedy of Hamlet. 152 King Lear. 283 Othello, the Moore of Ʋenice. 310 Anthony and Cleopater. 346 Cymbeline King of Britaine. 369
THE TEMPEST.
Actus primus,
Scena prima. A tempeſtuous noiſe of Thunder and Lightning heard: Enter a Ship-maſter, and a Boteſwaine. Maſter.

BOte-ſwaine.

 Boteſ.

Heere Maſter: What cheere?

 Maſt.

Good: Speake to th' Mariners: fall too't, yarely, or we run our ſelues a ground, beſtirre, beſtirre.

Exit. Enter Mariners. Boteſ.

Heigh my hearts, cheerely, cheerely my harts: yare, yare: Take in the toppe-ſale: Tend to th' Maſters whiſtle: Blow till thou burſt thy winde, if roome enough.

 Enter Alonſo, Sebaſtian, Anthonio, Ferdinando, Gonzalo, and others. Alon.

Good Boteſwain • haue care: where's the Maſter? Play the men.

 Boteſ.

I pray now keepe below.

 Auth.

Where is the Maſter, Boſon?

 Boteſ. Do you not heare him? you marre our labour, Keepe your Cabines: you do aſsiſt the ſtorme. Gonz.

Nay, good be patient.

 Boteſ.

When the Sea is: hence, what cares theſe roarers for the name of King? to Cabine; ſilence: trouble vs not.

 Gon.

Good, yet remember whom thou haſt aboord.

 Boteſ.

None that I more loue then my ſelfe. You are a Counſellor, if you can command theſe Elements to ſilence, and worke the peace of the preſent, wee will not hand a rope more, vſe your authoritie: If you cannot, giue thankes you haue liu'd ſo long, and make your ſelfe readie in your Cabine for the miſchance of the houre, if it ſo hap. Cheerely good hearts: out of our way I ſay.

Exit. Gon.

I haue great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning marke vpon him, his complexion is perfect Gallowes: ſtand faſt good Fate to his hanging, make the rope of his deſtiny our cable, for our owne doth little aduantage: If he be not borne to bee hang'd, our caſe is miſerable.

Exit. Enter Boteſwaine. Boteſ.

Downe with the top-Maſt: yare, lower, lower, bring her to Try with Maine-courſe. A plague — A cry within. Enter Sebaſtian, Anthonio & Gonzalo. vpon this howling: they are lowder then the weather, or our office: yet againe? What do you heere? Shal we giue ore and drowne, haue you a minde to ſinke?

 Sebaſ.

A poxe o' your throat, you bawling, blaſphemous incharitable Dog.

 Boteſ.

Worke you then.

 Anth.

Hang cur, hang, you whoreſon inſolent Noyſemaker, we are leſſe afraid to be drownde, then thou art.

 Gonz.

I'le warrant him for drowning, though the Ship were no ſtronger then a Nutt-ſhell, and as leaky as an vnſtanched wench.

 Boteſ.

Lay her a hold, a hold, ſet her two courſes off to Sea againe, lay her off.

 Enter Mariners wet. Mari.

All loſt, to prayers, to prayers, all loſt.

 Boteſ.

What muſt our mouths be cold?

 Gonz.

The King, and Prince, at prayers, let's aſſiſt them, for our caſe is as theirs.

 Sebaſ.

I' am out of patience.

 An. We are meerly cheated of our liues by drunkards, This wide-chopt-raſcall, would thou mightſt lye drowning the waſhing of ten Tides. Gonz. Hee'l be hang'd yet, Though euery drop of water ſweare againſt it. And gape at widſt to glut him. A confuſed noyſe within. Mercy on vs. We ſplit, we ſplit, Farewell my wife, and children. Farewell brother: we ſplit, we ſplit, we ſplit. Anth.

Let's all ſinke with' King

 Seb.

Let's take leaue of him.

Exit. Gonz.

Now would I giue a thouſand furlongs of Sea, for an Acre of barren ground: Long heath, Browne firrs, any thing; the wills aboue be done, but I would faine dye a dry death.

Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Proſpero and Miranda. Mira. If by your Art (my deereſt father) you haue Put the wild waters in this Ro • e; alay them: The skye it ſeemes would powre down ſtinking pitch, But that the Sea, mounting to th' welkins cheeke, Daſhes the fire out. Oh! I haue ſuffered With thoſe that I ſaw ſuffer: A braue veſſell (Who had no doubt ſome noble creature in her) Daſh'd all to peeces: O the cry did knocke Againſt my very heart: poore ſoules, they periſh'd. Had I byn any God of power, I would Haue ſuncke the Sea within the Earth, or ere It ſhould the good Ship ſo haue ſwallow'd, and The fraughting Soules within her. Proſ. Be collected, No more amazement: Tell your pitteous heart there's no harme done. Mira.

O woe, the day.

 Proſ. No harme: I haue done nothing, but in care of thee (Of thee my deere one; thee my daughter) who Art ignorant of what thou art▪ naught knowing Of whence I am: nor that I am more better Then Proſpero, Maſter of a full poore cell, And thy no greater Father. Mira. More to know Did neuer medle with my thoughts. Proſ. 'Tis time I ſhould informe thee farther: Lend thy hand And plucke my Magick garment from me: So, Lye there my Art: wipe thou thine eyes, haue comfort, The direfull ſpectacle of the wracke which touch'd The very vertue of compaſſion in thee: I haue with ſuch prouiſion in mine Art So ſafely ordered, that there is no ſoule No not ſo much perdition as an hayre Betid to any creature in the veſſell Which thou heardſt cry, which thou ſaw'ſt ſinke: Sit downe, For thou muſt now know farther. Mira. You haue often Begun to tell me what I am, but ſtopt And left me to a booteleſſe Inquiſition, Concluding, ſtay: not yet. Proſ. The howr's now come The very minute byds thee ope thine care, Obey, and be attentiue. Canſt thou remember A time before we came vnto this Cell? I doe not thinke thou canſt, for then thou was't not Out three yeeres old. Mira.

Certainely Sir, I can.

 Proſ. By what? by any other houſe, or perſon? Of any thing the Image, tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mira. 'Tis farre off: And rather like a dreame, then an aſſurance That my remembrance warrants: Had I not Fowre, or fiue women once, that tended me? Proſ. Thou hadſt; and more Miranda: But how is it That this liues in thy minde? What ſeeſt thou els In the dark-backward and Abiſme of Time? Yf thou remembreſt ought ere thou cam'ſt here, How thou cam'ſt here thou maiſt. Mira.

But that I doe not.

 Proſ. Twelue yere ſince (Miranda) twelue yere ſince, Thy father was the Duke of Millaine and A Prince of power: Mira.

Sir, are not you my Father?

 Proſ. Thy Mother was a peece of vertue, and She ſaid thou waſt my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Millaine, and his onely heire, And Princeſſe; no worſe Iſſued. Mira. O the heauens, What fowle play had we, that we came from thence? Or bleſſed was't we did? Proſ. Both, both my Girle. By fowle-play (as thou ſaiſt) were we heau'd thence, But bleſſedly holpe hither. Mira. O my heart bleedes To thinke oth' teene that I haue turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance, pleaſe you, farther; Proſ. My brother and thy vncle, call'd Anthonio: I pray thee marke me, that a brother ſhould Be ſo perfidious: he, whom next thy ſelfe Of all the world I lou'd, and to him put The mannage 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 liberall Artes, Without a paralell; thoſe being all my ſtudie, The Gouernment I caſt vpon my brother, And to my State grew ſtranger, being tranſported And rapt in ſecret ſtudies, thy falſe vncle (Do'ſt thou attend me?) Mira.

Sir, moſt heedefully.

 Proſ. Being once perfected how to graunt ſuites, how to deny them: who t' aduance, and who To traſh for ouer-topping; new created The creatures that were mine, I ſay, or chang'd 'em, Or els new form'd 'em; hauing both the key, Of Officer, and office, ſet all hearts i' th ſtate To what tune pleas'd his eare, that now he was The Iuy which had hid my princely Trunck, And ſuckt my verdure out on't: Thou attend'ſt not? Mira.

O good Sir, I doe.

 Proſ. I pray thee marke me: I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To cloſenes, and the bettering of my mind with that, which but by being ſo retir'd Ore-priz'd all popular rate: in my falſe brother Awak'd an euill nature, and my truſt Like a good parent, did beget of him A falſehood in it's contrarie, as great As my truſt was, which had indeede no limit, A confidence ſans bound. He being thus Lorded, Not onely with what my reuenew yeelded, But what my power might els exact. Like one Who hauing into truth, by telling of it, Made ſuch a ſynner of his memorie To credite his owne lie, he did beleeue He was indeed the Duke, out o' th' Subſtitution And executing th' outward face of Roialtie With all prerogatiue: hence his Ambition growing: Do'ſt thou heare? Mira.

Your tale, Sir, would cure deafeneſſe.

 Proſ. To haue no Schreene between this part he plaid, And him he plaid it for, he needes will be Abſolute Millaine, Me (poore man) my Librarie Was Dukedome large enough: of temporall roalties He thinks me now incapable. Confederates (ſo drie he was for Sway) with King of Naples To giue him Annuall tribute, doe him homage Subiect his Coronet, to his Crowne and bend The Dukedom yet vnbow'd (alas poore Millaine) To moſt ignoble ſtooping. Mira.

Oh the heauens:

 Proſ. Marke his condition, and th' euent, then tell me If this might be a brother. Mira. I ſhould ſinne To thinke but Noblie of my Grand-mother, Good wombes haue borne bad ſonnes. Pro. Now the Condition. This King of Naples being an Enemy To me inueterate, hearkens my Brothers 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 Dukedome, and confer faire Millaine With all the Honors, on my brother: Whereon A treacherous Armie leuied, one mid-night Fated to th' purpoſe, did Anthonio open The gates of Millaine, and ith' dead of darkeneſſe The miniſters for th' purpoſe hurried thence Me, and thy crying ſelfe. Mir. Alack, for pitty: I not remembring how I cride out then Will cry it ore againe: it is a hint That wrings mine eyes too't. Pro. Heare a little further, And then I'le bring thee to the preſent buſineſſe Which now's vpon's: without the which, this Story Were moſt impertinent. Mir. Wherefore did they not That howre deſtroy vs? Pro. Well demanded, wench: My Tale prouokes that queſtion: Deare, they durſt not, So deare the loue my people bore me: nor ſet A marke ſo bloudy on the buſineſſe; but With colours fairer, painted their foule ends. In few, they hurried vs a-boord a Barke, Bore vs ſome Leagues to Sea, where they prepared A rotten carkaſſe of a Butt, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, ſayle, nor maſt, the very rats Inſtinctiuely haue quit it: There they hoyſt vs To cry to th' Sea, that roard to vs; to ſigh To th' windes, whoſe pitty ſighing backe againe Did vs but louing wrong. Mir. Alack, what trouble Was I then to you? Pro. O, a Cherubin Thou was't that did preſerue me; Thou didſt ſmile, Infuſed with a fortitude from heauen, When I haue deck'd the ſea with drops full ſalt, Vnder my burthen groan'd, which raiſ'd in me An vndergoing ſtomacke, to beare vp Againſt what ſhould enſue. Mir.

How came we a ſhore?

 Pro. By prouidence diuine, Some food, we had, and ſome freſh water, that A noble Neopolitan Gonzalo Out of his Charity, (who being then appointed Maſter of this deſigne) did giue vs, with Rich garments, linnens, ſtuffs, and neceſſaries Which ſince haue ſteeded much, ſo of his gentleneſſe Knowing I lou'd my bookes, he furniſhd me From mine owne Library, with volumes, that I prize aboue my Dukedome. Mir. Would I might But euer ſee that man. Pro. Now I ariſe, Sit ſtill, and heare the laſt of our ſea-ſorrow: Heere in this Iland we arriu'd, and heere Haue I, thy Schoolemaſter, made thee more profit Then other Princeſſe can, that haue more time For vainer howres; and Tutors, not ſo carefull. Mir. Heuens thank you for't. And now I pray you Sir, For ſtill 'tis beating in my minde; your reaſon For rayſing this Sea-ſtorme? Pro. Know thus far forth, By accident moſt ſtrange, bountifull Fortune (Now my deere Lady) hath mine enemies Brought to this ſhore: And by my preſcience I finde my Zenith doth depend vpon A moſt auſpitious ſtarre, whoſe influence If now I court not, but omit; my fortunes Will euer after droope: Heare ceaſe more queſtions, Thou art inclinde to ſleepe: 'tis a good dulneſſe, And giue it way: I know thou canſt not chuſe: Come away, Seruant, come; I am ready now, Approach my Ariel. Come. Enter Ariel. Ari. All haile, great Maſter, graue Sir, haile: I come To anſwer thy beſt pleaſure; be't to fly, To ſwim, to diue into the fire: to-ride On the curld clowds: to thy ſtrong bidding, taske Ariel, and all his Qualitie. Pro. Haſt thou, Spirit, Performd to point, the Tempeſt that I bad thee. Ar. To euery Article. I boorded the Kings ſhip: now on the Beake, Now in the Waſte, the Decke, in euery Cabyn, I flam'd amazement, ſometime I'ld diuide And burne in many places; on the Top-maſt, The Yards and Bore-ſpritt, would I flame diſtinctly, Then meete, and ioyne. Ioues Lightning, the precurſers O' th dreadfull Thunder-claps more momentarie And fight out-running were not; the fire, and cracks Of ſulphurous roaring, the moſt mighty Neptune Seeme to beſiege, and make his bold waues tremble, Yea, his dread Trident ſhake. Pro. My braue Spirit, Who was ſo firme, ſo conſtant, that this coyle Would not infect his reaſon? Ar. Not a ſoule But felt a Feauer of the madde, and plaid Some tricks of deſperation; all but Mariners Plung'd in the foaming bryne, and quit the veſſell; Then all a fire with me the Kings ſonne Ferdinand With haire vp-ſtaring (then like reeds, not haire) Was the firſt man that leapt; cride hell is empty, And all the Diuels are heere. Pro. Why that's my ſpirit: But was not this nye ſhore? Ar.

Cloſe by, my Maſter.

 Pro.

But are they (Ariell) ſafe?

 Ar. Not a haire periſhd: On their ſuſtaining garments not a blemiſh, But freſher then before: and as thou badſt me, In troops I haue diſperſd them 'bout the Iſle: The Kings ſonne haue I landed by himſelfe, Whom I left cooling of the Ayre with ſighes, In an odde Angle of the Iſle, and ſitting His armes in this ſad knot. Pro. Of the Kings ſhip, The Marriners, ſay how thou haſt diſpoſd, And all the reſt o' th' Fleete? Ar. Safely in harbour Is the Kings ſhippe, in the deepe Nooke, where once Thou calldſt me vp at midnight to fetch dewe From the ſtill-vext Bermoothes, there ſhe's hid; The Marriners all vnder hatches ſtowed, Who, with a Charme ioynd to their ſuffred labour I haue left aſleep: and for the reſt o' th' Fleet (Which I diſpers'd) they all haue met againe, And are vpon the Mediterranian Flote Bound ſadly home for Naples, Suppoſing that they ſaw the Kings ſhip wrackt, And his great perſon periſh. Pro. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more worke: What is the time o' th' day? Ar.

Paſt the mid ſeaſon.

 Pro. At leaſt two Glaſſes: the time 'twixt ſix & now Muſt by vs both be ſpent moſt preciouſly. Ar. Is there more toyle? Since yu doſt giue me pains, Let me remember thee what thou haſt promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. Pro. How now? moodie? What is't thou canſt demand? Ar.

My Libertie.

 Pro.

Before the time be out? no more:

 Ar. I prethee, Remember I haue done thee worthy ſeruice, Told thee no lyes, made thee no miſtakings, ſerv'd Without or grudge, or grumblings; thou did promiſe To bate me a full yeere. Pro. Do'ſt thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? Ar.

No.

 Pro. Thou do'ſt: & thinkſt it much to tread ye Ooze Of the ſalt deepe; To run vpon the ſharpe winde of the North, To doe me buſineſſe in the veines o' th' earth When it is bak'd with froſt. Ar.

I doe not Sir.

 Pro. Thou lieſt, malignant Thing: haſt thou forgot The fowle Witch Sycorax, who with Age and Enuy Was growne into a hoope? haſt thou forgot her? Ar.

No Sir.

 Pro.

Thou haſt: where was ſhe born? ſpeak: tell me:

 Ar.

Sir, in Argier.

Pro. Oh, was ſhe ſo: I muſt Once in a moneth recount what thou haſt bin, Which thou forgetſt. This damn'd Witch Sycorax For miſchiefes manifold, and forceries terrible To enter humane hearing, from Argier Thou know'ſt was baniſh'd: for one thing ſhe did They wold not take her life: Is not this true? Ar.

I, Sir.

 Pro. This blew ey'd hag, was hither brought with child, And here was left by th' Saylors; thou my ſlaue, As thou reportſt thy ſelfe, was then her ſeruant, And for thou waſt a Spirit too-delicate To act her earthy, and abhord commands, Refuſing her grand hefts, ſhe did confine thee By helpe of her more potent Miniſters, And in her moſt vnmittigable rage, Into a clouen Pyne, within which rift Impriſon'd, thou didſt painefully remaine A dozen yeeres: within which ſpace ſhe di'd, And left thee there: where thou didſt vent thy groanes As faſt as Mill-wheeles ſtrike: Then was this Iſland (Saue for the Son, that he did littour heere, A frekelld whelpe, hag-borne) not honour'd with A humane ſhape. Ar.

Yes: Caliban her ſonne.

 Pro. Dull thing, I ſay ſo: he, that Caliban Whom now I keepe in ſeruice, thou beſt know'ſt What torment I did finde thee in; thy grones Did make wolues howle, and penetrate the breaſts Of euer-angry Beares; it was a torment To lay vpon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not againe vndoe: it was mine Art, When I arriu'd, and heard thee, that made gape The Pyne, and let thee out. Ar.

I thanke thee Maſter.

 Pro. If thou more murmur'ſt, I will rend an Oake And peg-thee in his knotty entrailes, till Thou haſt howl'd away twelue winters. Ar. Pardon, Maſter, I will be correſpondent to command And doe my ſpryting, gently. Pro. Doe ſo: and after two daies I will diſcharge thee. Ar. That's my noble Maſter: What ſhall I doe? ſay what? what ſhall I doe? Pro. Goe make thy ſelfe like a Nymph o' th' Sea, Be ſubiect to no ſight but thine, and mine: inuiſible To euery eye-ball elſe: goe take this ſhape And hither come in't: goe: hence With diligence. Exit. Pro. Awake, deere hart awake, thou haſt ſlept well, Awake. Mir. The ſtrangenes of your ſtory, put Heauineſſe in me. Pro. Shake it off: Come on, Wee'll viſit Caliban, my ſlaue, who neuer Yeelds vs kinde anſwere. Mir.

'Tis a villaine Sir, I doe not loue to looke on.

 Pro. But as 'tis We cannot miſſe him: he do's make our fire, Fetch in our wood, and ſerues in Offices That profit vs: What hoa: ſlaue: Caliban: Thou Earth, thou: ſpeake. Cal.

within. There's wood enough within.

 Pro. Come forth I ſay, there's other buſines for thee: Come thou Tortoys, when? Enter Ariel like a water-Nymph. Fine appariſion: my queint Ariel, Hearke in thine eare. Ar.

My Lord, it ſhall be done.

Exit. Pro. Thou poyſonous ſlaue, got by ye diuell himſelfe Vpon thy wicked Dam; come forth. Enter Caliban. Cal. As wicked dewe, as ere my mother bruſh'd With Rauens feather from vnwholeſome Fen Drop on you both: A Southweſt blow on yee, And bliſter you all ore. Pro. For this be ſure, to night thou ſhalt haue cramps, Side-ſtitches, that ſhall pen thy breath vp, Vrchins Shall for that vaſt of night, that they may worke All exerciſe on thee: thou ſhalt be pinch'd As thicke as hony-combe, each pinch more ſtinging Then Bees that made 'em. Cal. 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 ſtroakſt me, & made much of me: wouldſt giue me Water with berries in't: and teach me how To name the bigger Light, and how the leſſe That burne by day, and night: and then I lou'd thee And ſhew'd thee all the qualities o' th' Iſle, The freſh Springs, Brine-pits; barren place and fertill, Curs'd be I that did ſo: All the Charmes Of Sycorax: Toades, Beetles, Batts light on you: For I am all the Subiects that you haue, Which firſt was min owne King: and here you ſty-me In this hard Rocke, whiles you doe keepe from me The reſt o' th' Iſland. Pro. Thou moſt lying ſlaue, Whom ſtripes may moue, not kindnes: I haue vs'd thee (Filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodg'd thee In mine owne Cell, till thou didſt ſeeke to violate The honor of my childe. Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, would't had bene done: Thou didſt preuent me, I had peopel'd elſe This Iſle with Calibans. Mira. Abhorred Slaue, Which any print of goodneſſe wilt not take, Being capable of all ill: I pittied thee, Took pains to make thee ſpeak, taught thee each houre One thing or other: when thou didſt not (Sauage) Know thine owne meaning; but wouldſt gabble, like A thing moſt brutiſh. I endow'd thy purpoſes With words that made them knowne: But thy vild race (Tho thou didſt learn) had that in't, which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore waſt thou Deſeruedly confin'd into this Rocke, who hadſt Deſeru'd more then a priſon. Cal. 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. Proſ. Hag-ſeed, hence: Fetch vs in Fewell, and be quicke thou'rt beſt To anſwer other buſineſſe: ſhrug'ſt thou (Malice) If thou neglectſt, or doſt vnwillingly What I command, Ile racke thee with old Crampes, Fill all thy bones with Aches, make thee rore, That beaſts ſhall tremble at thy dyn. Cal. No, 'pray thee. I muſt obey, his Art is of ſuch pow'r, It would controll my Dams god Setebos, And make a vaſſaile of him. Pro.

So ſlaue, hence.

Exit Cal. Enter Ferdinand & Ariel, inuiſible playing & ſinging. Ariel Song. Come vnto theſe yellow ſands, and then take hands: Curt ſied when you haue, and kiſt the wilde waues whiſt: Foote it featly heere, and there, and ſweete Sprights beare the burthen. Burthen diſperſedly. Harke, harke, bowgh wawgh: the watch-Dogges barke, bowgh-wawgh. Ar.

Hark, hark, I heare, the ſtraine of ſtrutting Chanticlere cry cockadidle-dowe.

Fer. Where ſhold this Muſick be? I' th aire, or th' earth? It ſounds no more: and ſure it waytes vpon Some God' oth' Iland, ſitting on a banke, Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke. This Muſicke crept by me vpon the waters, Allaying both their fury, and my paſſion With it's ſweet ayre; thence I haue follow'd it (Or it hath drawne me rather) but 'tis gone. No, it begins againe. Ariell Song. Full fadom fiue thy Father lies. Of his bones are Corrall made: Thoſe are pearles that were his eies, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth ſuffer a Sea-change Into ſomething rich, & ſtrange: Sea-Nimphs hourly ring his knell. Burthen: ding-dong. Harke now I heare them, ding-dong bell. Fer. The Ditty do's remember my drown'd father, This is no mortall buſines, nor no found That the earth owes: I heare it now aboue me. Pro. The fringed Curtaines of thine eye aduance, And ſay what thou ſee'ſt yond. Mira. What is't a Spirit? Lord, how it lookes about: Beleeue me ſir, It carries a braue forme. But 'tis a ſpirit. Pro. No wench, it eats, and ſleeps, & hath ſuch ſenſes As we haue: ſuch. This Gallant which thou ſeeſt Was in the wracke: and but hee's ſomething ſtain'd With greefe (that's beauties canker) yu might'ſt call him A goodly perſon: he hath loſt his fellowes, And ſtrayes about to finde 'em. Mir. I might call him A thing diuine, for nothing naturall I euer ſaw ſo Noble. Pro. It goes on I ſee As my ſoule prompts it: Spirit, fine ſpirit, Ile free thee Within two dayes for this. Fer. Moſt ſure the Goddeſſe On whom theſe ayres attend: Vouchſafe my pray'r May know if you remaine vpon this Iſland, And that you will ſome good inſtruction giue How I may beare me heere: my prime requeſt (Which I do laſt pronounce) is (O you wonder) If you be Mayd, or no? Mir. No wonder Sir, But certainly a Mayd. Fer. My Language? Heauens: I am the beſt of them that ſpeake this ſpeech, Were I but where 'tis ſpoken. Pro. How? the beſt? What wer't thou if the King of Naples heard thee? Fer. A ſingle thing, as I am now, that wonders To heare thee ſpeake of Naples: he do's heare me, And that he do's, I weepe: my ſelfe am Naples, Who, with mine eyes (neuer ſince at ebbe) beheld The King my Father wrack't. Mir.

Alacke, for mercy.

 Fer. Yes faith, & all his Lords, the Duke of Millaine And his braue ſonne, being twaine. Pro. The Duke of Millaine And his more brauer daughter, could controll thee If now 'twere ſit to do't: At the firſt ſight They haue chang'd eyes: Delicate Ariel, Ile ſet thee free for this. A word good Sir, I feare you haue done your ſelfe ſome wrong: A word. Mir. Why ſpeakes my father ſo vngently? This Is the third man that ere I ſaw: the firſt That ere I ſigh'd for: pitty moue my father To be enclin'd my way. Fer. O, if a Virgin, And your affection not gone forth, Ile make you The Queene of Naples. Pro. Soft ſir, one word more. They are both in eythers pow'rs: But this ſwift buſines I muſt vneaſie make, leaſt too light winning Make the prize light. One word more: I charge thee That thou attend me: Thou do'ſt heere vſurpe The name thou ow'ſt not, and haſt put thy ſelfe Vpon this Iſland, as a ſpy, to win it From me, the Lord on't. Fer.

No, as I am a man.

 Mir. Ther's nothing ill, can dwell in ſuch a Temple, If the ill-ſpirit haue ſo fayre a houſe. Good things will ſtriue to dwell with't. Pro.

Follow me.

 Proſ. Speake not you for him: hee's a Traitor: come, Ile manacle thy necke and feete together: Sea water ſhalt thou drinke: thy food ſhall be The freſh-brooke Muſſels, wither'd roots, and huskes Wherein the Acorne cradled. Follow. Fer. No, I will reſiſt ſuch entertainment, till Mine enemy ha's more pow'r. He drawes, and is charmed from mouing. Mira. O deere Father, Make not too raſh a triall of him, for Hee's gentle, and not fearfull. Proſ. What I ſay, My foote my Tutor? Put thy ſword vp Traitor, Who mak'ſt a ſhew, but dar'ſt not ſtrike: thy conſcience Is ſo poſſeſt with guilt: Come, from thy ward, For I can heere diſarme thee with this ſticke, And make thy weapon drop. Mira.

Beſeech you Father.

 Proſ.

Hence: hang not on my garments.

 Mira. Sir haue pity, Ile be his ſurety. Proſ. Silence: One word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee: What, An aduocate for an Impoſtor? Huſh: Thou think'ſt there is no more ſuch ſhapes as he, (Hauing ſeene but him and Caliban:) Fooliſh wench, To th' moſt of men, this is a Caliban, And they to him are Angels. Mira. My affections Are then moſt humble: I haue no ambition To ſee a goodlier man. Proſ. Come on, obey: Thy Nerues are in their infancy againe. And haue no vigour in them. Fer. So they are: My ſpirits, as in a dreame, are all bound vp: My Fathers loſſe, the weakneſſe which I feele, The wracke of all my friends, nor this mans threats, To whom I am ſubdude, are but light to me, Might I but through my priſon once a day Behold this Mayd: all corners elſe o' th' Earth Let liberty make vſe of: ſpace enough Haue I in ſuch a priſon. Proſ. It workes: Come on. Thou haſt done well, fine Ariell: follow me, Harke what thou elſe ſhalt do mee. Mira. Be of comfort, My Fathers of a better nature (Sir) Then he appeares by ſpeech: this is vnwonted Which now came from him. Proſ. Thou ſhalt be as free As mountaine windes; but then exactly do All points of my command. Ariell.

To th' ſyllable.

 Proſ.

Come follow: ſpeake not for him.

Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Alonſo, Sebaſtian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Franciſco, and others. Gonz. Beſeech you Sir, be merry; you haue cauſe, (So haue we all) of ioy; for our eſcape Is much beyond our loſſe; our hint of woe Is common, euery day, ſome Saylors wife, The Maſters of ſome Merchant, and the Merchant Haue iuſt our Theame of woe: But for the miracle, (I meane our preſeruation) few in millions Can ſpeake like vs: then wiſely (good Sir) weigh Our ſorrow, with our comfort. Alonſ.

Prethee peace.

 Seb.

He receiues comfort like cold porredge.

 Ant.

The Viſitor will not giue him ore ſo.

 Seb.

Looke, hee's winding vp the watch of his wit, By and by it will ſtrike.

 Gon.

Sir.

 Seb.

One: Tell.

 Gon. When euery greefe is entertaind, That's offer'd comes to th' entertainer. Seb.

A dollor.

 Gon.

Dolour comes to him indeed, you haue ſpoken truer then you purpos'd.

 Seb.

You haue taken it wiſelier then I meant you ſhould.

 Gon.

Therefore my Lord.

 Ant.

Fie, what a ſpend-thrift is he of his tongue.

 Alon.

I pre-thee ſpare.

 Gon.

Well, I haue done: But yet

 Seb.

He will be talking.

 Ant. Which, of he, or Adrian, for a good wager, Firſt begins to crow? Seb.

The old Cocke.

 Ant.

The Cockrell.

 Seb.

Done: The wager?

 Ant.

A Laughter.

 Seb.

A match.

 Adr.

Though this Iſland ſeeme to be deſert.

 Seb.

Ha, ha, ha.

 Ant.

So: you'r paid.

 Adr.

Vninhabitable, and almoſt inacceſſible.

 Seb.

Yet

 Adr.

Yet

 Ant.

He could not miſſe't.

 Adr.

It muſt needs be of ſubtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

 Ant.

Temperance was a delicate wench.

 Seb.

I, and a ſubtle, as he moſt learnedly deliuer'd.

 Adr.

The ayre breathes vpon vs here moſt ſweetly.

 Seb.

As if it had Lungs, and rotten ones.

 Ant.

Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a Fen.

 Gon.

Heere is euery thing aduantageous to life.

 Ant.

True, ſaue meanes to liue.

 Seb.

Of that there's none, or little.

 Gon. How luſh and luſty the graſſe lookes? How greene? Ant.

The ground indeed is tawny.

 Seb.

With an eye of greene in't.

 Ant.

He miſſes not much.

 Seb.

No: he doth but miſtake the truth totally.

 Gon.

But the rariety of it is, which is indeed almoſt beyond credit.

 Seb.

As many voucht rarieties are.

 Gon.

That our Garments being (as they were) drencht in the Sea, hold notwithſtanding their freſhneſſe and gloſſes, being rather new dy'de then ſtain'd with ſalte water.

 Ant.

If but one of his pockets could ſpeake, would it not ſay he lyes?

 Seb.

I, or very falſely pocket vp his report.

 Gon.

Me thinkes our garments are now as freſh as when we put them on firſt in Affricke, at the marriage of the kings faire daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis.

Seb.

'Twas a ſweet marriage, and we proſper well in our returne.

 Adri.

Tunis was neuer grac'd before with ſuch a Paragon to their Queene.

 Gon.

Not ſince widdow Dido's time.

 Ant.

Widow? A pox o' that: how came that Widdow in? Widdow Dido!

Seb. What if he had ſaid Widdower Aeneas too? Good Lord, how you take it? Adri.

Widdow Dido ſaid you? You make me ſtudy of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon.

This Tunis Sir was Carthage.

Adri.

Carthage?

Gon.

I aſſure you Carthage.

Ant.

His word is more then the miraculous Harpe.

 Seb.

He hath rais'd the wall, and houſes too.

 Ant.

What impoſsible matter wil he make eaſy next?

 Seb.

I thinke hee will carry this Iſland home in his pocket, and giue it his ſonne for an Apple.

 Ant.

And ſowing the kernels of it in the Sea, bring forth more Iſlands.

 Gon.

I.

 Ant.

Why in good time.

 Gon.

Sir, we were talking, that our garments ſeeme now as freſh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queene.

 Ant.

And the rareſt that ere came there.

 Seb.

Bate (I beſeech you) widdow Dido.

Ant.

O Widdow Dido? I, Widdow Dido.

Gon.

Is not Sir my doublet as freſh as the firſt day I wore it? I meane in a ſort.

 Ant.

That ſort was well fiſh'd for.

 Gon.

When I wore it at your daughters marriage.

 Alon. You cram theſe words into mine eares, againſt the ſtomacke of my ſenſe: would I had neuer Married my daughter there: For comming thence My ſonne is loſt, and (in my rate) ſhe too, Who is ſo farre from Italy remoued, I ne're againe ſhall ſee her: O thou mine heire Of Naples and of Millaine, what ſtrange fiſh Hath made his meale on thee? Fran. Sir he may liue, I ſaw him beate the ſurges vnder him, And ride vpon their backes; he trod the water Whoſe enmity he flung aſide: and breſted The ſurge moſt ſwolne that met him: his bold head 'Boue the contentious waues he kept▪ and oared Himſelfe with his good armes in luſty ſtroke To th' ſhore; that ore his waue-worne baſis bowed As ſtooping to releeue him: I not doubt He came aliue to Land. Alon.

No, no, hee's gone.

 Seb. Sir you may thank your ſelfe for this great loſſe, That would not bleſſe our Europe with your daughter, But rather looſe her to an Affrican, Where ſhe at leaſt, is baniſh'd from your eye, Who hath cauſe to wet the greefe on't. Alon.

Pre-thee peace.

 Seb. You were kneel'd too, & importun'd otherwiſe By all of vs: and the faire ſoule her ſelfe Waigh'd betweene loathneſſe, and obedience, at Which end o' th' beame ſhould bow: we haue loſt your ſon, I feare for euer: Millaine and Naples haue Mo widdowes in them of this buſineſſe making, Then we bring men to comfort them: The faults your owne. Alon.

So is the doer'ſt oth' loſſe.

 Gon. My Lord Sebaſtian, The truth you ſpeake doth lacke ſome gentleneſſe, And time to ſpeake it in: you rub the ſore, When you ſhould bring the plaiſter. Seb.

Very well.

 Ant.

And moſt Chirurgeonly.

 Gon. It is foule weather in vs all, good Sir, When you are cloudy. Seb.

Fowle weather?

 Ant.

Very foule.

 Gon.

Had I plantation of this Iſle my Lord.

 Ant.

Hee'd ſow't vvith Nettle-ſeed.

 Seb.

Or dockes, or Mallowes.

 Gon.

And were the King on't, what vvould I do?

 Seb.

Scape being drunke, for want of Wine.

 Gon. I' th' Commonwealth I vvould (by contraries) Execute all things: For no kinde of Trafficke Would I admit: No name of Magiſtrate: Letters ſhould not be knowne: Riches, pouerty, And vſe of ſeruice, none: Contract, Succeſsion, Borne, bound of Land, Tilth, Vineyard none: No vſe of Mettall, Corne, or Wine, or Oyle: No occupation, all men idle, all: And Women too, but innocent and pure: No Soueraignty. Seb.

Yet he vvould be King on't.

 Ant.

The latter end of his Common-wealth forgets the beginning.

 Gon. All things in common Nature ſhould produce Without ſweat or endeuour: Treaſon, fellony, Sword, Pike, Knife, Gun, or neede of any Engine Would I not haue: but Nature ſhould bring forth Of it owne kinde, all foyzon, all abundance To feed my innocent people. Seb.

No marrying 'mong his ſubiects?

 Ant.

None (man) all idle; Whores and knaues,

 Gon. I vvould vvith ſuch perfection gouerne Sir: T' Excell the Golden Age. Seb.

'Saue his Maieſty.

 Ant.

Long liue Gonzalo.

Gon.

And do you marke me, Sir?

 Alon.

Pre-thee no more: thou doſt talke nothing to me.

 Gon.

I do vvell beleeue your Highneſſe, and did it to miniſter occaſion to theſe Gentlemen, who are of ſuch ſenſible and nimble Lungs, that they alwayes vſe to laugh at nothing.

 Ant.

'Twas you vve laugh'd at.

 Gon.

Who, in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you: ſo you may continue, and laugh at nothing ſtill.

 Ant.

What a blow vvas there giuen?

 Seb.

And it had not falne flat-long.

 Gon.

You are Gentlemen of braue mettal: you would lift the Moone out of her ſpheare, if ſhe would continue in it fiue weekes vvithout changing.

 Enter Ariell playing ſolemne Muſicke. Seb.

We vvould ſo, and then go a Bat-fowling.

 Ant.

Nay good my Lord, be not angry.

 Gon.

No I warrant you, I vvill not aduenture my diſcretion ſo weakly: Will you laugh me aſleepe, for I am very heauy.

 Ant.

Go ſleepe, and heare vs.

 Alon. What, all ſo ſoone aſleepe? I wiſh mine eyes Would (with themſelues) ſhut vp my thoughts, I finde they are inclin'd to do ſo. Seb. Pleaſe you Sir, Do not omit the heauy offer of it: It ſildome viſits ſorrow, when it doth, it is a Comforter. Ant. We two my Lord, will guard your perſon, While you take your reſt, and watch your ſafety. Alon.

Thanke you: Wondrous heauy.

 Seb.

What a ſtrange drowſines poſſeſſes them?

 Ant.

It is the quality o' th' Clymate.

 Seb. Why Doth it not then our eye-lids ſinke? I finde Not my ſelfe diſpos'd to ſleep. Ant. Nor I, my ſpirits are nimble: They fell together all, as by conſent They dropt, as by a Thunder-ſtroke: what might Worthy Sebastian? O, what might? no more: And yet, me thinkes I ſee it in thy face, What thou ſhould'ſt be: th' occaſion ſpeaks thee, and My ſtrong imagination ſee's a Crowne Dropping vpon thy head. Seb.

What? art thou waking?

 Ant.

Do you not heare me ſpeake?

 Seb. I do, and ſurely It is a ſleepy Language; and thou ſpeak'ſt Out of thy ſleepe: What is it thou didſt ſay? This is a ſtrange repoſe, to be aſleepe With eyes wide open: ſtanding, ſpeaking, mouing: And yet ſo faſt aſleepe. Ant. Noble Sebaſtian, Thou let'ſt thy fortune ſleepe: die rather: wink'ſt Whiles thou art waking. Seb. Thou do'ſt ſnore diſtinctly, There's meaning in thy ſnores. Ant. I am more ſerious then my cuſtome: you Muſt be ſo too, if heed me: which to do, Trebbles thee o're. Seb.

Well: I am ſtanding water.

 Ant.

Ile teach you how to flow.

 Seb. Do ſo: to ebbe Hereditary Sloth inſtructs me. Ant. O! If you but knew how you the purpoſe cheriſh Whiles thus you mocke it: how in ſtripping it You more inueſt it: ebbing men, indeed (Moſt often) do ſo neere the bottome run By their owne feare, or ſloth. Seb. 'Pre-thee ſay on, The ſetting of thine eye, and cheeke proclaime A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, Which throwes thee much to yeeld. Ant. Thus Sir: Although this Lord of weake remembrance; this Who ſhall be of as little memory When he is earth'd, hath here almoſt perſwaded (For hee's a Spirit of perſwaſion, onely Profeſſes to perſwade) the King his ſonne's aliue, 'Tis as impoſsible that hee's vndrown'd, As he that ſleepes heere, ſwims. Seb. I haue no hope That hee's vndrown'd. Ant. O, out of that no hope, What great hope haue you? No hope that way, Is Another way ſo high a hope, that euen Ambition cannot pierce a winke beyond But doubt diſcouery there. Will you grant with me That Ferdinand is drown'd. Seb.

He's gone.

 Ant.

Then tell me, who's the next heire of Naples?

Seb.

Claribell.

Ant. She that is Queene of Tunis ſhe that dwels Ten leagues beyond mans life: ſhe that from Naples Can haue no note, vnleſſe the Sun were poſt: The Man i' th Moone's too ſlow, till new-borne chinnes Be rough, and Razor-able: She that from whom We all were ſea-ſwallow'd, though ſome caſt againe, (And by that deſtiny) to performe an act Whereof, what's paſt is Prologue; what to come In yours, and my diſcharge. Seb. What ſtuffe is this? How ſay you? 'Tis true my brothers daughter's Queene of Tunis, So is ſhe heyre of Naples, 'twixt which Regions There is ſome ſpace. Ant. A ſpace, whoſe eu'ry cubit Seemes to cry out, how ſhall that Claribell Meaſure vs backe to Naples? keepe in Tunis, And let Sebaſtian wake. Say, this were death That now hath ſeiz'd them, why they were no worſe Then now they are: There be that can rule Naples As well as he that ſleepes: Lords, that can prate As amply, and vnneceſſarily As this Gonzallo: I my ſelfe could make A Chough of as deepe chat: O, that you bore The minde that I do; what a ſleepe were this For your aduancement? Do you vnderſtand me? Seb.

Me thinkes I do.

 Ant. And how do's your content Tender your owne good fortune? Seb. I remember You did ſupplant your Brothet Proſpero. Ant. True: And looke how well my Garments ſit vpon me, Much feater then before: My Brothers ſeruants Were then my fellowes, now they are my men. Seb.

But for your conſcience.

 Ant. I Sir: where lies that? If 'twere a kybe 'Twould put me to my ſlipper: But I feele not This Deity in my boſome: 'Twentie conſciences That ſtand 'twixt me, and Millaine, candied be they, And melt ere they molleſt: Heere lies your Brother, No better then the earth he lies vpon, If he were that which now hee's like (that's dead) Whom I with this obedient ſteele (three inches of it) Can lay to bed for euer: whiles you doing thus, To the perpetuall winke for aye might put This ancient morſell: this Sir Prudence, who Should not vpbraid our courſe: for all the reſt They'l take ſuggeſtion, as a Cat laps milke, They'l tell the clocke, to any buſineſſe that We ſay befits the houre. Seb. Thy caſe, deere Friend Shall be my preſident: As thou got'ſt Millaine, I'le come by Naples: Draw thy ſword, one ſtroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou paieſt, And I the King ſhall loue thee. Ant. Draw together: And when I reare my hand, do you the like To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O, but one word. Enter Ariell with Muſicke and Song. Ariel. My Maſter through his Art foreſees the danger That you (his friend) are in, and ſends me forth (For elſe his proiect dies) to keepe them liuing. Sings in Gonzaloes eare. While you here do ſnoaring lie, Open-ey'd Conſpiracie His time doth take: If of Life you keepe a care, Shake off ſlumber and beware. Awake, awake. Ant.

Then let vs both be ſodaine.

 Gon.

Now, good Angels preſerue the King.

 Alo. Why how now hoa; awake? why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghaſtly looking? Gon.

What's the matter?

 Seb. Whiles we ſtood here ſecuring your repoſe, (Euen now) we heard a hollow burſt of bellowing Like Buls, or rather Lyons, did't not wake you? It ſtrooke mine eare moſt terribly. Alo.

I heard nothing.

 Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a Monſters eare; To make an earthquake: ſure it was the roare Of a whole heard of Lyons. Alo.

Heard you this Gonzalo?

 Gon. Vpon mine honour, Sir, I heard a humming, (And that a ſtrange one too) which did awake me: I ſhak'd you Sir, and cride: as mine eyes opend, I ſaw their weapons drawne: there was a noyſe, That's verily: 'tis beſt we ſtand vpon our guard; Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons. Alo. Lead off this ground & let's make further ſearch For my poore ſonne. Gon. Heauens keepe him from theſe Beaſts: For he is ſure i' th Iſland. Alo.

Lead away.

 Ariell. Proſpero my Lord, ſhall know what I haue done. So (King) goe ſafely on to ſeeke thy Son. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Caliban, with a burthen of Wood (a noyſe of Thunder heard.) Cal. All the infections that the Sunne ſuckes vp From Bogs, Fens, Flats, on Proſper fall, and make him By ynch-meale a diſeaſe: his Spirits heare me, And yet I needes muſt curſe. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with Vrchyn-ſhewes, pitch me i' th mire, Nor lead me like a fire-brand, in the darke Out of my way, vnleſſe he bid 'em; but For euery trifle, are they ſet vpon me, Sometime like Apes, that moe and chatter at me, And after bite me: then like Hedg-hogs, which Lye tumbling in my bare-foote way, and mount Their pricks at my foot-fall: ſometime am I All wound with Adders, who with clouen tongues Doe hiſſe me into madneſſe: Lo, now Lo, Enter Trinculo. Here comes a Spirit of his, and to torment me For bringing wood in ſlowly: I'le fall flat, Perchance he will not minde me. Tri.

Here's neither buſh, nor ſhrub to beare off any weather at all: and another Storme brewing, I heare it ſing i th' winde: yond ſame blacke cloud, yond huge one, lookes like a foule bumbard that would ſhed his licquor: if it ſhould thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond ſame cloud cannot chooſe but fall by paile-fuls. What haue we here, a man, or a fiſh? dead or aliue? a fiſh, hee ſmels like a fiſh: a very ancient and fiſh-like ſmell: a kinde of, not of the neweſt poore-Iohn: a ſtrange fiſh: were I in England now (as once I was) and had but this fiſh painted; not a holiday-foole there but would giue a peece of ſiluer: there, would this Monſter, make a man: any ſtrange beaſt there, makes a man: when they will not giue a do it to relieue a lame Begger, they will lay out ten to ſee a dead Indian: Leg'd like a man; and his Finnes like Armes: warme o' my troth: I doe now let looſe my opinion; hold it no longer; this is no fiſh, but an Iſlander, that hath lately ſuffered by a Thunderbolt: Alas, the ſtorme is come againe: my beſt way is to creepe vnder his Gaberdine: there is no other ſhelter hereabout: Miſery acquaints a man with ſtrange bedfellowes: I will here ſhrowd till the dregges of the ſtorme be paſt.

 Enter Stephano ſinging. Ste. I ſhall no more to ſea, to ſea, here ſhall I dye aſhore. This is a very ſcuruy tune to ſing at a mans Funerall: well, here's my comfort. Drinkes. Sings. The Maſter, the Swabber, the Boate-ſwaine & I; The Gunner, and his Mate Lou'd Mall, Meg, and Marrian, and Margerie, But none of vs car'd for Kate. For ſhe had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a Sailor goe hang: She lou'd not the ſauour of Tar nor of Pitch, Yet a Tailor might ſcratch her where ere ſhe did itch. Then to Sea Boyes, and let her goe hang. This is a ſcuruy tune too: But here's my comfort. drinks. Cal.

Doe not torment me: oh.

 Ste.

What's the matter?

Haue we diuels here?

Doe you put trickes vpon's with Saluages, and Men of Inde? ha? I haue not ſcap'd drowning, to be afeard now of your foure legges: for it hath bin ſaid; as proper a man as euer went on foure legs, cannot make him giue ground: and it ſhall be ſaid ſo againe, while Stephano breathes at' noſtrils.

 Cal.

The Spirit torments me: oh.

 Ste.

This is ſome Monſter of the Iſle, with foure legs; who hath got (as I take it) an Ague: where the diuell ſhould he learne our language? I will giue him ſome reliefe if it be but for that: if I can recouer him, and keepe him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a Preſent for any Emperour that euer trod on Neates-leather.

 Cal.

Doe not torment me 'prethee: I'le bring my wood home faſter.

 Ste.

He's in his fit now; and doe's not talke after the wiſeſt; hee ſhall taſte of my Bottle: if hee haue neuer drunke wine afore, it will goe neere to remoue his Fit: if I can recouer him, and keepe him tame, I will not take too much for him; hee ſhall pay for him that hath him, and that ſoundly.

 Cal.

Thou do'ſt me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: Now Proſper workes vpon thee.

 Ste.

Come on your wayes: open your mouth: here is that which will giue 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 againe.

 Tri. I ſhould know that voyce: It ſhould be, But hee is dround; and theſe are diuels; O defend me. Ste.

Foure legges and two voyces; a moſt delicate Monſter his forward voyce now is to ſpeake well of his friend; his backward voice, is to vtter ſoule ſpeeches, and to detract: if all the wine in my bottle will recouer him, I will helpe his Ague: Come: Amen, I will poure ſome in thy other mouth.

 Tri.

Stephano.

Ste.

Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy: This is a diuell, and no Monſter: I will leaue him, I haue no long Spoone.

 Tri.

Stephano: if thou beeſt Stephano, touch me, and ſpeake to me: for I am Trinculo; be not afeard, thy good friend Trinculo.

Ste.

If thou bee'ſt Trinculo: come foorth: I'le pull thee by the leſſer legges: if any be Trinculo's legges, theſe are they: Thou art very Trinculo indeede: how cam'ſt thou to be the ſiege of this Moone-calfe? Can he vent Trinculo's?

 Tri.

I tooke him to be kil'd with a thunder-ſtrok; but art thou not dround Stephano: I hope now thou art not dround: Is the Storme ouer-blowne? I hid mee vnder the dead Moone-Calfes Gaberdine, for feare of the Storme: And art thou liuing Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitanes ſcap'd?

 Ste.

'Prethee doe not turne me about, my ſtomacke is not conſtant.

 Cal.

Theſe be fine things, and if they be not ſpright's: that's a braue God, and beares Celeſtiall liquor: I will kneele to him.

 Ste.

How did'ſt thou ſcape?

How cam'ſt thou hither?

Sweare by this Bottle how thou cam'ſt hither: I eſcap'd vpon a But of Sacke, which the Saylors heaued o' reboord, by this Bottle which I made of the barke of a Tree, with mine owne hands, ſince I was caſt a'ſhore.

 Cal.

I'le ſweare vpon that Bottle, to be thy true ſubiect, for the liquor is not earthly.

 St.

Heere: ſweare then how thou eſcap'dſt.

 Tri.

Swom aſhore (man) like a Ducke: I can ſwim like a Ducke i'le be ſworne.

 Ste. Here, kiſſe the Booke. Though thou canſt ſwim like a Ducke, thou art made like a Gooſe. Tri.

O Stephano, ha'ſt any more of this?

 Ste. The whole But (man) my Cellar is in a rocke by th' ſea-ſide, where my Wine is hid: How now Moone-Calfe, how do's thine Ague? Cal.

Ha'ſt thou not dropt from heauen?

 Ste.

Out o' th Moone I doe aſſure thee. I was the Man ith' Moone, when time was.

 Cal. I haue ſeene thee in her: and I doe adore thee: My Miſtris ſhew'd me thee, and thy Dog, and thy Buſh. Ste.

Come, ſweare to that: kiſſe the Booke: I will furniſh it anon with new Contents: Sweare.

 Tri. By this good light, this is a very ſhallow Monſter: I afeard of him? a very weake Monſter: The Man ith' Moone? A moſt poore creadulous Monſter: Well drawne Monſter, in good ſooth. Cal.

Ile ſhew thee euery fertill ynch 'oth Iſland: and I will kiſſe thy foote: I prethee be my god.

 Tri.

By this light, a moſt perfidious, and drunken Monſter, when's god's a ſleepe he'll rob his Bottle.

 Cal.

Ile kiſſe thy foot. Ile ſweare my ſelfe thy Subiect.

 Ste.

Come on then: downe and ſweare.

 Tri.

I ſhall laugh my ſelfe to death at this puppi-headed Monſter: a moſt ſcuruie Monſter: I could finde in my heart to beate him.

 Ste.

Come, kiſſe.

 Tri. But that the poore Monſter's in drinke: An abhominable Monſter. Cal. I'le ſhew thee the beſt Springs: I'le plucke thee Berries: I'le fiſh for thee; and get thee wood enough. A plague vpon the Tyrant that I ſerue; I'le beare him no more Stickes, but follow thee, thou wondrous man. Tri.

A moſt rediculous Monſter, to make a wonder of a poore drunkard.

 Cal.

I' prethee let me bring thee where Crabs grow; and I with my long nayles will digge thee pig-nuts; ſhow thee a Iayes neſt, and inſtruct thee how to ſnare the nimble Marmazet: I'le bring thee to cluſtring Philbirts, and ſometimes I'le get thee young Scamels from the Rocke: Wilt thou goe with me?

 Ste.

I pre'thee now lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King, and all our company elſe being dround, wee will inherit here: Here; beare my Bottle: Fellow Trinculo; we'll fill him by and by againe.

Caliban Sings drunkenly.

Farewell Maſter; farewell, farewell.

 Tri.

A howling Monſter: a drunken Monſter.

 Cal. No more dams I'le make for fiſh, Nor fetch in firing, at requiring, Nor ſcrape trenchering, nor waſh diſh, Ban' ban' Cacalyban Has a new Maſter, get a new Man. Freedome, high-day, high-day freedome, freedome high-day, freedome. Ste. O braue Monſter; lead the way. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Scoena Prima. Enter Ferdinand (bearing a Log.) Fer. There be ſome Sports are painfull; & their labor Delight in them ſet off: Some kindes of baſeneſſe Are nobly vndergon; and moſt poore matters Point to rich ends: this my meane Taske Would be as heauy to me, as odious, but The Miſtris which I ſerue, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours, pleaſures: O She is Ten times more gentle, then her Father's crabbed; And he's compos'd of harſhneſſe. I muſt remoue Some thouſands of theſe Logs, and pile them vp, Vpon a ſore iniunction; my ſweet Miſtris Weepes when ſhe ſees me worke, & ſaies, ſuch baſenes Had neuer like Executor: I forget: But theſe ſweet thoughts, doe euen refreſh my labours, Moſt buſie leſt, when I doe it. Enter Miranda and Proſpero. Mir. Alas, now pray you Worke not ſo hard: I would the lightning had Burnt vp thoſe Logs that you are enioynd to pile: Pray ſet it downe, and reſt you: when this burnes 'Twill weepe for hauing wearied you: my Father Is hard at ſtudy; pray now reſt your ſelfe, Hee's ſafe for theſe three houres. Fer. O moſt deere Miſtris. The Sun will ſet before I ſhall diſcharge What I muſt ſtriue to do. Mir. If you'l ſit downe Ile beare your Logges the while: pray giue me that, Ile carry it to the pile. Fer. No precious Creature, I had rather cracke my ſinewes, breake my backe, Then you ſhould ſuch diſhonor vndergoe, While I ſit lazy by. Mir. It would become me As well as it do's you; and I ſhould do it With much more eaſe: for my good will is to it, And yours it is againſt. Pro. Poore worme thou art infected, This viſitation ſhewes it. Mir.

You looke wearily.

 Fer. No, noble Miſtris, 'tis freſh morning with me When you are by at night: I do beſeech you Cheefely, that I might ſet it in my prayers, What is your name? Mir. Miranda, O my Father, I haue broke your heſt to ſay ſo. Fer. Admit'd Miranda, Indeede the top of Admiration, worth What's deereſt to the world: full many a Lady I haue ey'd with beſt regard, and many a time Th' harmony of their tongues, hath into bondage Brought my too diligent eare: for ſeuerall vertues Haue I lik'd ſeuerall women, neuer any VVith ſo full ſoule, but ſome defect in her Did quarrell with the nobleſt grace ſhe ow'd, And put it to the foile. But you, O you, So perfect, and ſo peetleſſe, are created Of euerie Creatures beſt. Mir. I do not know One of my ſexe; no womans face remember, Saue from my glaſſe, mine owne: Nor haue I ſeene More that I may call men, then you good friend, And my deere Father: how features are abroad I am skilleſſe of; but by my modeſtie (The iewell in my dower) I would not wiſh Any Companion in the world but you: Nor can imagination forme a ſhape Beſides your ſelfe, to like of: but I prattle Something too wildely, and my Fathers precepts I therein do forget. Fer. I am, in my condition A Prince (Miranda) I do thinke a King (I would not ſo) and would no more endure This wodden ſlauerie, then to ſuffer The fleſh-flie blow my mouth: heare my ſoule ſpeake. The verie inſtant that I ſaw you, did My heart flie to your ſeruice, there reſides To make me ſlaue to it, and for your ſake Am I this patient Logge-man. Mir.

Do you loue me?

 Fer. O heauen; O earth, beare witnes to this ſound, And crowne what I profeſſe with kinde euent If I ſpeake true: if hollowly, inuert VVhat beſt is boaded me, to miſchiefe: I, Beyond all limit of what elſe i' th world Do loue, prize, honor you. Mir. I am a foole To weepe at what I am glad of. Pro. Faire encounter Of two moſt rare affections: heauens raine grace On that which breeds betweene 'em. Fer.

VVherefore weepe you?

 Mir. At mine vnworthineſſe, that dare not offer VVhat I deſire to giue; and much leſſe take VVhat I ſhall die to want: But this is trifling, And all the more it ſeekes to hide it ſelfe, The bigger bulke it ſhewes. Hence baſhfull cunning, And prompt me plaine and holy innocence. I am your wife, if you will marrie me; If not, Ile die your maid: to be your fellow You may denie me, but Ile be your ſeruant VVhether you will or no. Fer. My Miſtris (deereſt) And I thus humble euer. Mir.

My husband then?

 Fer. I, with a heart as willing As bondage ere of freedome: heere's my hand. Mir. And mine, with my heart in't; and now farewel Till halfe an houre hence. Fer.

A thouſand, thouſand.

Exeunt. Pro. So glad of this as they I cannot be, VVho are ſurpriz'd with all; but my reioycing At nothing can be more: Ile to my booke, For yet ere ſupper time, muſt I performe Much buſineſſe appertaining. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. Ste.

Tell not me, when the But is out we will drinke water, not a drop before; therefore beare vp, & boord em' Seruant Monſter, drinke to me.

 Trin.

Seruant Monſter? the folly of this Iland, they ſay there's but fiue vpon this Iſle; we are three of them, if th' other two be brain'd like vs, the State totters.

 Ste.

Drinke ſeruant Monſter when I bid thee, thy eies are almoſt ſet in thy head.

 Trin.

VVhere ſhould they bee ſet elſe? hee were a braue Monſter indeede if they were ſet in his taile.

 Ste.

My man-Monſter hath drown'd his tongue in ſacke: for my part the Sea cannot drowne mee, I ſwam ere I could recouer the ſhore, fiue and thirtie Leagues off and on, by this light thou ſhalt bee my Lieutenant Monſter, or my Standard.

 Trin.

Your Lieutenant if you lift, hee's no ſtandard.

 Ste.

VVeel not run Monſieur Monſter.

 Trin.

Nor go neither: but you'l lie like dogs, and yet ſay nothing neither.

 Ste.

Moone-calfe, ſpeak once in thy life, if thou beeſt a good Moone-calfe.

 Cal. How does thy honour? Let me licke thy ſhooe: Ile not ſerue him, he is not valiant. Trin.

Thou lieſt moſt ignorant Monſter, I am in caſe to iuſtle a Conſtable: why, thou deboſh'd Fiſh thou, was there euer man a Coward, that hath drunk ſo much Sacke as I to day? wilt thou tell a monſtrous lie, being but halfe a Fiſh, and halfe a Monſter?

 Cal.

Loe, how he mockes me, wilt thou let him my Lord?

 Trin.

Lord, quoth he? that a Monſter ſhould be ſuch a Naturall?

 Cal.

Loe, loe againe: bite him to death I prethee.

 Ste.

Trinculo, keepe a good tongue in your head: If you proue a mutineere, the next Tree: the poore Monſter's my ſubiect, and he ſhall not ſuffer indignity.

 Cal.

I thanke my noble Lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to hearken once againe to the ſuite I made to thee?

 Ste. Marry will I: kneele, and repeate it, I will ſtand, and ſo ſhall Trinculo. Enter Ariell inuiſible. Cal. As I told thee before, I am ſubiect to a Tirant, A Sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me Of the Iſland. Ariell.

Thou lyeſt.

 Cal. Thou lyeſt, thou ieſting Monkey thou: I would my valiant Maſter would deſtroy thee. I do not lye. Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, By this hand, I will ſupplant ſome of your teeth. Trin.

Why, I ſaid nothing.

 Ste.

Mum then, and no more: proceed.

 Cal. I ſay by Sorcery he got this Iſle From me, he got it. If thy Greatneſſe will Reuenge it on him, (for I know thou dar'ſt) But this Thing dare not. Ste.

That's moſt certaine.

 Cal.

Thou ſhalt be Lord of it, and Ile ſerue thee.

 Ste. How now ſhall this be compaſt? Canſt thou bring me to the party? Cal. Yea, yea my Lord, Ile yeeld him thee aſleepe, Where thou maiſt knocke a naile into his head. Ariell.

Thou lieſt, thou canſt not.

 Cal. What a py'de Ninnie's this? Thou ſcuruy patch: I do beſeech thy Greatneſſe giue him blowes, And take his bottle from him: When that's gone, He ſhall drinke nought but brine, for Ile not ſhew him Where the quicke Freſhes are. Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger: Interrupt the Monſter one word further, and by this hand, Ile turne my mercie out o' doores, and make a Stockfiſh of thee. Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing: Ile go farther off, Ste.

Didſt thou not ſay he lyed?

 Ariell.

Thou lieſt.

 Ste. Do I ſo? Take thou that, As you like this, giue me the lye another time. Trin. I did not giue the lie: Out o' your wittes, and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle, this can Sacke and drinking doo: A murren on your Monſter, and the diuell take your fingers. Cal.

Ha, ha, ha.

 Ste.

Now forward with your Tale: prethee ſtand further off.

 Cal. Beate him enough: after a little time Ile beate him too. Ste.

Stand farther: Come proceede.

 Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a cuſtome with him I' th afternoone to ſleepe: there thou maiſt braine him, Hauing firſt ſeiz'd his bookes: Or with a logge Batter his skull, or paunch him with a ſtake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember Firſt to poſſeſſe his Bookes; for without them Hee's but a Sot, as I am; nor hath not One Spirit to command: they all do hate him As rootedly as I. Burne but his Bookes, He ha's braue Vtenſils (for ſo he calles them) Which when he ha's a houſe, hee'l decke withall. And that moſt deeply to conſider, is The beautie of his daughter: he himſelfe Cals her a non-pareill: I neuer ſaw a woman But onely Sycorax my Dam, and ſhe; But ſhe as farre ſurpaſſeth Sycorax, As great'ſt do's leaſt. Ste.

Is it ſo braue a Laſſe?

 Cal. I Lord, ſhe will become thy bed, I warrant, And bring thee forth braue brood. Ste.

Monſter, I will kill this man: his daughter and I will be King and Queene, ſaue our Graces: and Trinculo, and thy ſelfe ſhall be Vice-royes:

Doſt thou like the plot Trinculo?

Trin.

Excellent.

 Ste. Giue me thy hand, I am ſorry I beate thee: But while thou liu'ſt keepe a good tongue in thy hea • Cal. Within this halfe houre will he be aſleepe, Wilt thou deſtroy him then? Ste.

I on mine honour.

 Ariell.

This will I tell my Maſter.

 Cal. Thou mak'ſt me merry: I am full of pleaſure, Let vs be iocond. Will you troule the Catch You taught me but whileare? Ste. At thy requeſt Monſter, I will do reaſon, Any reaſon: Come on Trinculo, let vs ſing. Sings. Flout 'em, and cout 'em: and skowt 'em, and flout 'em, Thought is free. Cal.

That's not the tune.

 Ariell plaies the tune on a Tabor and Pipe. Ste.

What is this ſame?

 Trin.

This is the tune of our Catch, plaid by the picture of No-body.

 Ste. If thou beeſt a man, ſhew thy ſelfe in thy likenes: If thou beeſt a diuell, take't as thou liſt. Trin.

O forgiue me my ſinnes.

 Ste. He that dies payes all debts: I defie thee; Mercy vpon vs. Cal.

Art thou affeard?

 Ste.

No Monſter, not I.

 Cal. Be not affeard, the Iſle is full of noyſes, Sounds, and ſweet aires, that giue delight and hurt not: Sometimes a thouſand twangling Inſtruments Will hum about mine eares; and ſometime voices, That if I then had wak'd after long ſleepe, Will make me ſleepe againe, and then in dreaming, The clouds me thought would open, and ſhew riches Ready to drop vpon me, that when I wak'd I cri'de to dreame againe. Ste. This will proue a braue kingdome to me, Where I ſhall haue my Muſicke for nothing. Cal.

When Proſpero is deſtroy'd.

 Ste. That ſhall be by and by: I remember the ſtorie. Trin. The ſound is going away. Lets follow it, and after do our worke. Ste. Leade Monſter, Wee'l follow: I would I could ſee this Taborer, He layes it on. Trin. Wilt come? Ile follow Stephano. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Alonſo, Sebaſtian, Anthonio, Gonzallo, Adrian, Franciſco, &c. Gon. By'r lakin, I can goe no further, Sir, My old bones akes: here's a maze trod indeede Through fourth rights, & Meanders: by your patience, I needes muſt reſt me. Al. Old Lord, I cannot blame thee, Who, am my ſelfe attach'd with wearineſſe To th' dulling of my ſpirits: Sit downe, and reſt: Euen here I will put off my hope, and keepe it No longer for my Flatterer: he is droun'd Whom thus we ſtray to finde, and the Sea mocks Our fruſtrate ſearch on land: well, let him goe. Ant. I am right glad, that he's ſo out of hope: Doe not for one repulſe forgoe the purpoſe That you reſolu'd t' effect. Seb.

The next aduantage will we take throughly.

 Ant. Let it be to night, For now they are oppreſs'd with trauaile, they Will not, nor cannot vſe ſuch vigilance As when they are freſh. Solemne and ſtrange Muſicke: and Proſper on the top (inuiſible • ) Enter ſeuerall ſtrange ſhapes, bringing in a Banket; and dance about it with gentle actions of ſalutations, and inuiting the King, &c. to eate, they depart. Seb.

I ſay to night: no more.

 Al.

What harmony is this? my good friends, harke.

 Gen.

Maruellous ſweet Muſicke.

 Alo.

Giue vs kind keepers, heauēs: what were theſe?

 Seb. A liuing Drolerie: now I will beleeue That there are Vnicornes: that in Arabia There is one Tree, the Phoenix throne, one Phoenix At this houre reigning there. Ant. Ile beleeue both: And what do's elſe want credit, come to me And Ile beſworne 'tis true: Trauellers nere did lye, Though fooles at home condemne 'em. Gon. If in Naples I ſhould report this now, would they beleeue me? If I ſhould ſay I ſaw ſuch Iſlands; (For certes, theſe are people of the Iſland) Who though they are of monſtrous ſhape, yet note Their manners are more gentle, kinde, then of Our humaine generation you ſhall finde Many, nay almoſt any. Pro. Honeſt Lord, Thou haſt ſaid well: for ſome of you there preſent; Are worſe then diuels. Al. I cannot too much muſe Such ſhapes, ſuch geſture, and ſuch ſound expreſſing (Although they want the vſe of tongue) a kinde Of excellent dumbe diſcourſe. Pro.

Praiſe in departing.

 Fr. They vaniſh'd ſtrangely. Seb. No matter, ſince They haue left their Viands behinde; for wee haue ſtomacks. Wilt pleaſe you taſte of what is here▪ Ale.

Not I.

 Gon. Faith Sir, you neede not feare when wee were Boyes Who would beleeue that there were Mountayneeres, Dew-lapt, like Buls whoſe throats had hanging at 'em Wallets of fleſh? or that there were ſuch men Whoſe heads ſtood in their breſts? which now we finde Each putter out of fiue for one, will bring vs Good warrant of. Al. I will ſtand to, and feede, Although my laſt, no matter, ſince I feele The beſt is paſt: brother: my Lord, the Duke, Stand too, and doe as we. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Ariell (like a Harpey) claps his wings vpon the Table, and with a quient deuice the Banquet vaniſhes. Ar. You are three men of ſinne, whom deſtiny That hath to inſtrument this lower world, And what is in't: the neuer ſurfeited Sea, Hath caus'd to belch vp you; and on this Iſland, Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongſt men, Being moſt vnfit to liue: I haue made you mad; And euen with ſuch like valour, men hang, and drowne Their proper ſelues: you fooles, I and my fellowes Are miniſters of Fate, the Elements Of whom your ſwords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud windes, or with bemockt-at-Stabs Kill the ſtill cloſing waters, as diminiſh One dowle that's in my plumbe: My fellow miniſters Are like-invulnerable: if you could hurt, Your ſwords are now too maſſie for your ſtrengths, And will not be vplifted: But remember (For that's my buſineſſe to you) that you three From Millaine did ſupplant good Proſpero, Expos'd vnto the Sea (which hath requit it) Him, and his innocent childe: for which foule deed, The Powres, delaying (not forgetting) haue Incens'd the Seas, and Shores; yea, all the Creatures Againſt your peace: Thee of thy Sonne, Alonſo They haue bereft; and doe pronounce by me Lingring perdition (worſe then any death Can be at once) ſhall ſtep, by ſtep attend You, and your wayes, whoſe wraths to guard you from, Which here, in this moſt deſolate Iſle, elſe fals Vpon your heads, is nothing but hearts-ſorrow, And a cleere life enſuing. He vaniſhes in Thunder: then (to ſoft Muſicke.) Enter the ſhapes againe, and daunce (with mockes and mowes) and carrying out the Table. Pro. Brauely the figure of this Harpie, haſt thou Perform'd (my Ariell) a grace it had deuouring: Of my Inſtruction, haſt thou nothing bated In what thou had'ſt to ſay: ſo with good life, And obſeruation ſtrange, my meaner miniſters Their ſeuerall kindes haue done: my high charmes work, And theſe (mine enemies) are all knit vp In their diſtractions: they now are in my powre; And in theſe fits, I leaue them, while I viſit Yong Ferdinand (whom they ſuppoſe is droun'd) And his, and mine lou'd darling. Gon. I' th name of ſomething holy, Sir, why ſtand you In this ſtrange ſtare? Al. O, it is monſtrous: monſtrous: Me thought the billowes ſpoke, and told me of it, The windes did ſing it to me: and the Thunder (That deepe and dreadfull Organ-Pipe) pronounc'd The name of Proſper: it did baſe my Treſpaſſe, Therefore my Sonne i' th' Ooze is bedded; and I'le ſeeke him deeper then ere plummet ſounded, And with him there lye mudded. Exit. Seb. But one feend at a time, Ile fight their Legions ore. Ant.

Ile be thy Second.

Exeunt. Gon. All three of them are deſperate: their great guilt (Like poyſon giuen to worke a great time after) Now gins to bite the ſpirits: I doe beſeech you (That are of ſuppler ioynts) follow them ſwiftly, And hinder them from what this extaſie May now prouoke them to. Ad.

Follow, I pray you.

Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima. Enter Proſpero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. Pro. If I haue too auſterely puniſh'd you, Your compenſation makes amends, for I Haue giuen you here, a third of mine owne life, Or that for which I liue: who, once againe I tender to thy hand: All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy loue, and thou Haſt ſtrangely ſtood the teſt: here, afore heauen I ratifie this my rich guift: O Ferdinand, Doe not ſmile at me, that I boaſt her of, For thou ſhalt finde ſhe will out-ſtrip all praiſe And make it halt, behinde her. Fer. I doe beleeue it Againſt an Oracle. Pro. Then, as my gueſt, and thine owne acquiſition Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But If thou do'ſt breake her Virgin-knot, before All ſanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy right, be miniſtred, No ſweet aſperſion ſhall the heauens let fall To make this contract grow; but barraine hate, Sower-ey'd diſdaine, and diſcord ſhall beſtrew The vnion of your bed, with weedes ſo loathly That you ſhall hate it both: Therefore take heede, As Hymens Lamps ſhall light you. Fer. As I hope For quiet dayes, faire Iſſue, and long life, With ſuch loue, as 'tis now the murkieſt den, The moſt opportune place, the ſtrongſt ſuggeſtion, Our worſer Genius can, ſhall neuer melt Mine honor into luſt, to take away The edge of that dayes celebration, When I ſhall thinke, or Phoebus Steeds are founderd, Or Night kept chain'd below. Pro. Fairely ſpoke; Sit then, and talke with her, ſhe is thine owne; What Ariell; my induſtrious ſeruāt Ariell. Enter Ariell. Ar.

What would my potent maſter? here I am.

 Pro. Thou, and thy meaner fellowes, your laſt ſeruice Did worthily performe: and I muſt vſe you In ſuch another tricke: goe bring the rabble (Ore whom I giue thee powre) here, to this place: Incite them to quicke motion, for I muſt Beſtow vpon the eyes of this yong couple Some vanity of mine Art: it is my promiſe, And they expect it from me. Ar.

Preſently?

 Pro.

I: with a twincke.

 Ar. Before you can ſay come, and goe, And breathe twice; and cry, ſo, ſo: Each one tripping on his Toe, Will be here with mop, and mowe. Doe you loue me Maſter? no? Pro. Dearely, my delicate Ariell: doe not approach Till thou do'ſt heare me call. Ar.

Well: I conceiue.

Exit. Pro. Looke thou be true: doe not giue dalliance Too much the raigne: the ſtrongeſt oathes, are ſtraw To th' fire ith' blood: be more abſtenious, Or elſe good night your vow. Fer. I warrant you, Sir, The white cold virgin Snow, vpon my heart Abates the ardour of my Liuer. Pro. Well. Now come my Ariell, bring a Corolary, Rather then want a Spirit; appear, & pertly. Soft muſick. No tongue: all eyes: be ſilent. Enter Iris. Ir. Ceres, moſt bounteous Lady, thy rich Leas Of Wheate, Rye, Barley, Fetches, Oates and Peaſe; Thy Turphie-Mountaines, where liue nibling Sheepe, And flat Medes thetchd with Stouer, them to keepe: Thy bankes with pioned, and twilled brims Which ſpungie Aprill, at thy heſt betrims; To make cold Nymphes chaſt crownes; & thy broome-groues; Whoſe ſhadow the diſmiſſed Batchelor loues, Being laſſe-lorne: thy pole-clipt vineyard, And thy Sea-marge ſtirrile, and rockey-hard, Where thou thy ſelfe do'ſt ayre, the Queene o' th Skie, Whoſe watry Arch, and meſſenger, am I. Bids thee leaue theſe, & with her ſoueraigne grace, Iuno deſcends. Here on this graſſe-plot, in this very place To come, and ſport: here Peacocks flye amaine: Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertaine. Enter Ceres. Cer. Haile, many-coloured Meſſenger, that nere Do'ſt diſobey the wife of Iupiter: Who, with thy ſaffron wings, vpon my flowres Diffuſeſt hony drops, refreſhing ſhowres, And with each end of thy blew bowe do'ſt crowne My boskie acres, and my vnſhrubd downe, Rich ſcarph to my proud earth: why hath thy Queene Summond me hither, to this ſhort gras'd Greene? Ir. A contract of true Loue, to celebrate, And ſome donation freely to eſtate On the bles'd Louers. Cer. Tell me heauenly Bowe, If Venus or her Sonne, as thou do'ſt know, Doe now attend the Queene? ſince they did plot The meanes, that duskie Dis, my daughter got, Her, and her blind-Boyes ſcandald company, I haue forſworne. Ir. Of her ſocietie Be not afraid: I met her deitie Cutting the clouds towards Paphos: and her Son Doue-drawn with her: here thought they to haue done Some wanton charme, vpon this Man and Maide, Whoſe vowes are, that no bed-right ſhall be paid Till Hymens Torch be lighted: but in vaine, Marſes hot Minion is returnd againe, Her waſpiſh headed ſonne, has broke his arrowes, Swears he will ſhoote no more, but play with Sparrows, And be a Boy right out. Cer. Higheſt Queene of State, Great Iuno comes, I know her by her gate. Iu. How do's my bounteous ſiſter? goe with me To bleſſe this twaine, that they may proſperous be, And honourd in their Iſſue. They Sing. Iu. Honor, riches, marriage, bleſſing, Long continuance, and encreaſing, Hourely ioyes, be ſtill vpon you, Iuno ſings her bleſſings on you. Earths increaſe, foyzon plentie, Barnes, and Garners, neuer empty. Vines, with cluſtring bunches growing, Plants, wtth goodly burthen bowing: Spring come to you at the fartheſt, In the very end of Harueſt. Scarcity and want ſhall ſhun you, Ceres bleſſing ſo is on you. Fer. This is a moſt maieſticke viſion, and Harmonious charmingly: may I be bold To thinke theſe ſpirits? Pro. Spirits, which by mine Art I haue from their confines call'd to enact My preſent fancies. Fer. Let me liue here euer, So rare a wondred Father, and a wiſe Makes this place Paradiſe. Pro. Sweet now, ſilence: Iuno and Ceres whiſper ſeriouſly, There's ſomething elſe to doe: huſh, and be mute Or elſe our ſpell is mar'd. Iuno and Ceres whiſper, and ſend Iris on employment. Iris. You Nimphs cald Nayades of ye windring brooks, With your ſedg'd crownes, and euer-harmeleſſe lookes, Leaue your criſpe channels, and on this greene-Land Anſwere your ſummons▪ Iuno do's command. Come temperate Nimphes, and helpe to celebrate A Contract of true Loue: be not too late. Enter Certaine Nimphes. You Sun-burn'd Sicklemen of Auguſt weary, Come hether from the furrow, and be merry, Make holly day: your Rye-ſtraw hats put on, And theſe freſh Nimphes encounter euery one In Country footing. Enter certaine Reapers (properly habited:) they ioyne with the Nimphes, in a gracefull dance, towards the end whereof, Proſpero ſtarts ſodainly and ſpeakes, after which to a ſtrange hollow and confuſed noyſe, they heauily vaniſh. Pro. I had forgot that foule conſpiracy Of the beaſt Calliban, and his confederates Againſt my life: the minute of their plot Is almoſt come: Well done, auoid: no more. Fer. This is ſtrange: your fathers in ſome paſſion That workes him ſtrongly. Mir. Neuer till this day Saw I him touch'd with anger, ſo diſtemper'd. Pro. You doe looke (my ſon) in a mou'd ſort, As if you were diſmaid: be cheerefull Sir, Our Reuels now are ended: Theſe our actors, (As I foretold you) were all Spirits, and Are melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre, And like the baſeleſſe fabricke of this viſion The Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces, The ſolemne Temples, the great Globe it ſelfe, Yea, all which it inherit, ſhall diſſolue, And like this inſubſtantiall Pageant faded Leaue not a racke behinde: we are ſuch ſtuffe As dreames are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a ſleepe: Sir, I am vext, Beare with my weakeneſſe, my old braine is troubled: Be not diſturb'd with my infirmitie, If you be pleas'd, retire into my Cell, And there repoſe, a turne or two, Ile walke To ſtill my beating minde. Fer. Mir. We wiſh your peace. Exit. Pro.

Come with a thought; I thank thee Ariell: come.

 Enter Ariell. Ar.

Thy thoughts I cleaue to, what's thy pleaſure?

 Pro.

Spirit: We muſt prepare to meet with Caliban.

Ar. I my Commander, when I preſented Ceres I thought to haue told thee of it, but I fear'd Leaſt I might anger thee. Pro.

Say again, where didſt thou leaue theſe varlots?

 Ar. I told you Sir, they were red-hot with drinking, So full of valour, that they ſmote the ayre For breathing in their faces: beate the ground For kiſſing of their feete; yet alwaies bending Towards their proiect: then I beate my Tabor, At which like vnback't colts they prickt their eares, Aduanc'd their eye-lids, lifted vp their noſes As they ſmelt muſicke, ſo I charm'd their eares That Calfe-like, they my lowing follow'd, through Tooth'd briars, ſharpe firzes, pricking goſſe, & thorns, Which entred their fraile ſhins: at laſt I left them I' th' filthy mantled poole beyond your Cell, There dancing vp to th' chins, that the fowle Lake Ore-ſtunck their feet. Pro. This was well done (my bird) Thy ſhape inuiſible retaine thou ſtill: The trumpery in my houſe, goe bring it hither For ſtale to catch theſe theeues. Ar.

I go, I goe.

Exit. Pro. A Deuill, a borne-Deuill, on whoſe nature Nurture can neuer ſticke: on whom my paines Humanely taken, all, all loſt, quite loſt, And, as with age, his body ouglier growes, So his minde cankers: I will plague them all, Euen to roaring: Come, hang on them this line. Enter Ariell, loaden with gliſtering apparell, &c. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. Cal.

Pray you tread ſoftly, that the blinde Mole may not heare a foot fall: we now are neere his Cell.

 St. Monſter, your Fairy, wc you ſay is a harmles Fairy, Has done little better then plaid the lacke with vs. Trin. Monſter, I do ſmell all horſe-piſſe, at which My noſe is in great indignation. Ste. So is mine. Do you heare Monſter: If I ſhould Take a diſpleaſure againſt you: Looke you. Trin.

Thou wert but a loſt Monſter.

 Cal. Good my Lord, giue me thy fauour ſtil, Be patient, for the prize Ile bring thee too Shall hud winke this miſchance: therefore ſpeake ſoftly, All's huſht as midnight yet. Trin.

I, but to looſe our bottles in the Poole.

 Ste.

There is not onely diſgrace and diſhonor in that Monſter, but an infinite loſſe.

 Tr. That's more to me then my wetting: Yet this is your harmleſſe Fairy, Monſter. Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, Though I be o're eares for my labour. Cal. Pre-thee (my King) be quiet. Seeſt thou heere This is the mouth o' th Cell: no noiſe, and enter: Do that good miſcheefe, which may make this Iſland Thine owne for euer, and I thy Caliban For aye thy foot-licker. Ste. Giue me thy hand, I do begin to haue bloody thoughts. Trin. O King Stephano, O Peere: O worthy Stephano, Looke what a wardrobe heere is for thee. Cal.

Let it alone thou foole, it is but traſh.

 Tri.

Oh, ho, Monſter: wee know what belongs to a frippery, O King Stephano.

Ste.

Put off that gowne (Trinculo) by this hand Ile haue that gowne.

 Tri.

Thy grace ſhall haue it.

 Cal. The dropſie drowne this foole, what doe you meane To doate thus on ſuch luggage? let's alone And doe the murther firſt: if he awake, From toe to crowne hee'l fill our skins with pinches, Make vs ſtrange ſtuffe. Ste.

Be you quiet (Monſter) Miſtris line, is not this my Ierkin? now is the Ierkin vnder the line: now Ierkin you are like to loſe your haire, & proue a bald Ierkin.

 Trin.

Doe, doe; we ſteale by lyne and leuell, and't like your grace.

 Ste.

I thank thee for that ieſt; heer's a garment for't: Wit ſhall not goe vn-rewarded while I am King of this Country: Steale by line and leuell, is an excellent paſſe of pate: there's another garment for't.

 Tri.

Monſter, come put ſome Lime vpon your fingers, and away with the reſt.

 Cal. I will haue none on't: we ſhall looſe our time, And all be turn'd to Barnacles, or to Apes With foreheads villanous low. Ste.

Monſter, lay to your fingers: helpe to beare this away, where my hogſhead of wine is, or Ile turne you out of my kingdome: goe to, carry this.

 Tri.

And this.

 Ste.

I, and this.

 A noyſe of Hunters heard. Enter diuers Spirits in ſhape of Dogs and Hounds, hunting them about: Proſpero and Ariel ſetting them on. Pro.

Hey Mountaine, hey.

 Ari.

Siluer: there it goes, Siluer.

Pro. Fury, Fury: there Tyrant, there: harke, harke. Goe, charge my Goblins that they grinde their ioynts With dry Convultions, ſhorten vp their ſinewes With aged Cramps, & more pinch-ſpotted make them, Then Pard, or Cat o' Mountaine. Ari.

Harke, they rore.

 Pro. Let them be hunted ſoundly: At this houre Lies at my mercy all mine enemies: Shortly ſhall all my labours end, and thou Shalt haue the ayre at freedome: for a little Follow, and doe me ſeruice. Exeunt.
Actus quintus:
Scoena Prima. Enter Proſpero (in his Magicke robes) and Ariel. Pro. Now do's my Proiect gather to a head: My charmes cracke not: my Spirits obey, and Time Goes vpright with his carriage: how's the day? Ar. On the ſixt hower, at which time, my Lord You ſaid our worke ſhould ceaſe. Pro. I did ſay ſo, When firſt I rais'd the Tempeſt: ſay my Spirit, How fares the King, and's followers? Ar. Confin'd together In the ſame faſhion, as you gaue in charge, Iuſt as you left them; all priſoners Sir In the Line-groue which weather-fends your Cell, They cannot boudge till your releaſe: The King, His Brother, and yours, abide all three diſtracted, And the remainder mourning ouer them, Brim full of ſorrow, and diſmay: but chiefly Him that you term'd Sir, the good old Lord Gonzallo, His teares runs downe his beard like winters drops From eaues of reeds: your charm ſo ſtrongly works 'em That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. Pro.

Doſt thou thinke ſo, Spirit?

 Ar.

Mine would, Sir, were I humane.

 Pro. And mine ſhall. Haſt thou (which art but aire) a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and ſhall not my ſelfe, One of their kinde, that relliſh all as ſharpely, Paſſion as they, be kindlier mou'd then thou art? Thogh with their high wrongs I am ſtrook to th' quick, Yet, with my nobler reaſon, gainſt my furie Doe I take part: the rarer Action is In vertue, then in vengeance: they, being penitent, The ſole drift of my purpoſe doth extend Not a frowne further: Goe, releaſe them Ariell, My Charmes Ile breake, their ſences Ile reſtore, And they ſhall be themſelues. Ar.

Ile fetch them, Sir.

Exit. Pro. Ye Elues of hils, brooks, ſtāding lakes & groues, And ye, that on the ſands with printleſſe foote Doe chaſe the ebbing-Neptune, and doe flie him When he comes backe: you demy-Puppets, that By Moone-ſhine doe the greene ſowre Ringlets make, Whereof the Ewe not bites: and you, whoſe paſtime Is to make midnight-Muſhrumps, that reioyce To heare the ſolemne Curfewe, by whoſe ayde (Weake Maſters though ye be) I haue bedymn'd The Noone-tide Sun, call'd forth the mutenous windes, And twixt the greene Sea, and the azur'd vault Set roaring warre: To the dread ratling Thunder Haue I giuen fire, and rifted Ioues ſtowt Oke With his owne Bolt: The ſtrong baſs'd promontorie Haue I made ſhake, and by the ſpurs pluckt vp The Pyne, and Cedar. Graues at my command Haue wak'd their ſleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth By my ſo potent Art. But this rough Magicke I heere abiure: and when I haue requir'd Some heauenly Muſicke (which euen now I do) To worke mine end vpon their Sences, that This Ayrie-charme is for, I'le breake my ſtaffe, Bury it certaine fadomes in the earth, And deeper then did euer Plummet ſound Ile drowne my booke. Solemne muſicke. Heere enters Ariel before: Then Alonſo with a franticke geſture, attended by Gonzalo. Sebaſtian and Anthonio in like manner attended by Adrian and Franciſco: They all enter the circle which Proſpero had made, and there ſtand charm'd: which Proſpero obſeruing, ſpeakes. A ſolemne Ayre, and the beſt comforter, To an vnſetled fancie, Cure thy braines (Now vſeleſſe) boile within thy skull: there ſtand For you are Spell-ſtopt. Holy Gonzallo, Honourable man, Mine eyes ev'n ſociable to the ſhew of thine Fall fellowly drops: The charme diſſolues apace, And as the morning ſteales vpon the night (Melting the darkeneſſe) ſo their riſing ſences Begin to chace the ignorant fumes that mantle Their cleerer reaſon. O good Gonzallo My true preſeruer, and a loyall Sir, To him thou follow'ſt; I will pay thy graces Home both in word, and deede: Moſt cruelly Did thou Alonſo, vſe me, and my daughter: Thy brother was a furtherer in the Act, Thou art pinch'd for't now Sebaſtian. Fleſh, and bloud, You, brother mine, that entertaine ambition, Expelld remorſe, and nature, whom, with Sebaſtian (Whoſe inward pinches therefore are moſt ſtrong) Would heere haue kill'd your King: I do forgiue thee, Vnnaturall though thou art: Their vnderſtanding Begins to ſwell, and the approching tide Will ſhortly fill the reaſonable ſhore That now ly foule, and muddy: not one of them That yet lookes on me, or would know me: Ariell, Fetch me the Hat, and Rapier in my Cell, I will diſcaſe me, and my ſelfe preſent As I was ſometime Millaine: quickly Spirit, Thou ſhalt ere long be free. Ariell ſings, and helps to attire him. Where the Bee ſucks, there ſuck I, In a Cowſlips bell, I lie, There I cowch when Owles doe crie, On the Batts backe I doe flie after Sommer merrily. Merrily, merrily, ſhall I liue now, Vnder the bloſſom that hangs on the Bow. Pro. Why that's my dainty Ariell: I ſhall miſſe Thee, but yet thou ſhalt haue freedome: ſo, ſo, ſo. To the Kings ſhip, inuiſible as thou art, There ſhalt thou finde the Marriners aſleepe Vnder the Hatches: the Maſter and the Boat-ſwaine Being awake, enforce them to this place; And preſently, I pre'thee. Ar. I drinke the aire before me, and returne Or ere your pulſe twice beate. Exit. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement Inhabits heere: ſome heauenly power guide vs Out of this fearefull Country. Pro. Behold Sir King The wronged Duke of Millaine, Proſpero: For more aſſurance that a liuing Prince Do's now ſpeake to thee, I embrace thy body, And to thee, and thy Company, I bid A hearty welcome. Alo. Where thou bee'ſt he or no, Or ſome inchanted triflle to abuſe me, (As late I haue beene) I not know: thy Pulſe Beats as of fleſh, and blood: and ſince I ſaw thee, Th' affliction of my minde amends, with which I feare a madneſſe held me▪ this muſt craue (And if this be at all) a moſt ſtrange ſtory. Thy Dukedome I reſigne, and doe entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs: But how ſhold Proſpero Be liuing and be heere? Pro. Firſt, noble Frend, Let me embrace thine age, whoſe honor cannot Be meaſur'd, or confin'd. Gonz. Whether this be, Or be not, I'le not ſweare. Pro. You doe yet taſte Some ſubtleties o' th' Iſle, that will not let you Beleeue things certaine: Wellcome, my friends all, But you, my brace of Lords, were I ſo minded I heere could plucke his Highneſſe frowne vpon you And iuſtifie you Traitors: at this time I will tell no tales. Seb.

The Diuell ſpeakes in him:

 Pro. No: For you (moſt wicked Sir) whom to call brother Would euen infect my mouth, I do forgiue Thy rankeſt fault; all of them: and require My Dukedome of thee, which, perforce I know Thou muſt reſtore. Alo. If thou beeſt Proſpero Giue vs particulars of thy preferuation, How thou haſt met vs heere, whom three howres ſince Were wrackt vpon this ſhore? where I haue loſt (How ſharp the point of this remembrance is) My deere ſonne Ferdinand. Pro.

I am woe for't, Sir.

 Alo. Irreparable is the loſſe, and patience Saies, it is paſt her cure. Pro. I rather thinke You haue not ſought her helpe, of whoſe ſoft grace For the like loſſe, I haue her ſoueraigne aid, And reſt my ſelfe content. Alo.

You the like loſſe?

 Pro. As great to me, as late, and ſupportable To make the deere loſſe, haue I meanes much weaker Then you may call to comfort you; for I Haue loſt my daughter. Alo. A daughter? Oh heauens, that they were liuing both in Nalpes The King and Queene there, that they were, I wiſh My ſelfe were mudded in that oo-zie bed Where my ſonne lies: when did you loſe your daughter? Pro. In this laſt Tempeſt. I perceiue theſe Lords At this encounter doe ſo much admire, That they deuoure their reaſon, and ſcarce thinke Their eies doe offices of Truth: Their words Are naturall breath: but howſoeu'r you haue Beene iuſtled from your ſences, know for certain That I am Proſpero, and that very Duke Which was thruſt forth of Millaine, who moſt ſtrangely Vpon this ſhore (where you were wrackt) 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 break-faſt, nor Befitting this firſt meeting: Welcome, Sir; This Cell's my Court: heere haue I few attendants, And Subiects none abroad: pray you looke in: My Dukedome ſince you haue giuen me againe, I will requite you with as good a thing, At leaſt bring forth a wonder, to content ye As much, as me my Dukedome. Here Proſpero diſcouers Ferdinand and Miranda, playing at Cheſſei. Mir.

Sweet Lord, you play me falſe.

 Fer. No my deareſt loue, I would not for the world. Mir. Yes, for a ſcore of Kingdomes, you ſhould wrangle, And I would call it faire play. Alo. If this proue A viſion of the Iſland, one deere Sonne Shall I twice looſe. Seb.

A moſt high miracle.

 Fer. Though the Seas threaten they are mercifull, I haue curs'd them without cauſe. Alo. Now all the bleſſings Of a glad father, compaſſe thee about: Ariſe, and ſay how thou cam'ſt heere. Mir. O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there heere? How beauteous mankinde is? O braue new world That has ſuch people in't. Pro.

'Tis new to thee.

 Alo. What is this Maid, with whom thou was't at play? Your eld'ſt acquaintance cannot be three houres: Is ſhe the goddeſſe that hath ſeuer'd vs, And brought vs thus together? Fer. Sir, ſhe is mortall; But by immortall prouidence, ſhe's mine; I choſe her when I could not aske my Father For his aduiſe: nor thought I had one: She Is daughter to this famous Duke of Millaine, Of whom, ſo often I haue heard renowne, But neuer ſaw before: of whom I haue Receiu'd a ſecond life; and ſecond Father This Lady makes him to me. Alo. I am hers. But O, how odly will it ſound, that I Muſt aske my childe forgiueneſſe? Pro. There Sir ſtop, Let vs not burthen our remembrances, with A heauineſſe that's gon. Gon. I haue inly wept, Or ſhould haue ſpoke ere this: looke downe you gods And on this couple drop a bleſſed crowne; For it is you, that haue chalk'd forth the way Which brought vs hither. Alo.

I ſay Amen, Gonzallo.

Gon. Was Millaine thruſt from Millaine, that his Iſſue Should become Kings of Naples? O reioyce Beyond a common ioy, and ſet it downe With gold on laſting Pillers: In one voyage Did Claribell her husband finde at Tunis, And Ferdinand her brother, found a wife, Where he himſelfe was loſt: Proſpero, his Dukedome In a poore Iſle: and all of vs, our ſelues, When no man was his owne. Alo. Giue me your hands: Let griefe and ſorrow ſtill embrace his heart, That doth not wiſh you ioy. Gon. Be it ſo, Amen. Enter Ariell, with the Maſter and Boatſwaine amazedly following. O looke Sir, looke Sir, here is more of vs: I propheſi'd, if a Gallowes were on Land This fellow could not drowne: Now blaſphemy, That ſwear'ſt Grace ore-boord, not an oath on ſhore, Haſt thou no mouth by land? What is the newes? Bot. The beſt newes is, that we haue ſafely found Our King, and company: The next: our Ship, Which but three glaſſes ſince, we gaue out ſplit, Is tyte, and yare, and brauely rig'd, as when We firſt put out to Sea. Ar. Sir, all this ſeruice Haue I done ſince I went. Pro.

My trickſey Spirit.

 Alo. Theſe are not naturall euens, they ſtrengthen From ſtrange, to ſtranger: ſay, how came you hither? Bot. If I did thinke, Sir, I were well awake, I'ld ſtriue to tell you: we were dead of ſleepe, And (how we know not) all clapt vnder hatches, Where, but euen now, with ſtrange, and ſeuerall noyſes Of roring, ſhreeking, howling, gingling chaines, And mo diuerſitie of ſounds, all horrible. We were awak'd: ſtraight way, at liberty; Where we, in all our trim, freſhly beheld Our royall, good, and gallant Ship: our Maſter Capring to eye her: on a trice, ſo pleaſe you, Euen in a dreame, were we diuided from them, And were brought moaping hither. Ar.

Was't well done?

 Pro.

Brauely (my diligence) thou ſhalt be free.

 Alo. This is as ſtrange a Maze, as ere men trod, And there is in this buſineſſe, more then nature Was euer conduct of: ſome Oracle Muſt rectifie our knowledge. Pro. Sir, my Leige, Doe not infeſt your minde, with beating on The ſtrangeneſſe of this buſineſſe, at pickt leiſure (Which ſhall be ſhortly ſingle) I'le reſolue you, (Which to you ſhall ſeeme probable) of euery Theſe happend accidents: till when, be cheerefull And thinke of each thing well: Come hither Spirit, Set Caliban, and his companions free: Vntye the Spell: How fares my gracious Sir? There are yet miſſing of your Companie Some few odde Lads, that you remember not. Enter Ariell, driuing in Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo in their ſtolne Apparell. Ste. Euery man ſhift for all the reſt, and let No man take care for himſelfe; for all is But fortune: Coragio Bully-Monſter Coraſio. Tri.

If theſe be true ſpies which I weare in my head, here's a goodly ſight.

 Cal. O Setebos, theſe be braue Spirits indeede: How fine my Maſter is? I am afraid He will chaſtiſe me. Seb. Ha, ha: What things are theſe, my Lord Anthonio? Will money buy em? Ant. Very like: one of them Is a plaine Fiſh, and no doubt marketable. Pro. Marke but the badges of theſe men, my Lords, Then ſay if they be true: This miſhapen knaue; His Mother was a Witch, and one ſo ſtrong That could controle the Moone; make flowes, and eb • , And deale in her command, without her power: Theſe three haue robd me, and this demy-diuell; (For he's a baſtard one) had plotted with them To take my life: two of theſe Fellowes, you Muſt know, and owne, this Thing of darkeneſſe, I Acknowledge mine. Cal.

I ſhall be pincht to death.

 Alo.

Is not this Stephano, my drunken Butler?

 Seb. He is drunke now; Where had he wine? Alo. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where ſhould they Finde this grand Liquor that hath gilded 'em? How cam'ſt thou in this pickle? Tri. I haue bin in ſuch a pickle ſince I ſaw you laſt, That I feare me will neuer out of my bones: I ſhall not feare fly-blowing. Seb.

Who how now Stephano?

Ste.

O touch me not, I am not Stephano, but a Cramp.

 Pro.

You'ld be King o' the Iſle, Sirha?

 Ste.

I ſhould haue bin a ſore one then.

 Alo.

This is a ſtrange thing as ere I look'd on.

 Pro. He is as diſproportion'd in his Manners As in his ſhape: Goe Sirha, to my Cell, Take with you your Companions: as you looke To haue my pardon, trim it handſomely. Cal. I that I will: and Ile be wiſe hereafter, And ſeeke for grace: what a thrice double Aſſe Was I to take this drunkard for a god? And worſhip this dull foole? Pro.

Goe to, away.

 Alo.

Hence, and beſtow your luggage where you found it.

 Seb.

Or ſtole it rather.

 Pro. Sir, I inuite your Highneſſe, and your traine To my poore Cell: where you ſhall take your reſt For this one night, which part of it, Ile waſte With ſuch diſcourſe, as I not doubt, ſhall make it Goe quicke away▪ The ſtory of my life, And the particular accidents, gon by Since I came to this Iſle: And in the morne I'le bring you to your ſhip, and ſo to Naples, Where I haue hope to ſee the nuptiall Of theſe our deere-belou'd, ſolemnized, And thence retire me to my Millaine, where Euery third thought ſhall be my graue. Alo. I long To heare the ſtory of your life; which muſt Take the eare ſtarngely. Pro. I'le deliuer all, And promiſe you calme Seas, auſpicious gales, And ſaile, ſo expeditious, that ſhall catch Your Royall fleete farre off: My Ariel; chicke That is thy charge: Then to the Elements Be free, and fare thou well: pleaſe you draw neere. Exeunt omnes.
EPILOGVE, ſpoken by Proſpero. NOw my Charmes are all ore-throwne, And what ſtrength I haue's mine owne. Which is moſt faint: now 'tis true I muſt be heere confinde by you, Or ſent to Naples, Let me not Since I haue my Dukedome got, And pardon'd the deceiuer, dwell In this bare Iſland, by your Spell, But releaſe me from my bands With the helpe of your good hands: Gentle breath of yours, my Sailes Muſt fill, or elſe my proiect failes, Which was to pleaſe: Now I want Spirits to enforce: Art to inchant, And my ending is deſpaire, Vnleſſe I be relieu'd by praier Which pierces ſo, that it aſſaults Mercy it ſelfe, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your Indulgence ſet me free. Exit.
The Scene, an vn-inhabited Iſland Names of the Actors. Alonſo, K. of Naples: Sebaſtian his Brother. Proſpero, the right Duke of Millaine. Anthonio his brother, the vſurping Duke of Millaine. Ferdinand, Son to the King of Naples. Gonzalo, an honeſt old Councellor. Adrian, & Franciſco, Lords. Caliban, a ſaluage and deformed ſlaue. Trinculo, a Iester. Stephano, a drunken Butler. Maſter of a Ship. Boate-Swaine. Marriners. Miranda, daughter to Proſpero. Ariell, an ayrie ſpirit. Iris Spirits. Ceres Spirits. Iuno Spirits. Nymphes Spirits. Reapers Spirits.
FINIS.
THE Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Actus primus,
Scena prima. Valentine: Protheus, and Speed. Valentine. CEaſe to perſwade▪ my louing Protheus; Home-keeping youth; haue euer homely wits, Wer't not affection chaines thy tender dayes To the ſweet glaunces of thy honour'd Loue, I rather would entreat thy company, To ſee the wonders of the world abroad, Then (liuing dully ſluggardiz'd at home) Weare out thy youth with ſhapeleſſe idleneſſe. But ſince thou lou'ſt; loue ſtill, and thriue therein, Euen as I would, when I to loue begin. Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine ad ew, Thinke on thy Protheus, when thou (hap'ly) ſeeſt Some rare note-worthy obiect in thy trauaile. With me partaker in thy happineſſe, When thou do'ſt meet good hap; and in thy danger, (If euer danger doe enuiron thee) Commend thy grieuance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadeſ-man, Valentine. Ʋal.

And on a loue-booke pray for my ſucceſſe?

 Pro.

Vpon ſome booke I loue, I'le pray for thee.

 Val. That's on ſome ſhallow Storie of deepe loue, How yong Leander croſt the Helleſpont. Pro. That's a deepe Storie, of a deeper loue, For he was more then ouer-ſhooes in loue. Ʋal. 'Tis true; for you are ouer-bootes in loue, And yet you neuer ſwom the Helleſpont. Pro.

Ouer the Bootes? nay giue me not the Boots.

 Val.

No, I will not; for it boots thee not.

 Pro.

What?

 Ʋal. To be in loue; where ſcorne is bought with grones: Coy looks, with hart-ſore ſighes: one fading moments mirth, With twenty watchfull, weary, tedious nights; If hap'ly won, perhaps a hapleſſe gaine; If loſt, why then a grieuous labour won; How euer: but a folly bought with wit, Or elſe a wit, by folly vanquiſhed. Pro.

So, by your circumſtance, you call me foole.

 Ʋal.

So, by your circumſtance, I feare you'll proue.

 Pro.

'Tis Loue you cauill at, I am not Loue.

 Val. Loue is your maſter, for he maſters you; And he that is ſo yoked by a foole, Me thinkes ſhould not be chronicled for wiſe. Pro. Yet Writers ſay; as in the ſweeteſt Bud, The eating Canker dwels; ſo eating Loue Inhabits in the fineſt wits of all. Val. And Writers ſay; as the moſt forward Bud Is eaten by the Canker ere it blow, Euen ſo by Loue, the yong, and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blaſting in the Bud, Looſing his verdure, euen in the prime, And all the faire effects of future hopes. But wherefore waſte I time to counſaile thee That art a votary to fond deſire? Once more adieu: my Father at the Road Expects my comming, there to ſee me ſhip'd. Pro.

And thither will I bring thee Valentine.

Val. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let vs take our leaue: To Millaine let me heare from thee by Letters Of thy ſucceſſe in loue; and what newes elſe Betideth here in abſence of thy Friend: And I likewiſe will viſite thee with mine. Pro.

All happineſſe be chance to thee in Millaine.

Val.

As much to you at home: and ſo farewell.

Exit. Pro. He after Honour hunts, I after Loue; He leaues his friends, to dignifie them more; I loue my ſelfe, my friends, and all for loue: Thou Iulia▪ thou haſt metamorphis'd me: Made me neglect my Studies, looſe my time; Warre with good counſaile; ſet the world at nought; Made Wit with muſing, weake; hart ſick with thought. Sp.

Sir Protheus: 'ſaue you: ſaw you my Maſter?

 Pro.

But now he parted hence to embarque for Millain.

Sp. Twenty to one then, he is ſhip'd already, And I haue plaid the Sheepe in looſing him. Pro. Indeede a Sheepe doth very often ſtray, And if the Shepheard be awhile away. Sp.

You conclude that my Maſter is a Shepheard then, and I Sheepe?

 Pro.

I doe.

 Sp.

Why then my hornes are his hornes, whether I wake or ſleepe.

 Pro.

A ſilly anſwere, and fitting well a Sheepe.

 Sp.

This proues me ſtill a Sheepe.

 Pro.

True: and thy Maſter a Shepheard.

 Sp.

Nay, that I can deny by a circumſtance.

 Pro.

It ſhall goe hard but ile proue it by another.

 Sp.

The Shepheard ſeekes the Sheepe, and not the Sheepe the Shepheard; but I ſeeke my Maſter, and my Maſter ſeekes not me: therefore I am no Sheepe.

 Pro.

The Sheepe for fodder follow the Shepheard, the Shepheard for foode followes not the Sheepe: thou for wages followeſt thy Maſter, thy Maſter for wages followes not thee: therefore thou art a Sheepe.

 Sp.

Such another proofe will make me cry baâ.

 Pro.

But do'ſt thou heare: gau'ſt thou my Letter to Iulia?

 Sp.

I Sir: I (a loſt-Mutton) gaue your Letter to her (a lac'd-Mutton) and ſhe (a lac'd-Mutton) gaue mee (a loſt-Mutton) nothing for my labour.

 Pro.

Here's too ſmall a Paſture for ſuch ſtore of Muttons.

 Sp.

If the ground be ouer-charg'd, you were beſt ſticke her.

 Pro.

Nay, in that you are aſtray: 'twere beſt pound you.

 Sp.

Nay Sir, leſſe then a pound ſhall ſerue me for carrying your Letter.

 Pro.

You miſtake; I meane the pound, a Pinfold.

 Sp. From a pound to a pin? fold it ouer and ouer, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your louer Pro.

But what ſaid ſhe?

 Sp.

I.

 Pro.

Nod-I, why that's noddy.

 Sp. You miſtooke Sir: I ſay ſhe did nod; And you aske me if ſhe did nod, and I ſay I. Pro.

And that ſet together is noddy.

 Sp.

Now you haue taken the paines to ſet it together, take it for your paines.

 Pro.

No, no, you ſhall haue it for bearing the letter.

 Sp.

Well, I perceiue I muſt be faine to beare with you.

 Pro.

Why Sir, how doe you beare with me?

 Sp. Marry Sir, the letter very orderly, Hauing nothing but the word noddy for my paines. Pro.

Beſhrew me, but you haue a quicke wit.

 Sp.

And yet it cannot ouer-take your ſlow purſe.

 Pro.

Come, come, open the matter in briefe; what ſaid ſhe.

 Sp.

Open your purſe, that the money, and the matter may be both at once deliuered.

 Pro.

Well Sir: here is for your paines: what ſaid ſhe?

 Sp.

Truely Sir, I thinke you'll hardly win her.

 Pro.

Why? could'ſt thou perceiue ſo much from her?

 Sp. Sir, I could perceiue nothing at all from her; No, not ſo much as a ducket for deliuering your letter: And being ſo hard to me, that brought your minde; I feare ſhe'll proue as hard to you in telling your minde. Giue her no token but ſtones, for ſhe's as hard as ſteele. Pro.

What ſaid ſhe, nothing?

 Sp. No, not ſo much as take this for thy pains: To teſtifie your bounty, I thank you, you haue ceſtern'd me; In requital whereof, henceforth, carry your letters your ſelfe; And ſo Sir, I'le commend you to my Maſter. Pro. Go, go, be gone, to ſaue your Ship from wrack, Which cannot periſh hauing thee aboarde, Being deſtin'd to a drier death on ſhore: I muſt goe ſend ſome better Meſſenger, I feare my Iulia would not daigne my lines, Receiuing them from ſuch a worthleſſe poſt. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Iulia and Lucetta. Iul. But ſay Lucetta (now we are alone) Would'ſt thou then counſaile me to fall in loue? Luc.

I Madam, ſo you ſtumble not on heedfully.

 Iul. Of all the faire reſt • of Gentlemen, That euery day with par'd • encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthieſt loue? Lu. Pleaſe you repeat their names, ile ſhew my minde, According to my ſhallow ſimple skill. Iu.

What thinkſt thou of the faire ſir Eglamoure?

 Lu. As of a Knight, well-ſpoken, neat, and fine; But were I you, he neuer ſhould be mine. Iu.

What think'ſt thou of the rich Mercatio?

Lu.

Well of his wealth; but of himſelfe, ſo, ſo.

 Iu.

What think'ſt thou of the gentle Protheus?

 Lu.

Lord, Lord: to ſee what folly raignes in vs.

 Iu.

How now? what meanes this paſſion at his name?

 Lu. Pardon deare Madam, 'tis a paſſing ſhame, That I (vnworthy body as I am) Should cenſure thus on louely Gentlemen. Iu.

Why not on Protheus, as of all the reſt?

 Lu.

Then thus: of many good, I thinke him beſt.

 Iul.

Your reaſon?

 Lu. I haue no other but a womans reaſon: I thinke him ſo, becauſe I thinke him ſo. Iul.

And would'ſt thou haue me caſt my loue on him?

 Lu.

I: if you thought your loue not caſt away.

 Iul.

Why he, of all the reſt, hath neuer mou'd me.

 Lu.

Yet he, of all the reſt, I thinke beſt loues ye.

 Iul.

His little ſpeaking, ſhewes his loue but ſmall.

 Lu.

Fire that's cloſeſt kept, burnes moſt of all.

 Iul.

They doe not loue, that doe not ſhew their loue.

 Lu.

Oh, they loue leaſt, that let men know their loue.

 Iul.

I would I knew his minde.

 Lu.

Peruſe this paper Madam.

 Iul.

To Iulia: ſay, from whom?

 Lu.

That the Contents will ſhew.

 Iul.

Say, ſay: who gaue it thee?

 Lu. Sir Valentines page: & ſent I think from Protheus; He would haue giuen it you, but I being in the way, Did in your name receiue it: pardon the fault I pray. Iul. 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 returne no more into my ſight. Lu.

To plead for loue, deſerues more fee, then hate.

 Iul.

Will ye be gon?

 Lu.

That you may ruminate.

Exit. Iul. And yet I would I had ore-look'd the Letter; It were a ſhame to call her backe againe, And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her. What 'foole is ſhe, that knowe • I am a Maid. And would not force the letter to my view? Since Maides, in modeſty, ſay no, to that, Which they would haue the profferer conſtrue, I. Fie, fie: how way-ward is this fooliſh loue; That (like a teſtie Babe) will ſcratch the Nurſe, And preſently, all humbled kiſſe the Rod? How churliſhly, I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly, I would haue had her here? How angerly I taught my brow to frowne, When inward ioy enforc'd my heart to ſmile? My pennance is, to call Lucetta backe And aske remiſſion, for my folly paſt. What hoe: Lucetta. Lu.

What would your Ladiſhip?

 Iul.

Is't neere dinner time?

 Lu. I would it were, That you might kill your ſtomacke on your meat, And not vpon your Maid. Iu. What is't that you Tooke vp ſo gingerly? Lu.

Nothing.

 Iu.

Why didſt thou ſtoope then?

 Lu.

To take a paper vp, that I let fall.

 Iul.

And is that paper nothing?

 Lu.

Nothing concerning me.

 Iul.

Then let it lye, for thoſe that it concernes.

 Lu. Madam, it will not lye where it concernes, Vnleſſe it haue a falſe Interpreter. Iul.

Some loue of yours, hath writ to you in Rime.

 Lu. That I might ſing it (Madam) to a tune: Giue me a Note, your Ladiſhip can ſet Iul. As little by ſuch toyes, as may be poſſible: Beſt ſing it to the tune of Light O, Loue. Lu.

It is too heauy for ſo light a tune.

 Iu.

Heauy? belike it hath ſome burden then?

 Lu.

I: and melodious were it, would you ſing it,

 Iu.

And why not you?

 Lu.

I cannot reach ſo high.

 Iu. Let's ſee your Song: How now Minion? Lu. Keepe tune there ſtill; ſo you will ſing it out: And yet me thinkes I do not like this tune. Iu.

You doe not?

 Lu.

No (Madam) tis too ſharpe.

 Iu.

You (Minion) are too ſaucie.

 Lu. Nay, now you are too flat; And marre the concord, with too harſh a deſcant: There wanteth but a Meane to fill your Song. Iu.

The meane is dround with you vnruly baſe.

 Lu.

Indeede I bid the baſe for Protheus.

Iu. This babble ſhall not henceforth trouble me; Here is a coile with proteſtation: Goe, get you gone: and let the papers lye: You would be fingring them, to anger me. Lu. She makes it ſtrāge, but ſhe would be beſt pleas'd To be ſo angred with another Letter. Iu. Nay, would I were ſo angred with the ſame: Oh hatefull hands, to teare ſuch louing words; Iniurious Waſpes, to feede on ſuch ſweet hony, And kill the Bees that yeelde it, with your ſtings; Ile kiſſe each ſeuerall paper, for amends: Looke, here is writ, kinde Iulia: vnkinde Iulia, As in reuenge of thy ingratitude, I throw thy name againſt the bruzing-ſtones, Trampling contemptuouſly on thy diſdaine. And here is writ, Loue wounded Protheus. Poore wounded name: my boſome, as a bed, Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd; And thus I ſearch it with a ſoueraigne kiſſe. But twice, or thrice, was Protheus written downe: Be calme (good winde) blow not a word away, Till I haue found each letter, in the Letter, Except mine own name: That, ſome whirle-winde beare Vnto a ragged, fearefull, hanging Rocke, And throw it thence into the raging Sea. Loe, here in one line is his name twice writ: Poore forlorne Protheus, paſſionate Protheus: To the ſweet Iulia: that ile teare away: And yet I will not, ſith ſo prettily He couples it, to his complaining Names; Thus will I fold them, one vpon another; Now kiſſe, embrace, contend, doe what you will. Lu.

Madam: dinner is ready: and your father ſtaies.

 Iu.

Well, let vs goe.

 Lu.

What, ſhall theſe papers lye, like Tel-tales here?

 Iu.

If you reſpect them; beſt to take them vp.

 Lu. Nay, I was taken vp, for laying them downe. Yet here they ſhall not lye, for catching cold. Iu.

I ſee you haue a months minde to them.

 Lu. I (Madam) you may ſay what ſights you ſee; I ſee things too, although you iudge I winke. Iu.

Come, come, wilt pleaſe you goe.

Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Protheus. Ant. Tell me Panthino, what ſad talke was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the Cloyſter? Pan.

'Twas of his Nephew Protheus, your Sonne.

 Ant.

Why? what of him?

 Pan. He wondred that your Lordſhip Would ſuffer him, to ſpend his youth at home, While other men, of ſlender reputation Put forth their Sonnes, to ſeeke preferment out. Some to the warres, to try their fortune there; Some, to diſcouer Iſlands farre away: Some, to the ſtudious Vniuerſities; For any, or for all theſe exerciſes, He ſaid, that Protheus, your ſonne, 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 hauing knowne no trauaile in his youth. Ant. Nor need'ſt thou much importune me to that Whereon, this month I haue bin hamering. I haue conſider'd well, his loſſe of time, And how he cannot be a perfect man, Not being tryed, and tutord in the world: Experience is by induſtry atchieu'd, And perfected by the ſwift courſe of time: Then tell me, whether were I beſt to ſend him? Pan. I thinke your Lordſhip is not ignorant How his companion, youthfull Valentine, Attends the Emperour in his royall Court. Ant.

I know it well.

 Pan. 'Twere good, I thinke, your Lordſhip ſent him thither, There ſhall he practiſe Tilts, and Turnaments; Heare ſweet diſcourſe, conuerſe with Noble-men, And be in eye of euery Exerciſe Worthy his youth, and nobleneſſe of birth. Ant. I like thy counſaile: well haſt thou aduis'd: And that thou maiſt perceiue how well I like it, The execution of it ſhall make knowne; Euen with the ſpeedieſt expedition, I will diſpatch him to the Emperors Court. Pan. To morrow, may it pleaſe you, Don Alphonſo, With other Gentlemen of good eſteeme Are iournying, to ſalute the Emperor, And to commend their ſeruice to his will. Ant. Good company: with them ſhall Protheus go: And in good time: now will we breake with him. Pro. Sweet Loue, ſweet lines, ſweet life, Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for loue, her honors paune; O that our Fathers would applaud our loues To ſeale our happineſſe with their conſents. Pro.

Oh heauenly Iulia.

Ant.

How now? What Letter are you reading there?

 Pro. May't pleaſe your Lordſhip, 'tis a word or two Of commendations ſent from Valentine; Deliuer'd by a friend, that came from him. Ant.

Lend me the Letter: Let me ſee what newes.

 Pro. There is no newes (my Lord) but that he writes How happily he liues, how well-belou'd, And daily graced by the Emperor; Wiſhing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant.

And how ſtand you affected to his wiſh?

 Pro. As one relying on your Lordſhips will, And not depending on his friendly wiſh. Ant. My will is ſomething ſorted with his wiſh: Muſe not that I thus ſodainly proceed; For what I will, I will, and there an end: I am reſolu'd, that thou ſhalt ſpend ſome time With Valentinus, in the Emperors Court: What maintenance he from his friends receiues, Like exhibition thou ſhalt haue from me, To morrow be in readineſſe, to goe, Excuſe it not: for I am peremptory. Pro. My Lord I cannot be ſo ſoone prouided, Pleaſe you deliberate a day or two. Ant. Look what thou want'ſt ſhalbe ſent after thee: No more of ſtay: to morrow thou muſt goe; Come on Panthino; you ſhall be imployd, To haſten on his Expedition. Pro. Thus haue I ſhund the fire, for feare of burning, And drench'd me in the ſea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to ſhew my Father Iulias Letter, Leaſt he ſhould take exceptions to my loue, And with the vantage of mine owne excuſe Hath he excepted moſt againſt my loue. Oh, how this ſpring of loue reſembleth The vncertaine glory of an Aprill day, Which now ſhewes all the beauty of the Sun, And by and by a clowd takes all away. Pan. Sir Protheus, your Fathers call's for you, He is in haſt, therefore I pray you go. Pro. Why this it is: my heart accords thereto, And yet a thouſand times it anſwer's no. Exeunt.
Finis.
Actus ſecundus:
Scoena Prima. Enter Valentine, Speed, Siluia. Speed.

Sir, your Gloue.

 Valen.

Not mine: my Gloues are on.

 Sp.

Why then this may be yours: for this is but one.

 Ʋal. Ha? Let me ſee: I, giue it me, it's mine: Sweet Ornament, that deckes a thing diuine, Ah Siluia, Siluia. Speed.

Madam Siluia: Madam Siluia.

Val.

How now Sirha?

 Speed.

Shee is not within hearing Sir.

 Val.

Why ſir, who had you call her?

 Speed.

Your worſhip ſ • , or elſe I miſtooke.

 Val.

Well: you'll ſtill be too forward.

 Speed.

And yet I was laſt chidden for being too ſlow.

 Val.

Goe to, ſir, tell me: do you know Madam Siluia?

 Speed.

Shee that your worſhip loues?

 Val.

Why, how know you that I am in loue?

 Speed.

Marry by theſe ſpeciall markes: firſt, you haue learn'd (like Sir Protheus) to wreath your Armes like a Male-content: to relliſh a Loue-ſong, like a Robin-red-breaſt: to walke alone like one that had the peſtilence: to ſigh, like a Schoole-boy that had loſt his A. B. C. to weep like a yong wench that had buried her Grandam: to faſt, like one that takes diet: to watch, like one that feares robbing: to ſpeake puling, like a beggar at Hallow-Maſſe: You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cocke; when you walk'd, to walke 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 Miſtris, that when I looke on you, I can hardly thinke you my Maſter.

 Val.

Are all theſe things perceiu'd in me?

 Speed.

They are all perceiu'd without ye.

 Val.

Without me? they cannot.

 Speed.

Without you? nay, that's certaine: 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 Vrinall: that not an eye that ſees you, but is a Phyſician to comment on your Malady.

 Val.

But tell me: do'ſt thou know my Lady Siluia?

 Speed.

Shee that you gaze on ſo, as ſhe ſits at ſupper?

 Val.

Haſt thou obſeru'd that? euen ſhe I meane.

 Speed.

Why ſir, I know her not.

 Val.

Do'ſt thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'ſt her not?

 Speed.

Is ſhe not hard-fauour'd, ſir?

 Val.

Not ſo faire (boy) as well fauour'd.

 Speed.

Sir, I know that well enough.

 Ʋal.

What doſt thou know?

 Speed.

That ſhee is not ſo faire, as (of you) well-fauourd?

 Val. I meane that her beauty is exquiſite, But her fauour infinite. Speed.

That's becauſe the one is painted, and the other out of all count.

 Val.

How painted? and how out of count?

 Speed.

Marry ſir, ſo painted to make her faire, that no man counts of her beauty.

 Val.

How eſteem'ſt thou me? I account of her beauty.

 Speed.

You neuer ſaw her ſince ſhe was deform'd.

 Ʋal.

How long hath ſhe beene deform'd?

 Speed.

Euer ſince you lou'd her.

 Val. I haue lou'd her euer ſince I ſaw her, And ſtill I ſee her beautifull. Speed.

If you loue her, you cannot ſee her.

 Ʋal.

Why?

 Speed.

Becauſe Loue is blinde: O that you had mine eyes, or your owne eyes had the lights they were wont to haue, when you chidde at Sir Protheus, for going vngarter'd.

 Val.

What ſhould I ſee then?

 Speed.

Your owne preſent folly, and her paſſing deformitie: for hee beeing in loue, could not ſee to garter his hoſe; and you, beeing in loue, cannot ſee to put on your hoſe.

 Val. Belike (boy) then you are in loue, for laſt morning You could not ſee to wipe my ſhooes. Speed.

True ſir: I was in loue with my bed, I thanke you, you ſwing'd me for my loue, which makes mee the bolder to chide you, for yours.

 Val.

In concluſion, I ſtand affected to her.

 Speed.

I would you were ſet, ſo your affection would ceaſe.

 Val. Laſt night ſhe enioyn'd me, To write ſome lines to one ſhe loues. Speed.

And haue you?

 Ʋal.

I haue.

 Speed.

Are they not lamely writt?

 Val. No (Boy) but as well as I can do them: Peace, here ſhe comes. Speed. Oh excellent motion; oh exceeding Puppet: Now will he interpret to her. Val.

Madam & Miſtres, a thouſand good-morrows.

 Speed.

Oh, 'giue ye-good-ev'n: heer's a million of manners.

 Sil.

Sir Valentine, and ſeruant, to you two thouſand.

 Speed.

He ſhould giue her intereſt: & ſhe giues it him.

 Val. As you inioynd me; I haue writ your Letter Vnto the ſecret, nameles friend of yours: Which I was much vnwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your Ladiſhip. Sil.

I thanke you (gentle Seruant) 'tis very Clerkly-done.

 Val. Now truſt me (Madam) it came hardly-off: For being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at randome, very doubtfully. Sil.

Perchance you think too much of ſo much pains?

 Val.

No (Madam) ſo it ſteed you I will write (Pleaſe you command) a thouſand times as much: And yet —

 Sil. A pretty period: well: I gheſſe the ſequell; And yet I will not name it: and yet I care not. And yet, take this againe: and yet I thanke you: Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed.

And yet you will: and yet, another yet.

 Val. What meanes your Ladiſhip? Doe you not like it? Sil. Yes, yes: the lines are very queintly writ, But (ſince vnwillingly) take them againe. Nay, take them. Val.

Madam, they are for you.

 Silu. I, I: you writ them Sir, at my requeſt, But I will none of them: they are for you: I would haue had them writ more mouingly: Val.

Pleaſe you, Ile write your Ladiſhip another.

 Sil. And when it's writ: for my ſake read it ouer, And if it pleaſe you, ſo: if not: why ſo: Val.

If it pleaſe me, (Madam?) what then?

 Sil. Why if it pleaſe you, take it for your labour; And ſo good-morrow Seruant. Exit. Sil. Speed. Oh Ieſt vnſeene: inſcrutible: inuiſible, As a noſe on a mans face, or a Wethercocke on a ſteeple: My Maſter ſues to her: and ſhe hath taught her Sutor, He being her Pupill, to become her Tutor. Oh excellent deuiſe, was there euer heard a better? That my maſter being ſcribe, To himſelfe ſhould write the Letter? Val. How now Sir? What are you reaſoning with your ſelfe? Speed.

Nay: I was riming: 'tis you yt haue the reaſon.

 Val.

To doe what?

 Speed.

To be a Spokeſ-man from Madam Siluia.

Ʋal.

To whom?

 Speed.

To your ſelfe: why, ſhe woes you by a figure.

 Val.

What figure?

 Speed.

By a Letter, I ſhould ſay.

 Ʋal.

Why ſhe hath not writ to me?

 Speed. What need ſhe, When ſhee hath made you write to your ſelfe? Why, doe you not perceiue the ieſt? Val.

No, beleeue me.

 Speed. No beleeuing you indeed ſir: But did you perceiue her earneſt? Ʋal.

She gaue me none, except an angry word.

 Speed.

Why ſhe hath giuen you a Letter.

 Val.

That's the Letter I writ to her friend.

 Speed.

And yt letter hath ſhe deliuer'd, & there an end.

 Val.

I would it were no worſe.

 Speed. Ile warrant you, 'tis as well: For often haue you writ to her: and ſhe in modeſty, Or elſe for want of idle time, could not againe reply, Or fearing els ſome meſſēger, yt might her mind diſcouer Her ſelf hath taught her Loue himſelf, to write vnto her louer. All this I ſpeak in print, for in print I found it. Why muſe you ſir, 'tis dinner time. Ʋal.

I haue dyn'd.

 Speed.

I, but hearken ſir: though the Cameleon Loue can feed on the ayre, I am one that am nouriſh'd by my victuals; and would faine haue meate: oh bee not like your Miſtreſſe, be moued, be moued.

Exeunt.
Scoena ſecunda. Enter Protheus, Iulia, Panthion. Pro.

Haue patience, gentle Iulia:

 Iul.

I muſt where is no remedy.

 Pro.

When poſſibly I can, I will returne.

 Iul. If you turne not: you will return the ſooner: Keepe this remembrance for thy Iulia's ſake. Pro. Why then wee'll make exchange; Here, take you this. Iul.

And ſeale the bargaine with a holy kiſſe.

 Pro. Here is my hand, for my true conſtancie: And when that howre ore-ſlips me in the day, Wherein I ſigh not (Iulia) for thy ſake, The next enſuing howre, ſome foule miſchance Torment me for my Loues forgetfulneſſe: My father ſtaies my comming: anſwere not: The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of teares, That tide will ſtay me longer then I ſhould, Iulia, farewell: what, gon without a word? I, ſo true loue ſhould doe: it cannot ſpeake, For truth hath better deeds, then words to grace it. Panth.

Sir Protheus: you are ſtaid for.

 Pro. Goe: I come, I come: Alas, this parting ſtrikes poore Louers dumbe. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Launce, Panthion. Launce.

Nay, 'twill bee this howre ere I haue done weeping: all the kinde of the Launce • , haue this very fault: I haue receiu'd my proportion, like the prodigious Sonne, and am going with Sir Protheus to the Imperialls Court: I thinke Crab my dog, be the ſowreſt natured dogge that liues: My Mother weeping: my Father wayling: my Siſter crying: our Maid howling: our Catte wringing her hands, and all our houſe in a great perplexitie, yet did not this cruell-hearted Curre ſhedde one teare: he is a ſtone, a very pibble ſtone, and has no more pitty in him then a dogge: a Iew would haue wept to haue ſeene our parting: why my Grandam hauing no eyes, looke you, wept her ſelfe blinde at my parting: nay, Ile ſhew you the manner of it. This ſhooe is my father: no, this left ſhooe is my father; no, no, this left ſhooe is my mother: nay, that cannot bee ſo neyther: yes; it is ſo, it is ſo: it hath the worſer ſole: this ſhooe with the hole in it, is my mother: and this my father: a veng'ance on't, there 'tis: Now ſir, this ſtaffe is my ſiſter: for, looke you, ſhe is as white as a lilly, and as ſmall as a wand: this hat is Nan our maid: I am the dogge: no, the dogge is himſelfe, and I am the dogge: oh, the dogge is me, and I am my ſelfe: I; ſo, ſo: now come I to my Father; Father, your bleſſing: now ſhould not the ſhooe ſpeake a word for weeping: now ſhould I kiſſe my Father; well, hee weepes on: Now come I to my Mother: Oh that ſhe could ſpeake now, like a would-woman: well, I kiſſe her: why there 'tis; heere's my mothers breath vp and downe: Now come I to my ſiſter; marke the moane ſhe makes: now the dogge all this while ſheds not a teare: nor ſpeakes a word: but ſee how I lay the duſt with my teares.

 Panth.

Launce, away, away: a Boord: thy Maſter is ſhip'd, and thou art to poſt after with oares; what's the matter? why weep'ſt thou man? away aſſe, you'l looſe the Tide, if you tarry any longer.

 Laun.

It is no matter if the tide were loſt, for it is the vnkindeſt Tide, that euer any man tide.

 Panth.

What's the vnkindeſt tide?

 Lau.

Why, he that's tide here, Crab my dog.

 Pant.

Tut, man: I meane thou'lt looſe the flood, and in looſing the flood, looſe thy voyage, and in looſing thy voyage, looſe thy Maſter, and in looſing thy Maſter, looſe thy ſeruice, and in looſing thy ſeruice: — why doſt thou ſtop my mouth?

 Laun.

For feare thou ſhouldſt looſe thy tongue.

 Panth.

Where ſhould I looſe my tongue?

 Laun.

In thy Tale.

 Panth.

In thy Taile.

 Laun.

Looſe the Tide, and the voyage, and the Maſter, and the Seruice, and the tide: why man, if the Riuer were drie, I am able to fill it with my teares: if the winde were downe, I could driue the boate with my ſighes.

 Panth.

Come: come away man, I was ſent to call thee.

 Lau.

Sir: call me what thou dar'ſt.

 Pant.

Wilt thou goe?

 Laun.

Well, I will goe.

 Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Valentine, Siluia, Thurio, Speed, Duke, Protheus. Sil.

Seruant.

 Val.

Miſtris.

 Spee.

Maſter, Sir Thurio frownes on you.

 Val.

I Boy, it's for loue.

 Spee.

Not of you.

 Val.

Of my Miſtreſſe then.

 Spee.

'Twere good you knockt him.

 Sil.

Seruant, you are ſad.

 Val.

Indeed, Madam, I ſeeme ſo.

 Thu.

Seeme you that you are not?

 Val.

Hap'ly I doe.

 Thu.

So doe Counterfeyts.

 Val.

So doe you.

 Thu.

What ſeeme I that I am not?

 Val.

Wiſe.

 Thu.

What inſtance of the contrary?

 Val.

Your folly.

 Thu.

And how quoat you my folly?

 Ʋal.

I quoat it in your Ierkin.

 Thu.

My Ierkin is a doublet.

 Val.

Well then, Ile double your folly.

 Thu.

How?

 Sil.

What, angry, Sir Thurio, do you change colour?

 Val.

Giue him leaue, Madam, he is a kind of Camelion.

Thu.

That hath more minde to feed on your bloud, then liue in your ayre.

 Val.

You haue ſaid Sir.

 Thu.

I Sir, and done too for this time.

 Val.

I know it wel ſir, you alwaies end ere you begin.

 Sil.

A fine volly of words, gentlemē, & quickly ſhot off

 Val.

'Tis indeed, Madam, we thank the giuer.

 Sil.

Who is that Seruant?

 Val. Your ſelfe (ſweet Lady) for you gaue the fire, Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladiſhips lookes, And ſpends what he borrowes kindly in your company Thu.

Sir, if you ſpend word for word with me, I ſhall make your wit bankrupt.

 Val. I know it well ſir: you haue an Exchequer of words, And I thinke, no other treaſure to giue your followers: For it appeares by their bare Liueries That they liue by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more: Here comes my father. Duk. Now, daughter Siluia, you are hard beſet. Sir Valentine, your father is in good health, What ſay you to a Letter from your friends Of much good newes? Val. My Lord, I will be thankfull, To any happy meſſenger from thence. Duk.

Know ye Don Antonio, your Countriman?

 Val. I, my good Lord, I know the Gentleman To be of worth, and worthy eſtimation, And not without deſert ſo well reputed. Duk.

Hath he not a Sonne?

 Ʋal. I, my good Lord, a Son, that well deſerues The honor, and regard of ſuch a father. Duk. You know him well? Ʋal. I knew him as my ſelfe: for from our Infancie We haue conuerſt, and ſpent our howres together, And though my ſelfe haue beene an idle Trewant, Omitting the ſweet benefit of time To cloath mine age with Angel-like perfection: Yet hath Sir Protheus (for that's his name) Made vſe, and faire aduantage of his daies: His yeares but yong, but his experience old: His head vn-mellowed, but his Iudgement ripe; And in a word (for far behinde his worth Comes all the praiſes that I now beſtow.) He is compleat in feature, and in minde, With all good grace, to grace a Gentleman. Duk. Beſhrew me ſir, but if he make this good He is as worthy for an Empreſſe loue, As meet to be an Emperors Councellor: Well, Sir: this Gentleman is come to me With Commendation from great Potentates, And heere he meanes to ſpend his time a while, I thinke 'tis no vn-welcome newes to you. Ʋal.

Should I haue wiſh'd a thing, it had beene he.

 Duk. Welcome him then according to his worth: Siluia, I ſpeake to you, and you Sir Thurio, For Ʋalentine, I need not cite him to it, I will ſend him hither to you preſently. Val. This is the Gentleman I told your Ladiſhip Had come along with me, but that his Miſtreſſe Did hold his eyes, lockt in her Chriſtall lookes. Sil. Be-like that now ſhe hath enfranchis'd them Vpon ſome other pawne for fealty. Val.

Nay ſure, I thinke ſhe holds them priſoners ſtil.

 Sil. Nay then he ſhould be blind, and being blind How could he ſee his way to ſeeke out you? Ʋal.

Why Lady, Loue hath twenty paire of eyes.

 Thur.

They ſay that Loue hath not an eye at all.

 Val. To ſee ſuch Louers, Thurio, as your ſelfe, Vpon a homely obiect, Loue can winke. Sil.

Haue done, haue done: here comes ye gentleman.

 Val. Welcome, deer Protheus: Miſtris, I beſeech you Confirme his welcome, with ſome ſpeciall fauor. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hether, If this be he you oft haue wiſh'd to heare from. Ʋal. Miſtris, it is: ſweet Lady, entertaine him To be my fellow-ſeruant to your Ladiſhip. Sil.

Too low a Miſtres for ſo high a ſeruant.

 Pro. Not ſo, ſweet Lady, but too meane a ſeruant To haue a looke of ſuch a worthy a Miſtreſſe. Val. Leaue off diſcourſe of diſabilitie: Sweet Lady, entertaine him for your Seruant. Pro.

My dutie will I boaſt of, nothing elſe.

 Sil. And dutie neuer yet did want his meed. Seruant, you are welcome to a worthleſſe Miſtreſſe. Pro.

Ile die on him that ſaies ſo but your ſelfe.

 Sil.

That you are welcome?

 Pro.

That you are worthleſſe.

 Thur.

Madam, my Lord your father wold ſpeak with you.

 Sil. I wait vpon his pleaſure: Come Sir Thurio, Goe with me: once more, new Seruant welcome; Ile leaue you to confer of home affaires, When you haue done, we looke too heare from you. Pro.

Wee'll both attend vpon your Ladiſhip.

 Val.

Now tell me: how do al from whence you came?

 Pro.

Your frends are wel, & haue thē much cōmended.

 Val.

And how doe yours?

 Pro.

I left them all in health.

 Val.

How does your Lady? & how thriues your loue?

 Pro. My tales of Loue were wont to weary you, I know you ioy not in a Loue-diſcourſe. Val. I Protheus, but that life is alter'd now, I haue done pennance for contemning Loue, Whoſe high emperious thoughts haue puniſh'd me With bitter faſts, with penitentiall grones, With nightly teares, and daily hart-ſore ſighes, For in reuenge of my contempt of loue, Loue hath chas'd ſleepe from my enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine owne hearts ſorrow. O gentle Protheus, Loue's a mighty Lord, And hath ſo humbled me, as I confeſſe There is no woe to his correction, Nor to his Seruice, no ſuch ioy on earth: Now, no diſcourſe, except it be of loue: Now can I breake my faſt, dine, ſup, and ſleepe, Vpon the very naked name of Loue. Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye: Was this the Idoll, that you worſhip ſo? Val.

Euen She; and is ſhe not a heauenly Saint?

 Pro.

No; But ſhe is an earthly Paragon.

 Val.

Call her diuine.

 Pro.

I will not flatter her.

 Ʋal.

O flatter me: for Loue delights in praiſes.

 Pro. When I was ſick, you gaue me bitter pils, And I muſt miniſter the like to you. Val. Then ſpeake the truth by her; if not diuine, Yet let her be a principalitie, Soueraigne to all the Creatures on the earth, Pro.

Except my Miſtreſſe.

 Val. Sweet: except not any, Except thou wilt except againſt my Loue. Pro.

Haue I not reaſon to prefer mine owne?

 Val. And I will help thee to prefer her to: Shee ſhall be dignified with this high honour, To beare my Ladies traine, left the baſe earth Should from her veſture chance to ſteale a kiſſe, And of ſo great a fauor growing proud, Diſdaine to roote the Sommer-ſwelling flowre, And make rough winter euerlaſtingly. Pro.

Why Ʋalentine, what Bragadiſme is this?

 Val. Pardon me (Protheus) all I can is nothing, To her, whoſe worth, make other worthies nothing; Shee is alone. Pro.

Then let her alone.

 Val. Not for the world: why man, ſhe is mine owne, And I as rich in hauing ſuch a Iewell As twenty Seas, if all their ſand were pearle, The water, Nectar, and the Rocks pure gold. Forgiue me that I doe not dreame on thee, Becauſe thou ſeeſt me doate vpon my loue: My fooliſh Riuall that her Father likes (Onely for his poſſeſſions are ſo huge) Is gone with her along, and I muſt after, For Loue (thou know'ſt is full of iealouſie.) Pro.

But ſhe loues you?

 Val. I, and we are betroathd: nay more, our mariage howre, With all the cunning manner of our flight Determin'd of: how I muſt climbe her window, The Ladder made of Cords, and all the means Plotted, and 'greed on for my happineſſe. Good Protheus goe with me to my chamber, In theſe affaires to aid me with thy counſaile. Pro. Goe on before: I ſhall enquire you forth: I muſt vnto the Road, to diſ-embarque Some neceſſaries, that I needs muſt vſe, And then Ile preſently attend you. Val.

Will you make haſte?

Exit. Pro. I will. Euen as one heate, another heate expels, Or as one naile, by ſtrength driues out another. So the remembrance of my former Loue Is by a newer obiect quite forgotten, It is mine, or Valentines praiſe? Her true perfection, or my falſe tranſgreſſion? That makes me reaſonleſſe, to reaſon thus? Shee is faire: and ſo is Iulia that I loue, (That I did loue, for now my loue is thaw'd, Which like a waxen Image 'gainſt a fire Beares no impreſſion of the thing it was.) Me thinkes my zeale to Valentine is cold, And that I loue him not as I was wont: O, but I loue his Lady too-too much, And that's the reaſon I loue him ſo little. How ſhall I doate on her with more aduice, That thus without aduice begin to loue her? 'Tis but her picture I haue yet beheld, And that hath dazel'd my reaſons light: But when I looke on her perfections, There is no reaſon, but I ſhall be blinde. If I can checke my erring loue, I will, If not, to compaſſe her Ile vſe my skill. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Speed and Launce. Speed.

Launce, by mine honeſty welcome to Padua.

Laun.

Forſweare not thy ſelfe, ſweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this alwaies, that a man is neuer vndon till hee be hang'd, nor neuer welcome to a place, till ſome certaine ſhot be paid, and the Hoſteſſe ſay welcome.

 Speed.

Come-on you mad-cap: Ile to the Ale-houſe with you preſently; where, for one ſhot of fiue pence, thou ſhalt haue fiue thouſand welcomes: But ſirha, how did thy Maſter part with Madam Iulia?

 Lau.

Marry after they cloas'd in earneſt, they parted very fairely in ieſt.

 Spee.

But ſhall ſhe marry him?

 Lau.

No.

 Spee.

How then? ſhall he marry her?

 Lau.

No, neither.

 Spee.

What, are they broken?

 Lau.

No; they are both as whole as a fiſh.

 Spee.

Why then, how ſtands the matter with them?

 Lau.

Marry thus, when it ſtands well with him, it ſtands well with her.

 Spee.

What an aſſe art thou, I vnderſtand thee not.

 Lau. What a blocke art thou, that thou canſt not? My ſtaffe vnderſtands me? Spee.

What thou ſaiſt?

 Lau.

I, and what I do too: looke thee, Ile but leane, and my ſtaffe vnderſtands me.

 Spee.

It ſtands vnder thee indeed.

 Lau.

Why, ſtand-vnder: and vnder-ſtand is all one.

 Spee.

But tell me true, wil't be a match?

 Lau.

Aske my dogge, if he ſay I, it will: if hee ſay no, it will: if hee ſhake his taile, and ſay nothing, it will.

 Spee.

The concluſion is then, that it will.

 Lau.

Thou ſhalt neuer get ſuch a ſecret from me, but by a parable.

 Spee.

'Tis well that I get it ſo: but Launce, how ſaiſt thou that that my maſter is become a notable Louer?

 Lau.

I neuer knew him otherwiſe.

 Spee.

Then how?

 Lau.

A notable Lubber: as thou reporteſt him to bee.

 Spee.

Why, thou whorſon Aſſe, thou miſtak'ſt me,

 Lau.

Why Foole, I meant not thee, I meant thy Maſter.

 Spee.

I tell thee, my Maſter is become a hot Louer.

 Lau.

Why, I tell thee, I care not, though hee burne himſelfe in Loue. If thou wilt goe with me to the Ale-houſe: if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Iew, and not worth the name of a Chriſtian.

 Spee.

Why?

 Lau.

Becauſe thou haſt not ſo much charity in thee as to goe to the Ale with a Chriſtian: Wilt thou goe?

 Spee.

At thy ſeruice.

 Exeunt.
Scoena Sexta. Enter Protheus ſolus. Pro. To leaue my Iulia; ſhall I be forſworne? To loue faire Siluia; ſhall I be forſworne? To wrong my friend, I ſhall be much forſworne. And ev'n that Powre which gaue me firſt my oath Prouokes me to this three-fold periurie. Loue bad mee ſweare, and Loue bids me for-ſweare; O ſweet-ſuggeſting Loue, if thou haſt ſin'd, Teach me (thy tempted ſubiect) to excuſe it. At firſt I did adore a twinkling Starre, But now I worſhip a celeſtiall Sunne: Vn-heedfull vowes may heedfully be broken, And he wants wit, that wants reſolued will, To learne his wit, t' exchange the bad for better; Fie, fie, vnreuerend tongue, to call her bad, Whoſe ſoueraignty ſo oft thou haſt preferd, With twenty thouſand ſoule-confirming oathes. I cannot leaue to loue; and yet I doe: But there I leaue to loue, where I ſhould loue. Iulia I looſe, and Valentine I looſe, If I keepe them, I needs muſt looſe my ſelfe: If I looſe them, thus finde I by their loſſe, For Valentine, my ſelfe: for Iulia, Siluia. I to my ſelfe am deerer then a friend, For Loue is ſtill moſt precious in it ſelfe, And Siluia (witneſſe heauen that made her faire) Shewes Iulia but a ſwarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Iulia is aliue, Remembring that my Loue to her is dead. And Ʋalentine Ile hold an Enemie, Ayming at Siluia as a ſweeter friend. I cannot now proue conſtant to my ſelfe, Without ſome treachery vs'd to Valentine. This night he meaneth with a Corded-ladder To climbe celeſtiall Siluia's chamber window, My ſelfe in counſaile his competitor. Now preſently Ile giue her father notice Of their diſguiſing and pretended flight: Who (all inrag'd) will baniſh Valentine: For Thurio he intends ſhall wed his daughter, But Valentine being gon, Ile quickely croſſe By ſome ſlie tricke, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Loue lend me wings, to make my purpoſe ſwift As thou haſt lent me wit, to plot this drift. Exit.
Scoena ſeptima. Enter Iulia and Lucetta. Iul. Counſaile, Lucetta, gentle girle aſſiſt me, And eu'n in kinde loue, I doe coniure thee, Who art the Table wherein all my thoughts Are viſibly Character'd, and engrau'd, To leſſon me, and tell me ſome good meane How with my honour I may vndertake A iourney to my louing Protheus. Luc.

Alas, the way is weariſome and long.

 Iul. A true-deuoted Pilgrime is not weary To meaſure Kingdomes with his feeble ſteps, Much leſſe ſhall ſhe that hath Loues wings to flie, And when the flight is made to one ſo deere, Of ſuch diuine perfection as Sir Protheus. Luc.

Better forbeare, till Protheus make returne.

 Iul. Oh, know'ſt yu not, his looks are my ſoules food? Pitty the dearth that I haue pined in, By longing for that food ſo long a time. Didſt thou but know the inly touch of Loue, Thou wouldſt as ſoone goe kindle fire with ſnow As ſeeke to quench the fire of Loue with words. Luc. I doe not ſeeke to quench your Loues hot fire, But qualifie the fires extreame rage, Leſt it ſhould burne aboue the bounds of reaſon. Iul. The more thou dam'ſt it vp, the more it burnes: The Current that with gentle murmure glides (Thou know'ſt) being ſtop'd, impatiently doth rage: But when his faire courſe is not hindered, He makes ſweet muſicke with th' enameld ſtones, Giuing a gentle kiſſe to euery ſedge He ouer-taketh in his pilgrimage. And ſo by many winding nookes he ſtraies With willing ſport to the wilde Ocean. Then let me goe, and hinder not my courſe: Ile be as patient as a gentle ſtreame, And make a paſtime of each weary ſtep, Till the laſt ſtep haue brought me to my Loue, And there Ile reſt, as after much turmoile A bleſſed ſoule doth in Elizium. Luc.

But in what habit will you goe along?

 Iul. Not like a woman, for I would preuent The looſe encounters of laſciuious men: Gentle Lucetta, fit me with ſuch weedes As may beſeeme ſome well reputed Page. Luc.

Why then your Ladiſhip muſt cut your haire.

 Iul. No girle, Ile knit it vp in ſilken ſtrings, With twentie od-conceited true-loue knots: To be fantaſtique, may become a youth Of greater time then I ſhall ſhew to be. Luc.

What faſhion (Madam) ſhall I make your breeches?

 Iul. That fits as well, as tell me (good my Lord) What compaſſe will you weare your Farthingale? Why eu'n what faſhion thou beſt likes (Lucetta.) Luc.

You muſt needs haue thē with a cod-peece (Madam)

 Iul.

Out, out, (Lucetta) that wilbe illfauourd.

 Luc. A round hoſe (Madam) now's not worth a pin Vnleſſe you haue a cod-peece to ſtick pins on. Iul. Lucetta, as thou lou'ſt me let me haue What thou think'ſt meet, and is moſt mannerly. But tell me (wench) how will the world repute me For vndertaking ſo vnſtaid a iourney? I feare me it will make me ſcandaliz'd. Luc.

If you thinke ſo, then ſtay at home, and go not.

 Iul.

Nay, that I will not.

 Luc. Then neuer dreame on Infamy, but go: If Protheus like your iourney, when you come, No matter who's diſpleas'd, when you are gone: I feare me he will ſcarce be pleas'd with all. Iul. That is the leaſt (Lucetta) of my feare: A thouſand oathes, an Ocean of his teares, And inſtances of infinite of Loue, Warrant me welcome to my Protheus. Luc.

All theſe are ſeruants to deceitfull men.

 Iul. Baſe men, that vſe them to ſo baſe effect; But truer ſtarres did gouerne Protheus birth, His words are bonds, his oathes are oracles, His loue ſincere, his thoughts immaculate, His teares, pure meſſengers, ſent from his heart, His heart, as far from fraud, as heauen from earth. Luc.

Pray heau'n he proue ſo when you come to him.

 Iul. Now, as thou lou'ſt me, do him not that wrong, To beare a hard opinion of his truth: Onely deſerue my loue, by louing him, And preſently goe with me to my chamber To take a note of what I ſtand in need of, To furniſh me vpon my longing iourney: All that is mine I leaue at thy diſpoſe, My goods, my Lands, my reputation, Onely, in lieu thereof, diſpatch me hence: Come; anſwere not: but to it preſently, I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius,
Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Thurio, Protheus, Valentine, Launce, Speed. Duke. Sir Thurio, giue vs leaue (I pray) a while, We haue ſome ſecrets to confer about. Now tell me Protheus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious Lord, that which I wold diſcouer, The Law of friendſhip bids me to conceale, But when I call to minde your gracious fauours Done to me (vndeſeruing as I am) My dutie pricks me on to vtter that Which elſe, no worldly good ſhould draw from me: Know (worthy Prince) Sir Valentine my friend This night intends to ſteale away your daughter: My ſelfe am one made priuy to the plot. I know you haue determin'd to beſtow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates, And ſhould ſhe thus be ſtolne away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus (for my duties ſake) I rather choſe To croſſe my friend in his intended drift, Then (by concealing it) heap on your head A pack of ſorrowes, which would preſſe you downe (Being vnpreuented) to your timeleſſe graue. Duke. Protheus, I thank thee for thine honeſt care, Which to requite, command me while I liue. This loue of theirs, my ſelfe haue often ſeene, Haply when they haue iudg'd me faſt aſleepe, And oftentimes haue purpos'd to forbid Sir Ʋalentine her companie, and my Court. But fearing leſt my iealous ayme might erre, And ſo (vnworthily) diſgrace the man (A raſhneſſe that I euer yet haue ſhun'd) I gaue him gentle lookes, thereby to finde That which thy ſelfe haſt now diſclos'd to me. And that thou maiſt perceiue my feare of this, Knowing that tender youth is ſoone ſuggeſted, I nightly lodge her in an vpper Towre, The key whereof, my ſelfe haue euer kept: And thence ſhe cannot be conuay'd away. Pro. Know (noble Lord) they haue deuis'd a meane How he her chamber-window will aſcend, And with a Corded-ladder fetch her downe: For which, the youthfull Louer now is gone, And this way comes he with it preſently. Where (if it pleaſe you) you may intercept him. But (good my Lord) doe it ſo cunningly That my diſcouery be not aimed at: For, loue of you, not hate vnto my friend, Hath made me publiſher of this pretence. Duke. Vpon mine Honor, he ſhall neuer know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro.

Adiew, my Lord, Sir Valentine is comming.

 Duk.

Sir Valentine, whether away ſo faſt?

 Val. Pleaſe it your Grace, there is a Meſſenger That ſtayes to beare my Letters to my friends, And I am going to deliuer them. Duk.

Be they of much import?

 Val. The tenure of them doth but ſignifie My health, and happy being at your Court. Duk. Nay then no matter: ſtay with me a while, I am to breake with thee of ſome affaires That touch me neere: wherein thou muſt be ſecret. 'Tis not vnknown to thee, that I haue ſought To match my friend Sir Thurio, to my daughter. Val. I know it well (my Lord) and ſure the Match Were rich and honourable: beſides, the gentleman Is full of Vertue, Bounty, Worth, and Qualities Beſeeming ſuch a Wife, as your faire daughter: Cannot your Grace win her to fancie him? Duk. No, truſt me, She is peeuiſh, ſullen, froward, Prowd, diſobedient, ſtubborne, lacking duty, Neither regarding that ſhe is my childe, Nor fearing me, as if I were her father: And may I ſay to thee, this pride of hers (Vpon aduice) hath drawne my loue from her, And where I thought the remnant of mine age Should haue beene cheriſh'd by her child-like dutie, I now am full reſolu'd to take a wife, And tur • her out, to who will take her in: Then let her beauty be her wedding dowre: For me, and my poſſeſſions ſhe eſteemes not. Val.

What would your Grace haue me to do in this?

 Duk. There is a Lady in Verona heere Whom I affect: but ſhe is nice, and coy, And naught eſteemes my aged eloquence. Now therefore would I haue thee to my Tutor (For long agone I haue forgot to court, Beſides the faſhion of the time is chang'd) How, and which way I may beſtow my ſelfe To be regarded in her ſun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if ſhe reſpect not words, Dumbe Iewels often in their ſilent kinde More then quicke words, doe moue a womans minde. Duk.

But ſhe did ſcorne a preſent that I ſent her,

 Val. A woman ſomtime ſcorns what beſt cōtents her. Send her another: neuer giue her ore, For ſcorne at firſt, makes after-loue the more. If ſhe doe frowne, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more loue in you. If ſhe doe chide, 'tis not to haue you gone, For why, the fooles are mad, if left alone. Take no repulſe, what euer ſhe doth ſay, For, get you gon, ſhe doth not meane away. Flatter, and praiſe, commend, extoll their graces: Though nere ſo blacke, ſay they haue Angells faces, That man that hath a tongue, I ſay is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Duk. But ſhe I meane, is promis'd by her friends Vnto a youthfull Gentleman of worth, And kept ſeuerely from reſort of men, That no man hath acceſſe by day to her. Val.

Why then I would reſort to her by night.

 Duk. I, but the doores be lockt, and keyes kept ſafe, That no man hath recourſe to her by night. Ʋal.

What letts but one may enter at her window?

 Duk. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built ſo ſheluing, that one cannot climbe it Without apparant hazard of his life. Ʋal. Why then a Ladder quaintly made of Cords To caſt vp, with a paire of anchoring hookes, Would ſerue to ſcale another Hero's towre, So bold Leander would aduenture it. Duk. Now as thou art a Gentleman of blood Aduiſe me, where I may haue ſuch a Ladder. Val.

When would you vſe it? pray ſir, tell me that.

 Duk. This very night; for Loue is like a childe That longs for euery thing that he can come by. Val.

By ſeauen a clock, ile get you ſuch a Ladder.

 Duk But harke thee: I will goe to her alone, How ſhall I beſt conuey the Ladder thither? Val. It will be light (my Lord) that you may beare it Vnder a cloake, that is of any length. Duk.

A cloake as long as thine will ſerue the turne?

 Ʋal.

I my good Lord.

 Duk. Then let me ſee thy cloake, Ile get me one of ſuch another length. Val.

Why any cloake will ſerue the turn (my Lord)

 Duk. How ſhall I faſhion me to weare a cloake? I pray thee let me feele thy cloake vpon me. What Letter is this ſame? what's here? to Siluia? And heere an Engine fit for my proceeding, Ile be ſo bold to breake the ſeale for once. My thoughts do harbour with my Siluia nightly, And ſlaues they are to me, that ſend them flying. Oh, could their Maſter come, and goe as lightly, Himſelfe would lodge where (ſenceles) they are lying. My Herald Thoughts, in thy pure boſome reſt-them, While I (their King) that thither them importune Doe curſe the grace, that with ſuch grace hath bleſt them, Becauſe my ſelfe doe want my ſeruants fortune. I curſe my ſelfe, for they are ſent by me, That they ſhould harbour where their Lord ſhould be. What's here? Siluia, this night I will enfranchiſe thee. 'Tis ſo: and heere's the Ladder for the purpoſe. Why Phaeton (for thou art Merops ſonne) Wilt thou aſpire to guide the heauenly Car? And with thy daring folly burne the world? Wilt thou reach ſtars, becauſe they ſhine on thee? Goe baſe Intruder, ouer-weening Slaue, Beſtow thy fawning ſmiles on equall mates, And thinke my patience, (more then thy deſert) Is priuiledge for thy departure hence. Thanke me for this, more then for all the fauors Which (all too much) I haue beſtowed on thee. But if thou linger in my Territories Longer then ſwifteſt expedition Will giue thee time to leaue our royall Court, By heauen, my wrath ſhall farre exceed the loue I euer bore my daughter, or thy ſelfe. Be gone, I will not heare thy vaine excuſe, But as thou lou'ſt thy life, make ſpeed from hence. Val. And why not death, rather then liuing torment? To die, is to be baniſht from my ſelfe, And Siluia is my ſelfe: baniſh'd from her Is ſelfe from ſelfe. A deadly baniſhment: What light, is light, if Siluia be not ſeene? What ioy is ioy, if Siluia be not by? Vnleſſe it be to thinke that ſhe is by And feed vpon the ſhadow of perfection. Except I be by Siluia in the night, There is no muſicke in the Nightingale. Vnleſſe I looke on Siluia in the day, There is no day for me to looke vpon. Shee is my eſſence, and I leaue to be; If I be not by her faire influence Foſter'd, illumin'd, cheriſh'd, kept aliue. I flie not death, to flie his deadly doome, Tarry I heere, I but attend on death, But flie I hence, I flie away from life. Pro.

Run (boy) run, run, and ſeeke him out.

 Lau.

So-hough, Soa hough —

 Pro.

What ſeeſt thou?

 Lau. Him we goe to finde, There's not a haire on's head, but t'is a Valentine. Pro.

Valentine?

 Val.

No.

 Pro.

Who then? his Spirit?

 Val.

Neither,

 Pro.

What then?

 Ʋal.

Nothing.

 Lau.

Can nothing ſpeake? Maſter, ſhall I ſtrike?

 Pro.

Who wouldſt thou ſtrike?

 Lau.

Nothing.

 Pro.

Villaine, forbeare.

 Lau.

Why Sir, Ile ſtrike nothing: I pray you.

 Pro.

Sirha, I ſay forbeare: friend Valentine, a word.

 Val. My eares are ſtopt, & cannot hear good newes, So much of bad already hath poſſeſt them. Pro. Then in dumbe ſilence will I bury mine, For they are harſh, vn-tuneable, and bad. Val.

Is Siluia dead?

 Pro.

No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine indeed, for ſacred Siluia, Hath ſhe forſworne me? Pro.

No, Ʋalentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Siluia haue forſworne me. What is your newes? Lau.

Sir, there is a proclamation, yt you are vaniſhed.

 Pro. That thou art baniſh'd: oh that's the newes, From hence, from Siluia, and from me thy friend. Val. Oh, I haue fed vpon this woe already, And now exceſſe of it will make me ſurfet. Doth Siluia know that I am baniſh'd? Pro. I, I: and ſhe hath offered to the doome (Which vn-reuerſt ſtands in effectuall force) A Sea of melting pearle, which ſome call teares; Thoſe at her fathers churliſh feete ſhe tenderd, With them vpon her knees, her humble ſelfe, Wringing her hands, whoſe whitenes ſo became them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe: But neither bended knees, pure hands held vp, Sad ſighes, deepe grones, nor ſiluer-ſhedding teares Could penetrate her vncompaſſionate Sire; But Valentine, if he be tane, muſt die. Beſides, her interceſſion chaf'd him ſo, When ſhe for thy repeale was ſuppliant, That to cloſe priſon he commanded her, With many bitter threats of biding there. Val. No more: vnles the next word that thou ſpeak'ſt Haue ſome malignant power vpon my life: If ſo: I pray thee breath it in mine eare, As ending Antheme of my endleſſe dolor. Pro. Ceaſe to lament for that thou canſt not helpe, And ſtudy helpe for that which thou lament'ſt, Time is the Nurſe, and breeder of all good; Here, if thou ſtay, thou canſt not ſee thy loue: Beſides, thy ſtaying will abridge thy life: Hope is a louers ſtaffe, walke 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 deliuer'd Euen in the milke-white boſome of thy Loue. The time now ſerues not to expoſtulate, Come, Ile conuey thee through the City-gate. And ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concerne thy Loue-affaires: As thou lou'ſt Siluia (though not for thy ſelfe) Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee Launce, and if thou ſeeſt my Boy Bid him make haſte, and meet me at the North-gate. Pro.

Goe ſirha, finde him out: Come Ʋalentine.

Val

Oh my deere Siluia; hapleſſe Valentine.

Launce.

I am but a foole, looke you, and yet I haue the wit to thinke my Maſter is a kinde of a knaue: but that's all one, if he be but one knaue: He liues not now that knowes me to be in loue, yet I am in loue, but a Teeme of horſe ſhall not plucke that from me: nor who 'tis I loue: and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman, I will not tell my ſelfe: and yet 'tis a Milke-maid: yet 'tis not a maid: for ſhee hath had Goſſips: yet 'tis a maid, for ſhe is her Maſters maid, and ſerues for wages. Shee hath more qualities then a Water-Spaniell, which is much in a bare Chriſtian: Heere is the Cate-log of her Condition. Inprimis. Shee can fetch and carry: why a horſe can doe no more; nay, a horſe cannot fetch, but onely carry, therefore is ſhee better then a Iade. Item. She can milke, looke you, a ſweet vertue in a maid with cleane hands.

 Speed.

How now Signior Launce? what newes with your Maſterſhip?

 La.

With my Maſterſhip? why, it is at Sea:

 Sp.

Well, your old vice ſtill: miſtake the word: what newes then in your paper?

 La.

The black'ſt newes that euer thou heard'ſt.

 Sp.

Why man? how blacke?

 La.

Why, as blacke as Inke.

 Sp.

Let me read them?

 La.

Fie on thee Iolt-head, thou canſt not read.

 Sp.

Thou lyeſt: I can.

 La.

I will try thee: tell me this: who begot thee?

 Sp.

Marry, the ſon of my Grand-father.

 La.

Oh illiterate loyterer▪ it was the ſonne of thy Grand-mother: this proues that thou canſt not read.

 Sp.

Come foole, come: try me in thy paper.

 La.

There: and S. Nicholas be thy ſpeed.

 Sp.

Inprimis ſhe can milke.

 La.

I that ſhe can.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe brewes good Ale.

 La.

And thereof comes the prouerbe: (Bleſſing of your heart, you brew good Ale.)

Sp.

Item, ſhe can ſowe.

 La.

That's as much as to ſay (Can ſhe ſo?)

 Sp.

Item ſhe can knit.

 La. What neede a man care for a ſtock with a wench, When ſhe can knit him a ſtocke? Sp.

Item, ſhe can waſh and ſcoure.

 La.

A ſpeciall vertue: for then ſhee neede not be waſh'd, and ſcowr'd.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe can ſpin.

 La.

Then may I ſet the world on wheeles, when ſhe can ſpin for her liuing.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe hath many nameleſſe vertues.

 La.

That's as much as to ſay Baſtard-vertues: that indeede know not their fathers; and therefore haue no names.

 Sp.

Here follow her vices.

 La.

Cloſe at the heeles of her vertues.

 Sp.

Item, ſhee is not to be faſting in reſpect of her breath.

 La.

Well: that fault may be mended with a breakfaſt: read on.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe hath a ſweet mouth.

 La.

That makes amends for her ſoure breath.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe doth talke in her ſleepe.

 La.

It's no matter for that; ſo ſhee ſleepe not in her talke.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe is ſlow in words.

 La. Oh villaine, that ſet this downe among her vices; To be ſlow in words, is a womans onely vertue: I pray thee out with't, and place it for her chiefe vertue. Sp.

Item, ſhe is proud.

 La. Out with that too: It was Eues legacie, and cannot be t'ane from her. Sp.

Item, ſhe hath no teeth.

 La.

I care not for that neither: becauſe I loue cruſts.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe is curſt.

 La.

Well: the beſt is, ſhe hath no teeth to bite.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe will often praiſe her liquor.

 La. If her liquor be good, ſhe ſhall: if ſhe will not, I will; for good things ſhould be praiſed. Sp.

Item, ſhe is too liberall.

 La.

Of her tongue ſhe cannot; for that's writ downe ſhe is ſlow of: of her purſe, ſhee ſhall not, for that ile keepe ſhut: Now, of another thing ſhee may, and that cannot I helpe. Well, proceede.

 Sp.

Item, ſhee hath more haire then wit, and more faults then haires, and more wealth then faults.

 La.

Stop there: Ile haue her: ſhe was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that laſt Article: rehearſe that once more.

 Sp.

Item, ſhe hath more haire then wit.

 La.

More haire then wit: it may be ile proue it: The couer of the ſalt, hides the ſalt, and therefore it is more then the ſalt; the haire that couers the wit, is more then the wit; for the greater hides the leſſe: What's next?

 Sp.

And more faults then haires.

 La.

That's monſtrous: oh that that were out.

 Sp.

And more wealth then faults.

 La. Why that word makes the faults gracious: Well, ile haue her: and if it be a match, as nothing is impoſſible. Sp.

What then?

 La.

Why then, will I tell thee, that thy Maſter ſtaies for thee at the North gate.

Sp.

For me?

 La.

For thee? I, who art thou? he hath ſtaid for a better man then thee.

 Sp.

And muſt I goe to him?

 La.

Thou muſt run to him; for thou haſt ſtaid ſo long, that going will ſcarce ſerue the turne.

 Sp.

Why didſt not tell me ſooner? 'pox of your loue Letters.

 La.

Now will he be ſwing'd for reading my Letter; An vnmannerly ſlaue, that will thruſt himſelfe into ſecrets: Ile after, to reioyce in the boyes correctiō.

Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Duke, Thurio, Protheus. Du. Sir Thurio, feare not, but that ſhe will loue you Now Valentine is baniſh'd from her ſight. Th. Since his exile ſhe hath deſpis'd me moſt, Forſworne my company, and rail'd at me, That I am deſperate of obtaining her. Du. This weake impreſſe of Loue, is as a figure Trenched in ice, which with an houres heare Diſſolues to water, and doth looſe his forme. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthleſſe Valentine ſhall be forgot. How now ſir Protheus, is your countriman (According to our Proclamation) gon? Pro.

Gon, my good Lord.

 Du.

My daughter takes his going grieuouſly?

 Pro.

A little time (my Lord) will kill that griefe.

 Du. So I beleeue: but Thurio thinkes not ſo: Protheus, the good conceit I hold of thee, (For thou haſt ſhowne ſome ſigne of good deſert) Makes me the better to confer with thee. Pro. Longer then I proue loyall to your Grace, Let me not liue, to looke vpon your Grace. Du. Thou know'ſt how willingly, I would effect The match betweene ſir Thurio, and my daughter? Pro.

I doe my Lord.

 Du. And alſo, I thinke, thou art not ignorant How ſhe oppoſes her againſt my will? Pro.

She did my Lord, when Ʋalentine was here.

 Du. I, and peruerſly, ſhe perſeuers ſo: What might we doe to make the girle forget The loue of Valentine, and loue ſir Thurio? Pro. The beſt way is, to ſlander Ʋalentine, With falſehood, cowardize, and poore diſcent: Three things, that women highly hold in hate. Du.

I, but ſhe'll thinke, that it is ſpoke in hate.

 Pro. I, if his enemy deliuer it. Therefore it muſt with circumſtance be ſpoken By one, whom ſhe eſteemeth as his friend. Du.

Then you muſt vndertake to ſlander him.

 Pro. And that (my Lord) I ſhall be loath to doe: 'Tis an ill office for a Gentleman, Eſpecially againſt his very friend. Du. Where your good word cannot aduantage him, Your ſlander neuer can endamage him; Therefore the office is indifferent, Being intreated to it by your friend. Pro. You haue preuail'd (my Lord) if I can doe it By ought that I can ſpeake in his diſpraiſe, She ſhall not long continue loue to him: But ſay this weede her loue from Valentine, It followes not that ſhe will loue ſir Thurio. Th. Therefore, as you vnwinde her loue from him; Leaſt it ſhould rauell, and be good to none, You muſt prouide to bottome it on me: Which muſt be done, by praiſing me as much As you, in worth diſpraiſe, ſir Ʋalentine. Du. And Protheus, we dare truſt you in this kinde, Becauſe we know (on Valentines report) You are already loues firme votary, And cannot ſoone reuolt, and change your minde. Vpon this warrant, ſhall you haue acceſſe, Where you, with Siluia, may conferre at large. For ſhe is lumpiſh, heauy, mellancholly, And (for your friends ſake) will be glad of you; Where you may temper her, by your perſwaſion, To hate yong Ʋalentine, and loue my friend. Pro. As much as I can doe, I will effect: But you ſir Thurio, are not ſharpe enough: You muſt lay Lime, to tangle her deſires By walefull Sonnets, whoſe compoſed Rimes Should be full fraught with ſeruiceable vowes. Du.

I, much is the force of heauen-bred Poeſie.

 Pro. Say that vpon the altar of her beauty You ſacrifice your teares, your ſighes, your heart: Write till your inke be dry▪ and with your teares Moiſt it againe: and frame ſome feeling line, That may diſcouer ſuch integrity: For Orpheus Lute, was ſtrung with Poets ſinewes, Whoſe golden touch could ſoften ſteele and ſtones; Make Tygers tame, and huge Leuiathans Forſake vnſounded deepes, to dance on Sands. After your dire-lamenting Elegies, Viſit by night your Ladies chamber-window With ſome ſweet Conſort; To their Inſtruments Tune a deploring dumpe: the nights dead ſilence Will well become ſuch ſweet complaining grieuance: This, or elſe nothing, will inherit her. Du.

This diſcipline, ſhowes thou haſt bin in loue.

 Th. And thy aduice, this night, ile put in practiſe: Therefore, ſweet Protheus, my direction-giuer, Let vs into the City preſently To ſort ſome Gentlemen, well skil'd in Muſicke. I haue a Sonnet, that will ſerue the turne To giue the on-ſet to thy good aduiſe. Du.

About it Gentlemen.

 Pro. We'll wait vpon your Grace, till after Supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. Du.

Euen now about it, I will pardon you.

Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Valentine, Speed, and certaine Out-lawes. 1. Out-l.

Fellowes, ſtand faſt: I ſee a paſſenger.

 2. Out.

If there be ten, ſhrinke not, but down with 'em.

 3. Out. Stand ſir, and throw vs that you haue about 'ye. If not: we'll make you ſit, and rifle you. Sp. Sir we are vndone; theſe are the Villaines That all the Trauailers doe feare ſo much. Ʋal.

My friends.

 1. Out.

That's not ſo, ſir: we are your enemies.

 2. Out.

Peace: we'll heare him.

 3. Out.

I by my beard will we: for he is a proper man.

 Val. Then know that I haue little wealth to looſe; A man I am, croſs'd with aduerſitie: My riches, are theſe poore habiliments, Of which, if you ſhould here disfurniſh me, You take the ſum and ſubſtance that I haue. 2. Out.

Whether trauell you?

 Val.

To Verona.

1. Out.

Whence came you?

 Ʋal.

From Millaine.

3. Out.

Haue you long ſoiourn'd there?

 Val. Some ſixteene moneths, and longer might haue ſtaid, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 1. Out.

What, were you baniſh'd thence?

 Val.

I was.

 2. Out.

For what offence?

 Val. For that which now torments me to rehearſe; I kil'd a man, whoſe death I much repent, But yet I ſlew him manfully, in fight, Without falſe vantage, or baſe treachery. 1. Out. Why nere repent it, if it were done ſo; But were you baniſht for ſo ſmall a fault? Val.

I was, and held me glad of ſuch a doome.

 2. Out.

Haue you the Tongues?

 Val. My youthfull trauaile, therein made me happy, Or elſe I often had beene often miſerable. 3. Out. By the bare ſcalpe of Robin Hoods fat Fryer, This fellow were a King, for our wilde faction. 1. Out.

We'll haue him: Sirs, a word.

 Sp. Maſter, be one of them: It's an honourable kinde of theeuery. Val.

Peace villaine.

 2. Out.

Tell vs this: haue you any thing to take to?

 Val.

Nothing but my fortune.

 3. Out. Know then, that ſome of vs are Gentlemen, Such as the fury of vngouern'd youth Thruſt from the company of awfull men. My ſelfe was from Verona baniſhed, For practiſing to ſteale away a Lady, And heire and Neece, alide vnto the Duke. 2. Out. And I from Mantua, for a Gentleman, Who, in my moode, I ſtab'd vnto the heart. 1. Out. 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 lawleſſe liues; And partly ſeeing you are beautifide With goodly ſhape; and by your owne report, A Linguiſt, and a man of ſuch perfection, As we doe in our quality much want. 2. Out. Indeede becauſe you are a baniſh'd man, Therefore, aboue the reſt, we parley to you: Are you content to be our Generall? To make a vertue of neceſſity, And liue as we doe in this wilderneſſe? 3. Out. What ſaiſt thou? wilt thou be of our conſort? Say I, and be the captaine of vs all: We'll doe thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, Loue thee, as our Commander, and our King. 1. Out.

But if thou ſcorne our curteſie, thou dyeſt.

 2. Out.

Thou ſhalt not liue, to brag what we haue offer'd.

 Val. I take your offer, and will liue with you, Prouided that you do no outrages On ſilly women, or poore paſſengers. 3. Out. No, we deteſt ſuch vile baſe practiſes. Come, goe with vs, we'll bring thee to our Crewes, And ſhow thee all the Treaſure we haue got; Which, with our ſelues, all reſt at thy diſpoſe. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Protheus, Thurio, Iulia, Hoſt, Muſitian, Siluia. Pro. Already haue I bin falſe to Valentine, And now I muſt be as vniuſt to Thurio, Vnder the colour of commending him, I haue acceſſe my owne loue to prefer. But Siluia is too faire, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthleſſe guifts; When I proteſt true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falſehood to my friend; When to her beauty I commend my vowes, She bids me thinke how I haue bin forſworne In breaking faith with Iulia, whom I lou'd; And notwithſtanding all her ſodaine quips, The leaſt whereof would quell a louers hope: Yet (Spaniel-like) the more ſhe ſpurnes my loue, The more it growes, and fawneth on her ſtill; But here comes Thurio; now muſt we to her window, And giue ſome euening Muſique to her eare. Th.

How now, ſir Protheus, are you crept before vs?

 Pro. I gentle Thurio, for you know that loue Will creepe in ſeruice, where it cannot goe. Th.

I, but I hope, Sir, that you loue not here.

 Pro.

Sir, but I doe: or elſe I would be hence.

 Th.

Who, Siluia?

 Pro.

I, Siluia, for your ſake.

 Th. I thanke you for your owne: Now Gentlemen Let's tune: and too it luſtily a while. Ho. Now, my yong gueſt; me thinks your' allyeholly; I pray you why is it? Iu.

Marry (mine Hoſt) becauſe I cannot be merry.

 Ho.

Come, we'll haue you merry: ile bring you where you ſhall heare Muſique, and ſee the Gentleman that you ask'd for.

 Iu.

But ſhall I heare him ſpeake.

 Ho.

I that you ſhall.

 Iu.

That will be Muſique.

 Ho.

Harke, harke.

 Iu.

Is he among theſe?

 Ho.

I: but peace, let's heare'm.

 Song. Who is Siluia? what is ſhe? That all our Swaines commend her? Holy, faire, and wiſe is ſhe, The heauen ſuch grace did lend her, that ſhe might admired be. Is ſhe kinde as ſhe is faire? For beauty liues with kindneſſe: Loue doth to her eyes repaire, To helpe him of his blindneſſe: And being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Siluia, let vs ſing, That Siluia is excelling; She excels each mortall thing Vpon the dull earth dwelling. To her let vs Garlands bring. Ho. How now? are you ſadder then you were before; How doe you, man? the Muſicke likes you not. Iu.

You miſtake: the Muſitian likes me not.

 Ho.

Why, my pretty youth?

 Iu.

He plaies falſe (father.)

 Ho.

How, out of tune on the ſtrings.

 Iu. Not ſo: but yet So falſe that he grieues my very heart-ſtrings. Ho.

You haue a quicke eare.

 Iu.

I, I would I were deafe: it makes me haue a ſlow heart.

 Ho.

I perceiue you delight not in Muſique.

 Iu.

Not a whit, when it iars ſo.

 Ho.

Harke, what fine change is in the Muſique.

 Iu.

I: that change is the ſpight.

 Ho.

You would haue them alwaies play but one thing.

 Iu. I would alwaies haue one play but one thing. But Hoſt, doth this Sir Protheus, that we talke on, Often reſort vnto this Gentlewoman? Ho. I tell you what Launce his man told me, He lou'd her out of all nicke. Iu.

Where is Launce?

 Ho.

Gone to ſeeke his dog, which to morrow, by his Maſters command, hee muſt carry for a preſent to his Lady.

 Iu.

Peace, ſtand aſide, the company parts.

 Pro. Sir Thurio, feare not you, I will ſo pleade, That you ſhall ſay, my cunning drift excels. Th.

Where meete we?

 Pro.

At Saint Gregories well.

 Th.

Farewell.

 Pro.

Madam: good eu'n to your Ladiſhip.

 Sil. I thanke you for your Muſique (Gentlemen) Who is that that ſpake? Pro. One (Lady) if you knew his pure hearts truth, You would quickly learne to know him by his voice. Sil.

Sir Protheus, as I take it.

 Pro.

Sir Protheus (gentle Lady) and your Seruant.

 Sil.

What's your will?

 Pro.

That I may compaſſe yours.

 Sil. You haue your wiſh: my will is euen this, That preſently you hie you home to bed: Thou ſubtile, periur'd, falſe, diſloyall man: Think'ſt thou I am ſo ſhallow, ſo conceitleſſe, To be ſeduced by thy flattery, That has't deceiu'd ſo many with thy vowes▪ Returne, returne and make thy loue amends: For me (by this pale queene of night I ſweare) I am ſo farre from granting thy requeſt, That I deſpiſe thee, for thy wrongfull ſuite; And by and by intend to chide my ſelfe, Euen for this time I ſpend in talking to thee. Pro. I grant (ſweet loue) that I did loue a Lady, But ſhe is dead. Iu. 'Twere falſe, if I ſhould ſpeake it; For I am ſure ſhe is not buried. Sil. Say that ſhe be: yet Valentine thy friend Suruiues; to whom (thy ſelfe art witneſſe) I am betroth'd; and art thou not aſham'd To wrong him, with thy importunacy? Pro.

I likewiſe heare that Valentine is dead.

 Sil. And ſo ſuppoſe am I; for in her graue Aſſure thy ſelfe, my loue is buried. Pro.

Sweet Lady, let me take it from the earth.

 Sil. Goe to thy Ladies graue and call hers thence, Or at the leaſt, in hers, ſepulcher thine. Iul.

He heard not that.

 Pro. Madam: if your heart be ſo obdurate: Vouchſafe me yet your Picture for my loue, The Picture that is hanging in your chamber: To that ile ſpeake, to that ile ſigh and weepe: For ſince the ſubſtance of your perfect ſelfe Is elſe deuoted, I am but a ſhadow; And to your ſhadow, will I make true loue. Iul. If 'twere a ſubſtance you would ſure deceiue it, And make it but a ſhadow, as I am. Sil. I am very loath to be your Idoll Sir; But, ſince your falſehood ſhall become you well To worſhip ſhadowes, and adore falſe ſhapes, Send to me in the morning, and ile ſend it: And ſo, good reſt. Pro. As wretches haue ore-night That wait for execution in the morne. Iul.

Hoſt, will you goe?

 Ho.

By my hallidome, I was faſt aſleepe.

 Iul.

Pray you, where lies Sir Protheus?

Ho. Marry, at my houſe: Truſt me, I thinke 'tis almoſt day. Iul. Not ſo: but it hath bin the longeſt night That ere I watch'd, and the moſt heauieſt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Eglamore, Siluia. Eg. This is the houre that Madam Siluia Entreated me to call, and know her minde: Ther's ſome great matter ſhe'ld employ me in. Madam, Madam. Sil.

Who cals?

 Eg. Your ſeruant, and your friend; One that attends your Ladiſhips command. Sil.

Sir Eglamore, a thouſand times good morrow.

 Eg. As many (worthy Lady) to your ſelfe: According to your Ladiſhips impoſe, I am thus early come, to know what ſeruice It is your pleaſure to command me in. Sil. Oh Eglamoure, thou art a Gentleman: Thinke not I flatter (for I ſweare I doe not) Valiant, wiſe, remorſe-full, well accompliſh'd. Thou art not ignorant what deere good will I beare vnto the baniſh'd Ʋalentine: Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vaine Thurio (whom my very ſoule abhor'd.) Thy ſelfe haſt lou'd, and I haue heard thee ſay No griefe did euer come ſo neere thy heart, As when thy Lady, and thy true-loue dide, Vpon whoſe Graue thou vow'dſt pure chaſtitie: Sir Eglamoure: I would to Valentine To Mantua, where I heare, he makes aboad; And for the waies are dangerous to paſſe, I doe deſire thy worthy company, Vpon whoſe faith and honor, I repoſe. Vrge not my fathers anger (Eglamoure) But thinke vpon my griefe (a Ladies griefe) And on the iuſtice of my flying hence, To keepe me from a moſt vnholy match, Which heauen and fortune ſtill rewards with plagues. I doe deſire thee, euen from a heart As full of ſorrowes, as the Sea of ſands, To beare me company, and goe with me: If not, to hide what I haue ſaid to thee, That I may venture to depart alone. Egl. Madam, I pitty much your grieuances, Which, ſince I know they vertuouſly are plac'd, I giue conſent to goe along with you, Wreaking as little what betideth me, As much, I wiſh all good befortune you. When will you goe? Sil.

This euening comming.

 Eg.

Where ſhall I meete you?

 Sil. At Frier Patrickes Cell, Where I intend holy Confeſſion. Eg. I will not faile your Ladiſhip: Good morrow (gentle Lady.) Sil.

Good morrow, kinde Sir Eglamoure.

Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Launce, Protheus, Iulia, Siluia. Lau.

When a mans ſeruant ſhall play the Curre with him (looke you) it goes hard: one that I brought vp of a puppy: one that I ſau'd from drowning, when three or foure of his blinde brothers and ſiſters went to it: I haue taught him (euen as one would ſay preciſely, thus I would teach a dog) I was ſent to deliuer him, as a preſent to Miſtris Siluia, from my Maſter; and I came no ſooner into the dyning-chamber, but he ſteps me to her Trencher, and ſteales her Capons-leg: O, 'tis a foule thing, when a Cur cannot keepe himſelfe in all companies: I would haue (as one ſhould ſay) one that takes vpon him to be a dog indeede, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit then he, to take a fault vpon me that he did, I thinke verily hee had bin hang'd for't: ſure as I liue he had ſuffer'd for't: you ſhall iudge: Hee thruſts me himſelfe into the company of three or foure gentleman-like-dogs, vnder the Dukes table: hee had not bin there (bleſſe the marke) a piſſing while, but all the chamber ſmelt him: out with the dog (ſaies one) what cur is that (ſaies another) whip him out (ſaies the third) hang him vp (ſaies the Duke.) I hauing bin acquainted with the ſmell before, knew it was Crab; and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogges: friend (quoth I) you meane to whip the dog: I marry doe I (quoth he) you doe him the more wrong (quoth I) 'twas I did the thing you wot of: he makes me no more adoe, but whips me out of the chamber: how many Maſters would doe this for his Seruant? nay, ile be ſworne I haue ſat in the ſtockes, for puddings he hath ſtolne, otherwiſe he had bin executed: I haue ſtood on the Pillorie for Geeſe he hath kil'd, otherwiſe he had ſufferd for't: thou think'ſt not of this now: nay, I remember the tricke you ſeru'd me, when I tooke my leaue of Madam Siluia: did not I bid thee ſtill marke me, and doe as I doe, when did'ſt thou ſee me heaue vp my leg, and make water againſt a Gentlewomans farthingale? did'ſt thou euer ſee me doe ſuch a tricke?

 Pro. Sebaſtian is thy name: I like thee well, And will imploy thee in ſome ſeruice preſently. Iu.

In what you pleaſe, ile doe what I can.

 Pro. I hope thou wilt. How now you whor-ſon pezant, Where haue you bin theſe two dayes loytering? La.

Marry Sir, I carried Miſtris Siluia the dogge you bad me.

 Pro.

And what ſaies ſhe to my little Iewell?

 La.

Marry ſhe ſaies your dog was a cur, and tels you curriſh thanks is good enough for ſuch a preſent.

 Pro.

But ſhe receiu'd my dog?

 La. No indeede did ſhe not: Here haue I brought him backe againe. Pro.

What, didſt thou offer her this from me?

 La. I Sir, the other Squirrill was ſtolne from me By the Hangmans boyes in the market place, And then I offer'd her mine owne, who is a dog As big as ten of yours, & therefore the guift the greater. Pro. Goe, get thee hence, and finde my dog againe, Or nere returne againe into my ſight. Away, I ſay: ſtayeſt thou to vexe me here; A Slaue, that ſtill an end, turnes me to ſhame: Sebaſtian, I haue entertained thee, Partly that I haue neede of ſuch a youth, That can with ſome diſcretion doe my buſineſſe: For 'tis no truſting to yond fooliſh Lowt; But chiefely, for thy face, and thy behauiour, Which (if my Augury deceiue me not) Witneſſe good bringing vp, fortune, and truth: Therefore know thee, for this I entertaine thee. Go preſently, and take this Ring with thee, Deliuer it to Madam Siluia; She lou'd me well, deliuer'd it to me. Iul. It ſeemes you lou'd not her, not leaue her token: She is dead belike? Pro.

Not ſo: I thinke ſhe liues.

 Iul.

Alas.

 Pro.

Why do'ſt thou cry alas?

 Iul.

I cannot chooſe but pitty her.

 Pro.

Wherefore ſhould'ſt thou pitty her?

 Iul. Becauſe, me thinkes that ſhe lou'd you as well As you doe loue your Lady Siluia: She dreames on him, that has forgot her loue, You doate on her, that cares not for your loue. 'Tis pitty Loue, ſhould be ſo contrary: And thinking on it, makes me cry alas. Pro. Well: giue her that Ring, and therewithall This Letter: that's her chamber: Tell my Lady, I claime the promiſe for her heauenly Picture: Your meſſage done, hye home vnto my chamber, Where thou ſhalt finde me ſad, and ſolitarie. Iul. How many women would doe ſuch a meſſage? Alas poore Protheus, thou haſt entertain'd A Foxe, to be the Shepheard of thy Lambs; Alas, poore foole, why doe I pitty him That with his very heart deſpiſeth me? Becauſe he loues her, he deſpiſeth me, Becauſe I loue him, I muſt pitty him. This Ring I gaue him, when he parted from me, To binde him to remember my good will: And now am I (vnhappy Meſſenger) To plead for that, which I would not obtaine; To carry that, which I would haue refus'd; To praiſe his faith, which I would haue diſprais'd. I am my Maſters true confirmed Loue, But cannot be true ſeruant to my Maſter, Vnleſſe I proue falſe traitor to my ſelfe. Yet will I woe for him but yet ſo coldly, As (heauen it knowes) I would not haue him ſpeed. Gentlewoman, good day: I pray you be my meane To bring me where to ſpeake with Madam Siluia. Sil.

What would you with her, if that I be ſhe?

 Iul. If you be ſhe, I doe intreat your patience To heare me ſpeake the meſſage I am ſent on. Sil.

From whom?

 Iul.

From my Maſter, Sir Protheus, Madam.

 Sil.

Oh: he ſends you for a Picture?

 Iul.

I, Madam.

 Sil. Vrſula, bring my Picture there, Goe, giue your Maſter this: tell him from me, One Iulia, that his changing thoughts forget Would better fit his Chamber, then this Shadow. Iul. Madam, pleaſe you peruſe this Letter; Pardon me (Madam) I haue vnaduis'd Deliuer'd you a paper that I ſhould not; This is the Letter to your Ladiſhip. Sil.

I pray thee let me looke on that againe.

 Iul.

It may not be: good Madam pardon me.

 Sil. There, hold: I will not looke vpon your Maſters lines: I know they are ſtuft with proteſtations, And full of new-found oathes, which he will breake As eaſily as I doe teare his paper. Iul.

Madam, he ſends your Ladiſhip this Ring.

 Sil. The more ſhame for him, that he ſends it me; For I haue heard him ſay a thouſand times, His Iulia gaue it him, at his departure: Though his falſe finger haue prophan'd the Ring, Mine ſhall not doe his Iulia ſo much wrong. Iul.

She thankes you.

 Sil.

What ſai'ſt thou?

 Iul. I thanke you Madam, that you tender her: Poore Gentlewoman, my Maſter wrongs her much. Sil.

Do'ſt thou know her?

 Iul. Almoſt as well as I doe know my ſelfe. To thinke vpon her woes, I doe proteſt That I haue wept a hundred ſeuerall times. Sil.

Belike ſhe thinks that Protheus hath forſook her?

 Iul.

I thinke ſhe doth: and that's her cauſe of ſorrow▪

Sil.

Is ſhe not paſſing faire?

 Iul. She hath bin fairer (Madam) then ſhe is, When ſhe did thinke my Maſter lou'd her well; She, in my iudgement, was as faire as you. But ſince ſhe did neglect her looking-glaſſe, And threw her Sun-expelling Maſque away, The ayre hath ſtaru'd the roſes in her cheekes, And pinch'd the lilly-tincture of her face, That now ſhe is become as blacke as I. Sil.

How tall was ſhe?

 Iul. About my ſtature: for at Pentecoſt, When all our Pageants of delight were plaid, Our youth got me to play the womans part, And I was trim'd in Madam Iulius gowne, Which ſerued me as fit, by all mens iudgements, As if the garment had bin made for me: Therefore I know ſhe is about my height, And at that time I made her weepe a good. For I did play a lamentable part. (Madam) 'twas Ariadne, paſſioning For Theſus periury, and vniuſt flight; Which I ſo liuely acted with my teares: That my poore Miſtris moued therewithall, Wept bitterly: and would I might be dead, If I in thought felt not her very ſorrow. Sil. She is beholding to thee (gentle youth) Alas (poore Lady) deſolate, and left; I weepe my ſelfe to thinke vpon thy words: Here youth: there is my purſe; I giue thee this For thy ſweet Miſtris ſake, becauſe thou lou'ſt her. Farewell. Iul. And ſhe ſhall thanke you for't, if ere you know her. A vertuous gentlewoman, milde, and beautifull. I hope my Maſters ſuit will be but cold, Since ſhe reſpects my Miſtris loue ſo much. Alas, how loue can triſle with it ſelfe: Here is her Picture: let me ſee, I thinke If I had ſuch a Tyre, this face of mine Were full as louely, as is this of hers; And yet the Painter flatter'd her a little, Vnleſſe I flatter with my ſelfe too much. Her haire is Aburne, mine is perfect Yellow; If that be all the difference in his loue, Ile get me ſuch a coulour'd Perrywig: Her eyes are grey as glaſſe, and ſo are mine: I, but her fore-head's low, and mine's as high: What ſhould it be that he reſpects in her, But I can make reſpectiue in my ſelfe? If this fond Loue, were not a blinded god. Come ſhadow, come, and take this ſhadow vp, For 'tis thy riuall: O thou ſenceleſſe forme. Thou ſhalt be worſhip'd, kiſs'd, lou'd, and ador'd; And were there ſence in his Idolatry, My ſubſtance ſhould be ſtatue in thy ſtead. Ile vſe thee kindly, for thy Miſtris ſake That vs'd me ſo: or elſe by Ioue, I vow, I ſhould haue ſcratch'd out your vnſeeing eyes, To make my Maſter out of loue with thee. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Eglamoure, Siluia. Egl. The Sun begins to guild the weſterne skie, And now it is about the very houre That Siluia, at Fryer Patricks Cell ſhould meet me, She will not faile; for Louers breake not houres, Vnleſſe it be to come before their time, So much they ſpur their expedition. See where ſhe comes: Lady a happy euening. Sil. Amen, Amen: goe on (good Eglamoure) Out at the Poſterne by the Abbey wall; I feare I am attended by ſome Spies. Egl. Feare not: the Forreſt is not three leagues off, If we recouer that, we are ſure enough. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Thurio, Protheus, Iulia, Duke. Th.

Sir Protheus, what ſaies Siluia to my ſuit?

 Pro. Oh Sir, I finde her milder then ſhe was, And yet ſhe takes exceptions at your perſon. Thu.

What? that my leg is too long?

 Pro.

No, that it is too little.

 Thu.

Ile weare a Boote, to make it ſomewhat rounder.

 Pro.

But loue will not be ſpurd to what it loath • .

 Thu.

What ſaies ſhe to my face?

 Pro.

She ſaies it is a faire one.

 Thu.

Nay then the wanton lyes: my face is blacke.

 Pro. But Pearles are faire; and the old ſaying is, Blacke men are Pearles, in beauteous Ladies eyes. Thu. 'Tis true, ſuch Pearles as put out Ladies eyes, For I had rather winke, then looke on them. Thu.

How likes ſhe my diſcourſe?

 Pro.

Ill, when you talke of war.

 Thu.

But well, when I diſcourſe of loue and peace.

 Iul.

But better indeede, when you hold you peace.

 Thu.

What ſayes ſhe to my valour?

 Pro.

Oh Sir, ſhe makes no doubt of that.

 Iul.

She needes not, when ſhe knowes it cowardize.

 Thu.

What ſaies ſhe to my birth?

 Pro.

That you are well deriu'd.

 Iul.

True: from a Gentleman, to a foole.

 Thu.

Conſiders ſhe my Poſſeſſions?

 Pro.

Oh, I: and pitties them.

 Thu.

Wherefore?

 Iul.

That ſuch an Aſſe ſhould owe them.

 Pro.

That they are out by Leaſe.

 Iul.

Here comes the Duke.

 Du. How now ſir Protheus; how now Thurio? Which of you ſaw Eglamoure of late? Thu.

Not I.

 Pro.

Nor I.

 Du.

Saw you my daughter?

 Pro.

Neither.

 Du. Why then She's fled vnto that pezant, Valentine; And Eglamoure is in her Company: 'Tis true: for Frier Laurence met them both As he, in pennance wander'd through the Forreſt: Him he knew well: and gueſd that it was ſhe, But being mask'd, he was not ſure of it. Beſides ſhe did intend Confeſſion At Patricks Cell this euen, and there ſhe was not. Theſe likelihoods confirme her flight from hence; Therefore I pray you ſtand, not to diſcourſe, But mount you preſently, and meete with me Vpon the riſing of the Mountaine foote That leads toward Mantua, whether they are fled: Diſpatch (ſweet Gentlemen) and follow me. Thu. Why this it is, to be a peeuiſh Girle, That flies her fortune when it followes her: Ile after; more to be reueng'd on Eglamoure, Then for the loue of reck-leſſe Siluia. Pro. And I will follow, more for Siluas loue Then hate of Eglamoure that goes with her. Iul. And I will follow, more to croſſe that loue Then hate for Siluia, that is gone for loue. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Siluia, Out-lawes. 1. Out. Come, come be patient: We muſt bring you to our Captaine. Sil. A thouſand more miſchances then this one Haue learn'd me how to brooke this patiently. 2 Out.

Come, bring her away.

 1 Out.

Where is the Gentleman that was with her?

 3 Out. Being nimble footed, he hath out▪ run vs. But Moyſes and Valerius follow him: Goe thou with her to the Weſt end of the wood, There is our Captaine: Wee'll follow him that's fled, The Thicket is beſet, he cannot ſcape. 1 Out. Come, I muſt bring you to our Captains caue. Feare not: he beares an honourable minde, And will not vſe a woman lawleſly. Sil.

O Valentine: this I endure for thee.

 Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Valentine, Protheus, Siluia, Iulia, Duke, Thurio, Out-lawes. Val. How vſe doth breed a habit in a man? This ſhadowy deſart, vnfrequented woods I better brooke then flouriſhing peopled Townes: Here can I ſit alone, vn-ſeene of any, And to the Nightingales complaining Notes Tune my diſtreſtes, and record my woes. O thou that doſt inhabit in my breſt, Leaue not the Manſion ſo long Tenant-leſſe, Leſt growing ruinous, the building fall, And leaue no memory of what it was, Repaire me, with thy preſence, Siluia: Thou gentle Nimph, cheriſh thy for-lorne ſwaine. What hallowing, and what ſtir is this to day? Theſe are my mates, that make their wills their Law, Haue ſome vnhappy paſſenger in chace; They loue me well: yet I haue much to doe To keepe them from vnciuill outrages. Withdraw thee Valentine: who's this comes heere? Pro. Madam, this ſeruice I haue done for you (Though you reſpect not aught your ſeruant doth) To hazard life, and reskew you from him, That would haue forc'd your honour, and your loue, Vouchſafe me for my meed, but one faire looke: (A ſmaller boone then this I cannot beg, And leſſe then this, I am ſure you cannot giue.) Ʋal. How like a dreame is this? I ſee, and heare: Loue, lend me patience to forbeare a while. Sil.

O miſerable, vnhappy that I am.

 Pro. Vnhappy were you (Madam) ere I came: But by my comming, I haue made you happy. Sil.

By thy approach thou mak'ſt me moſt vnhappy.

 Iul.

And me, when he approcheth to your preſence

 Sil. Had I beene ceazed by a hungry Lion, I would haue beene a break-faſt to the Beaſt, Rather then haue falſe Protheus reskue me: Oh heauen be iudge how I loue Valentine, Whoſe life's as tender to me as my ſoule, And full as much (for more there cannot be) I doe deteſt falſe periur'd Protheus: Therefore be gone, ſollicit me no more. Pro. What dangerous action, ſtood it next to death Would I not vndergoe, for one calme looke: Oh 'tis the curſe in Loue, and ſtill approu'd When women cannot loue, where they're belou'd. Sil. When Protheus cannot loue, where he's belou'd: Read ouer Iulia's heart, (thy firſt beſt Loue) For whoſe deare ſake, thou didſt then rend thy faith Into a thouſand oathes; and all thoſe oathes, Deſcended into periury, to loue me, Thou haſt no faith left now, vnleſſe thou'dſt two, And that's farre worſe then none: better haue none Then plurall faith, which is too much by one: Thou Counterfeyt, to thy true friend. Pro. In Loue, Who reſpects friend? Sil.

All men but Protheus.

Pro. Nay, if the gentle ſpirit of mouing words Can no way change you to a milder forme; Ile wooe you like a Souldier, at armes end, And loue you 'gainſt the nature of Loue: force ye. Sil.

Oh heauen.

 Pro.

Ile force thee yeeld to my deſire.

 Val. Ruffian: let goe that rude vnciuill touch, Thou friend of an ill faſhion. Pro.

Ʋalentine.

Val. Thou cōmon friend, that's without faith or loue, For ſuch is a friend now: treacherous man, Thou haſt beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye Could haue perſwaded me: now I dare not ſay I haue one friend aliue; thou wouldſt diſproue me: Who ſhould be truſted, when ones right hand Is periured to the boſome? Protheus I am ſorry I muſt neuer truſt thee more, But count the world a ſtranger for thy ſake: The priuate wound is deepeſt: oh time, moſt accurſt: 'Mongſt all foes that a friend ſhould be the worſt? Pro. My ſhame and guilt confounds me: Forgiue me Valentine: if hearty ſorrow Be a ſufficient Ranſome for offence, I tender't heere: I doe as truely ſuffer, As ere I did commit. Val. Then I am paid: And once againe, I doe receiue thee honeſt; Who by Repentance is not ſatisfied, Is nor of heauen, nor earth; for theſe are pleas'd: By Penitence th' Eternalls wrath's appeas'd: And that my loue may appeare plaine and free, All that was mine, in Siluia, I giue thee. Iul.

Oh me vnhappy.

 Pro.

Looke to the Boy.

 Val. Why, Boy? Why wag: how now? what's the matter? look vp: ſpeak. Iul.

O good ſir, my maſter charg'd me to deliuer a ring to Madam Siluia: wc (out of my neglect) was neuer done.

 Pro.

Where is that ring? boy?

 Iul.

Heere 'tis▪ this is it.

 Pro. How? let me ſee. Why this is the ring I gaue to Iulia. Iul. Oh, cry you mercy ſir, I haue miſtooke: This is the ring you ſent to Siluia. Pro. But how cam'ſt thou by this ring? at my depart I gaue this vnto Iulia. Iul. And Iulia her ſelfe did giue it me, And Iulia her ſelfe hath brought it hither. Pro.

How? Iulia?

 Iul. Behold her, that gaue ayme to all thy oathes, And entertain'd 'em deepely in her heart. How oft haſt thou with periury cleft the roote? Oh Protheus, let this habit make thee bluſh. Be thou aſham'd that I haue tooke vpon me, Such an immodeſt rayment; if ſhame liue In a diſguiſe of loue? It is the leſſer blot modeſty findes, Women to change their ſhapes, then men their minds. Pro. Then men their minds? tis true: oh heuen, were man But Conſtant, he were perfect; that one error Fils him with faults: makes him run through all th' ſins; Inconſtancy falls-off, ere it begins: What is in Siluia's face, but I may ſpie More freſh in Iulia's, with a conſtant eye? Ʋal. Come, come: a hand from either: Let me be bleſt to make this happy cloſe: 'Twere pitty two ſuch friends ſhould be long foes. Pro.

Beare witnes (heauen) I haue my wiſh for euer.

 Iul.

And I mine.

 Out-l.

A prize: a prize: a prize.

 Val. Forbeare, forbeare I ſay: It is my Lord the Duke. Your Grace is welcome to a man diſgrac'd, Baniſhed Valentine. Duke.

Sir Valentine?

 Thu.

Yonder is Siluia: and Siluia's mine.

 Val. Thurio giue backe; or elſe embrace thy death: Come not within the meaſure of my wrath: Doe not name Siluia thine: if once againe, Ʋerona ſhall not hold thee: heere ſhe ſtands, Take but poſſeſſion of her, with a Touch: I dare thee, but to breath vpon my Loue. Thur. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I: I hold him but a foole that will endanger His Body, for a Girle that loues him not: I claime her not, and therefore ſhe is thine. Duke. The more degenerate and baſe art thou To make ſuch meanes for her, as thou haſt done, And leaue her on ſuch ſlight conditions. Now, by the honor of my Anceſtry, I doe applaud thy ſpirit, Valentine, And thinke thee worthy of an Empreſſe loue: Know then, I heere forget all former greefes, Cancell all grudge, repeale thee home againe, Plead a new ſtate in thy vn-riual'd merit, To which I thus ſubſcribe: Sir Ʋalentine, Thou art a Gentleman, and well deriu'd, Take thou thy Siluia, for thou haſt deſeru'd her. Ʋal. I thank your Grace, ye gift hath made me happy: I now beſeech you (for your daughters ſake) To grant one Boone that I ſhall aske of you. Duke.

I grant it (for thine owne) what ere it be.

 Val. Theſe baniſh'd men, that I haue kept withall, Are men endu'd with worthy qualities: Forgiue them what they haue committed here, And let them be recall'd from their Exile: They are reformed, ciuill, full of good, And fit for great employment (worthy Lord.) Duke. Thou haſt preuaild, I pardon them and thee: Diſpoſe of them, as thou knowſt their deſerts. Come, let vs goe, we will include all iarres, With Triumphes, Mirth, and rare ſolemnity. Val. And as we walke along, I dare be bold With our diſcourſe, to make your Grace to ſmile. What thinke you of this Page (my Lord?) Duke.

I think the Boy hath grace in him, he bluſhes.

 Val.

I warrant you (my Lord) more grace, then Boy.

 Duke.

What meane you by that ſaying?

 Val. Pleaſe you, Ile tell you, as we paſſe along, That you will wonder what hath fortuned: Come Protheus, 'tis your pennance, but to heare The ſtory of your Loues diſcouered. That done, our day of marriage ſhall be yours, One Feaſt, one houſe, one mutuall happineſſe. Exeunt.
The names of all the Actors. Duke: Father to Siluia. Valentine. the two Gentlemen. Protheus. the two Gentlemen. Anthonio: father to Protheus. Thurio: a fooliſh riuall to Valentine. Eglamoure: Agent for Siluia in her eſcape. Hoſt: where Iulia lodges. Out-lawes with Valentine. Speed: a clowniſh ſeruant to Valentine. Launce: the like to Protheus. Panthion: ſeruant to Antonio. Iulia: beloued of Protheus. Siluia: beloued of Valentine. Lucetta: waighting-woman to Iulia.
FINIS.
THE Merry Wiues of Windſor.
Actus primus,
Scena prima. Enter Iuſtice Shallow, Slender, Sir Hugh Euans, Maſter Page, Falſtoffe, Bardolph, Nym, Piſtoll, Anne Page, Miſtreſſe Ford, Miſtreſſe Page, Simple. Shallow.

SIr Hugh, perſwade me not: I will make a Star-Chamber matter of it, if hee were twenty Sir Iohn Falſtoffs, he ſhall not abuſe Robert Shallow Eſquire.

 Slen.

In the County of Gloceſter, Iuſtice of Peace and Coram.

 Shal.

I (Coſen Slender) and Cuſt-alorum.

Slen.

I, and Rato lorum too; and a Gentleman borne (Maſter Parſon) who writes himſelfe Armigero, in any Bill, Warrant, Quittance, or Obligation, Armigero.

Shal.

I that I doe, and haue done any time theſe three hundred yeeres.

 Slen.

All his ſucceſſors (gone before him) hath don't: and all his Anceſtors (that come after him) may: they may giue the dozen white Luces in their Coate.

 Shal.

It is an olde Coate.

 Euans.

The dozen white Lowſes doe become an old Coat well: it agrees well paſſant: It is a familiar beaſt to man, and ſignifies Loue.

 Shal.

The Luſe is the freſh-fiſh, the ſalt-fiſh, is an old Coate.

 Slen.

I may quarter (Coz).

 Shal.

You may, by marrying.

 Euans.

It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.

 Shal.

Not a whit.

 Euan.

Yes per-lady: if he ha's a quarter of your coat, there is but three Skirts for your ſelfe, in my ſimple coniectures; but that is all one: if Sir Iohn Falſtaffe haue committed diſparagements vnto you, I am of the Church and will be glad to do my beneuolence, to make attonements and compremiſes betweene you.

 Shal.

The Councell ſhall heare it, it is a Riot.

 Euan.

It is not meet the Councell heare a Riot: there is no feare of Got in a Riot: The Councell (looke you) ſhall deſire to heare the feare of Got, and not to heare a Riot: take your viza-ments in that.

 Shal.

Ha; o' my life, if I were yong againe, the ſword ſhould end it.

 Euans.

It is petter that friends is the ſword, and end it: and there is alſo another deuice in my praine, which peraduenture prings goot diſcretions with it. There is Anne Page, which is daughter to Maſter Thomas Page, which is pretty virginity.

 Slen.

Miſtris Anne Page? ſhe has browne haire, and ſpeakes ſmall like a woman.

 Euans.

It is that ferry perſon for all the orld, as iuſt as you will deſire, and ſeuen hundred pounds of Moneyes, and Gold, and Siluer, is her Grand-ſire vpon his deaths-bed, (Got deliuer to a ioyfull reſurrections) giue, when ſhe is able to ouertake ſeuenteene yeeres old. It were a goot motion, if we leaue our pribbles and prabbles, and deſire a marriage betweene Maſter Abraham, and Miſtris Anne Page.

Slen.

Did her Grand-ſire leaue her ſeauen hundred pound?

 Euan.

I, and her father is make her a petter penny.

 Slen.

I know the young Gentlewoman, ſhe has good gifts.

 Euan.

Seuen hundred pounds, and poſſibilities, is goot gifts.

 Shal.

Wel, let vs ſee honeſt Mr Page: is Falſtaffe there?

 Euan.

Shall I tell you a lye? I doe deſpiſe a lyer, as I doe deſpiſe one that is falſe, or as I deſpiſe one that is not true: the Knight Sir Iohn is there, and I beſeech you be ruled by your well-willers: I will peat the doore for Mr. Page. What hoa? Got-pleſſe your houſe heere.

 Mr. Page.

Who's there?

 Euan.

Here is go't's pleſſing and your friend, and Iuſtice Shallow, and heere yong Maſter Slender: that peraduentures ſhall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your likings.

 M • . Page.

I am glad to ſee your Worſhips well: I thanke you for my Veniſon Maſter Shallow.

Shal.

Maſter Page, I am glad to ſee you: much good doe it your good heart: I wiſh'd your Veniſon better, it was ill killd: how doth good Miſtreſſe Page? and I thank you alwaies with my heart, la: with my heart.

 M. Page.

Sir, I thanke you.

 Shal.

Sir, I thanke you: by yea, and no I doe.

 M. Pa.

I am glad to ſee you, good Maſter Slender.

Slen.

How do's your fallow Greyhound, Sir, I heard ſay he was out-run on Cotſall.

M. Pa.

It could not be iudg'd, Sir.

 Slen.

You'll not confeſſe: you'll not confeſſe.

 Shal.

That he will not, 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault: 'tis a good dogge.

 M. Pa.

A Cur, Sir.

 Shal.

Sir: hee's a good dog, and a faire dog, can there be more ſaid? he is good, and faire. Is Sir Iohn Falſtaffe heere?

 M. Pa.

Sir, hee is within: and I would I could doe a good office betweene you.

 Euan.

It is ſpoke as a Chriſtians ought to ſpeake.

 Shal.

He hath wrong'd me (Maſter Page.)

 M. Pa.

Sir, he doth in ſome ſort confeſſe it.

 Shal.

If it be confeſſed, it is not redreſſed; is not that ſo (M. Page?) he hath wrong'd me, indeed he hath, at a word he hath: beleeue me, Robert Shallow Eſquire, ſaith he is wronged.

 Ma. Pa.

Here comes Sir Iohn.

Fal.

Now, Maſter Shallow, you'll complaine of me to the King?

 Shal.

Knight, you haue beaten my men, kill'd my deere, and broke open my Lodge.

 Fal.

But not kiſs'd your Keepers daughter?

 Shal.

Tut, a pin: this ſhall be anſwer'd.

 Fal. I will anſwere it ſtrait, I haue done all this: That is now anſwer'd. Shal.

The Councell ſhall know this.

 Fal.

'Twere better for you if it were known in councell: you'll be laugh'd at.

 Eu.

Pauca verba; (Sir Iohn) good worts.

 Fal.

Good worts? good Cabidge; Slender, I broke your head: what matter haue you againſt me?

 Slen.

Marry ſir, I haue matter in my head againſt you, and againſt your cony-catching Raſcalls, Bardolf, Nym, and Piſtoll.

Bar.

You Banbery Cheeſe.

 Slen.

I, it is no matter.

 Piſt.

How now, Mephoſtophilus?

 Slen.

I, it is no matter.

 Nym.

Slice, I ſay; pauca. pauca: Slice, that's my humor.

 Slen.

Where's Simple my man? can you tell, Coſen?

 Eua.

Peace, I pray you: now let vs vnderſtand: there is three Vmpires in this matter, as I vnderſtand; that is, Maſter Page (fidelicet Maſter Page,) & there is my ſelfe, (fidelicet my ſelfe) and the three party is (laſtly, and finally) mine Hoſt of the Gater.

 Ma. Pa.

We three to hear it, & end it between them.

 Euan.

Ferry goo't, I will make a priefe of it in my note-booke, and we wil afterwards orke vpon the cauſe, with as great diſcreetly as we can.

 Fal.

Piſtoll.

Piſt.

He heares with eares.

 Euan.

The Teuill and his Tam: what phraſe is this? he heares with eare? why, it is affectations.

 Fal.

Piſtoll, did you picke M. Slenders purſe?

 Slen.

I, by theſe gloues did hee, or I would I might neuer come in mine owne great chamber againe elſe, of ſeauen groates in mill-ſixpences, and two Edward Shouelboords, that coſt me two ſhilling and two pence a peece of Yead Miller: by theſe gloues.

 Fal.

Is this true, Piſtoll?

 Euan.

No, it is falſe, if it is a picke-purſe.

 Piſt.

Ha, thou mountaine Forreyner: Sir Iohn, and Maſter mine, I combat challenge of this Latine Bilboe: word of deniall in thy labras here; word of denial; froth, and ſcum thou lieſt.

 Slen.

By theſe gloues, then 'twas he.

 Nym.

Be auis'd ſir, and paſſe good humours: I will ſay marry trap with you, if you runne the nut-hooks humor on me, that is the very note of it.

 Slen.

By this hat, then he in the red face had it: for though I cannot remember what I did when you made me drunke, yet I am not altogether an aſſe.

 Fal.

What ſay you Scarlet, and Iohn?

 Bar.

Why ſir, (for my part) I ſay the Gentleman had drunke himſelfe out of his fiue ſentences.

 Eu.

It is his fiue ſences: fie, what the ignorance is.

 Bar.

And being fap, ſir, was (as they ſay) caſheerd: and ſo concluſions paſt the Car-eires.

 Slen.

I, you ſpake in Latten then to: but 'tis no matter; Ile nere be drunk whilſt I liue againe, but in honeſt, ciuill, godly company for this tricke: if I be drunke, Ile be drunke with thoſe that haue the feare of God, and not with drunken knaues.

 Euan.

So got-udge me, that is a vertuons minde.

 Fal.

You heare all theſe matters deni'd, Gentlemen; you heare it.

 Mr. Page.

Nay daughter, carry the wine in, wee'll drinke within.

 Slen.

Oh heauen: This is Miſtreſſe Anne Page.

Mr. Page.

How now Miſtris Ford?

 Fal.

Miſtris Ford, by my troth you are very wel met: by your leaue good Miſtris.

 Mr. Page.

Wife, bid theſe gentlemen welcome: come, we haue a hot Veniſon paſty to dinner; Come gentlemen, I hope we ſhall drinke downe all vnkindneſſe.

 Slen.

I had rather then forty ſhillings I had my booke of Songs and Sonnets heere: How now Simple, where haue you beene? I muſt wait on my ſelfe, muſt I? you haue not the booke of Riddles about you, haue you?

 Sim.

Booke of Riddles? why did you not lend it to Alice Short-cake vpon Alhallowmas laſt, a fortnight afore Michaelmas.

 Shal.

Come Coz, come Coz, we ſtay for you: a word with you Coz: marry this, Coz: there is as 'twere a tender, a kinde of tender, made a farre-off by Sir Hugh here: doe you vnderſtand me?

 Slen.

I Sir, you ſhall finde me reaſonable; if it be ſo, I ſhall doe that that is reaſon.

 Shal.

Nay, but vnderſtand me.

 Slen.

So I doe Sir.

 Euan.

Giue eare to his motions; (Mr. Slender) I will deſcription the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.

 Slen.

Nay, I will doe as my Cozen Shallow ſaies: I pray you pardon me, he's a Iuſtice of Peace in his Countrie, ſimple though I ſtand here.

 Euan.

But that is not the queſtion: the queſtion is concerning your marriage.

 Shal.

I, there's the point Sir.

 Eu.

Marry is it: the very point of it, to Mi. An Page.

Slen.

Why if it be ſo; I will marry her vpon any reaſonable demands.

 Eu.

But can you affection the 'o-man, let vs command to know that of your mouth, or of your lips: for diuers Philoſophers hold, that the lips is parcell of the mouth: therfore preciſely, cā you carry your good wil to ye maid?

 Sh.

Coſen Abraham Slender, can you loue her?

 Slen.

I hope ſir, I will do as it ſhall become one that would doe reaſon.

 Eu.

Nay, got's Lords, and his Ladies, you muſt ſpeake poſſitable, if you can carry-her your deſires towards her.

 Shal. That you muſt: Will you, (vpon good dowry) marry her? Slen.

I will doe a greater thing then that, vpon your requeſt (Coſen) in any reaſon.

 Shal.

Nay conceiue me, conceiue mee, (ſweet Coz): what I doe is to pleaſure you (Coz:) can you loue the maid?

 Slen.

I will marry her (Sir) at your requeſt; but if there bee no great loue in the beginning, yet Heauen may decreaſe it vpon better acquaintance, when wee are married, and haue more occaſion to know one another: I hope vpon familiarity will grow more content: but if you ſay mary-her, I will mary-her, that I am freely diſſolued, and diſſolutely.

 Eu.

It is a fery diſcetion-anſwere; ſaue the fall is in the'ord, diſſolutely: the ort is (according to our meaning) reſolutely: his meaning is good.

 Sh.

I: I thinke my Coſen meant well.

 Sl.

I, or elſe I would I might be hang'd (la.)

 Sh.

Here comes faire Miſtris Anne; would I were yong for your ſake, Miſtris Anne.

An.

The dinner is on the Table, my Father deſires your worſhips company.

 Sh.

I will wait on him, (faire Miſtris Anne.)

 Eu.

Od's pleſſed-wil: I wil not be abſēce at the grace.

 An.

Wil't pleaſe your worſhip to come in, Sir?

 Sl.

No, I thank you forſooth, hartely; I am very well.

 An.

The dinner attends you, Sir.

 Sl.

I am not a-hungry, I thanke you, forſooth: goe, Sirha, for all you are my man, goe wait vpon my Coſen Shallow: a Iuſtice of peace ſometime may be beholding to his friend, for a Man; I keepe but three Men, and a Boy yet, till my Mother be dead: but what though, yet I liue like a poore Gentleman borne.

 An.

I may not goe in without your worſhip: they will not ſit till you come.

 Sl.

I' faith, ile eate nothing: I thanke you as much as though I did.

 An.

I pray you Sir walke in.

 Sl.

I had rather walke here (I thanke you) I bruiz'd my ſhin th' other day, with playing at Sword and Dagger with a Maſter of Fence (three veneys for a diſh of ſtew'd Prunes) and by my troth, I cannot abide the ſmell of hot meate ſince. Why doe your dogs barke ſo? be there Beares ith' Towne?

 An.

I thinke there are, Sir, I heard them talk'd of.

 Sl.

I loue the ſport well, but I ſhall as ſoone quarrell at it, as any man in England: you are afraid if you ſee the Beare looſe, are you not?

 An.

I indeede Sir.

 Sl.

That's meate and drinke to me now: I haue ſeene Sackerſon looſe, twenty times, and haue taken him by the Chaine: but (I warrant you) the women haue ſo cride and ſhrekt at it, that it paſt: But women indeede, cannot abide'em, they are very ill-fauour'd rough things.

 Ma. Pa.

Come, gentle M. Slender, come; we ſtay for you.

 Sl.

Ile eate nothing, I thanke you Sir.

 Ma. Pa.

By cocke and pie, you ſhall not chooſe, Sir: come, come.

 Sl.

Nay, pray you lead the way.

 Ma. Pa.

Come on, Sir.

 Sl.

Miſtris Anne: your ſelfe ſhall goe firſt.

 An.

Not I Sir, pray you keepe on.

 Sl.

Truely I will not goe firſt: truely-la: I will not doe you that wrong.

 An.

I pray you Sir.

 Sl.

Ile rather be vnmannerly, then troubleſome: you doe your ſelfe wrong indeede-la.

 Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Euans, and Simple. Eu.

Go your waies, and aske of Doctor Caius houſe, which is the way; and there dwels one Miſtris Quickly; which is in the manner of his Nurſe; or his dry-Nurſe; or his Cooke; or his Laundry; his Waſher, and his Ringer.

 Si.

Well Sir.

 Eu.

Nay, it is petter yet: giue her this letter; for it is a'oman that altogeathers acquaintāce with Miſtris Anne Page; and the Letter is to deſire, and require her to ſolicite your Maſters deſires, to Miſtris Anne Page: I pray you be gon: I will make an end of my dinner; ther's Pippins and Cheeſe to come.

 Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falſtaffe, Hoſt, Bardolfe, Nym, Piſtoll, Page. Fal.

Mine Hoſt of the Garter?

 Ho.

What ſaies my Bully Rooke? ſpeake ſchollerly, and wiſely.

 Fal.

Truely mine Hoſt; I muſt turne away ſome of my followers.

 Ho.

Diſcard, (bully Hercules) caſheere; let them wag; trot, trot.

 Fal.

I ſit at ten pounds a weeke.

 Ho.

Thou'rt an Emperor (Ceſar, Keiſer and Pheazar) I will entertaine Bardolfe: he ſhall draw; he ſhall tap; ſaid I well (bully Hector?)

 Fa.

Doe ſo (good mine Hoſt.

Ho.

I haue ſpoke: let him follow: let me ſee thee froth, and liue: I am at a word: follow.

 Fal.

Bardolfe, follow him: a Tapſter is a good trade: an old Cloake, makes a new Ierkin: a wither'd Seruing-man, a freſh Tapſter: goe, adew.

 Ba.

It is a life that I haue deſir'd: I will thriue.

 Piſt.

O baſe hungarian wight: wilt yu the ſpigot wield.

 Ni.

He was gotten in drink: is not the humor cōceited?

 Fal.

I am glad I am ſo acquit of this Tinderbox: his Thefts were too open: his filching was like an vnskilfull Singer, he kept not time.

 Ni.

The good humor is to ſteale at a minutes reſt.

 Piſt.

Conuay: the wiſe it call: Steale? foh: a fico for the phraſe.

 Fal.

Well ſirs, I am almoſt out at heeles.

 Piſt.

Why then let Kibes enſue.

 Fal.

There is no remedy: I muſt conicatch, I muſt ſhift.

 Piſt.

Yong Rauens muſt haue foode.

 Fal.

Which of you know Ford of this Towne?

 Piſt.

I ken the wight: he is of ſubſtance good.

 Fal.

My honeſt Lads, I will tell you what I am about.

 Piſt.

Two yards, and more.

 Fal.

No quips now Piſtoll: (Indeede I am in the waſte two yards about: but I am now about no waſte: I am about thrift) briefely: I doe meane to make loue to Fords wife: I ſpie entertainment in her: ſhee diſcourſes: ſhee carues: ſhe giues the leere of inuitation: I can conſtrue the action of her familier ſtile, & the hardeſt voice of her behauior (to be engliſh'd rightly) is, I am Sir Iohn Falſtafs.

Piſt.

He hath ſtudied her will; and tranſlated her will: out of honeſty, into Engliſh.

 Ni.

The Anchor is deepe: will that humor paſſe?

 Fal.

Now, the report goes, ſhe has all the rule of her husbands Purſe: he hath a legend of Angels.

 Piſt.

As many diuels entertaine: and to her Boy ſay I.

 Ni.

The humor riſes: it is good: humor me the angels.

 Fal.

I haue writ me here a letter to her: & here another to Pages wife, who euen now gaue mee good eyes too; examind my parts with moſt iudicious illiads: ſometimes the beame of her view, guilded my foote: ſometimes my portly belly.

 Piſt.

Then did the Sun on dung-hill ſhine.

 Ni.

I thanke thee for that humour.

 Fal.

O ſhe did ſo courſe o're my exteriors with ſuch a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye, did ſeeme to ſcorch me vp like a burning-glaſſe: here's another letter to her: She beares the Purſe too: She is a Region in Guiana: all gold, and bountie: I will be Cheaters to them both, and they ſhall be Exchequers to mee: they ſhall be my Eaſt and Weſt Indies, and I will trade to them both: Goe, beare thou this Letter to Miſtris Page; and thou this to Miſtris Ford: we will thriue (Lads) we will thriue.

 Piſt. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, And by my ſide weare Steele? then Lucifer take all. Ni.

I will run no baſe humor: here take the humor-Letter; I will keepe the hauior of reputation.

 Fal. Hold Sirha, beare you theſe Letters tightly, Saile like my Pinnaſſe to theſe golden ſhores. Rogues, hence, auaunt, vaniſh like haile-ſtones; goe, Trudge; plod away ith' hoofe: ſeeke ſhelter, packe: Falſtaffe will learne the honor of the age, French-thrift, you Rogues, my ſelfe, and skirted Page. Piſt. Let Vultures gripe thy guts: for gourd, and Fullam holds: & high and low beguiles the rich & poore, Teſter ile haue in pouch when thou ſhalt lacke, Baſe Phrygian Turke. Ni. I haue opperations, Which be humors of reuenge. Piſt.

Wilt thou reuenge?

 Ni.

By Welkin, and her Star.

 Piſt.

With wit, or Steele?

 Ni. With both the humors, I: I will diſcuſſe the humour of this Loue to Ford. Piſt. And I to Page ſhall eke vnfold How Falſtaffe (varlet vile) His Doue will proue; his gold will hold, And his ſoft couch defile. Ni.

My humour ſhall not coole: I will incenſe Ford to deale with poyſon: I will poſſeſſe him with yallowneſſe, for the reuolt of mine is dangerous: that is my true humour.

 Piſt.

Thou art the Mars of Malecontents: I ſecond thee: troope on.

Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Miſtris Quickly, Simple, Iohn Rugby, Doctor, Caius, Fenton. Qu.

What, Iohn Rugby, I pray thee goe to the Caſement, and ſee if you can ſee my Maſter, Maſter Docter Caius comming: if he doe (I' faith) and finde any body in the houſe; here will be an old abuſing of Gods patience, and the Kings Engliſh.

 Ru.

Ile goe watch.

 Qu.

Goe, and we'll haue a poſſet for't ſoone at night, (in faith) at the latter end of a Sea-cole-fire: An honeſt, willing, kinde fellow, as euer ſeruant ſhall come in houſe withall: and I warrant you, no tel-tale, nor no breedebate: his worſt fault is, that he is giuen to prayer; hee is ſomething peeuiſh that way: but no body but has his fault: but let that paſſe. Peter Simple, you ſay your name is?

 Si.

I: for fault of a better.

 Qu.

And Maſter Slender's your Maſter?

 Si.

I forſooth.

 Qu.

Do's he not weare a great round Beard, like a Glouers pairing-knife?

 Si.

No forſooth: he hath but a little wee face; with a little yellow Beard: a Caine colourd Beard.

 Qu.

A ſoftly-ſprighted man, is he not?

 Si.

I forſooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands, as any is betweene this and his head: he hath fought with a Warrener.

 Qu.

How ſay you: oh, I ſhould remember him: do's he not hold vp his head (as it were?) and ſtrut in his gate?

 Si.

Yes indeede do's he.

 Qu.

Well, heauen ſend Anne Page, no worſe fortune: Tell Maſter Parſon Euans, I will doe what I can for your Maſter: Anne is a good girle, and I wiſh —

 Ru.

Out alas: here comes my Maſter.

 Qu.

We ſhall all be ſhent: Run in here, good young man: goe into this Cloſſet: he will not ſtay long: what Iohn Rugby? Iohn: what Iohn I ſay? goe Iohn, goe enquire for my Maſter, I doubt he be not well, that hee comes not home: (and downe, downe, adowne'a. &c.

Ca.

Vat is you ſing? I doe not like des-toyes: pray you goe and vetch me in my Cloſſet, vnboyteene verd; a Box, a greene-a-Box: do intend vat I ſpeake? a greene-a-Box.

 Qu.

I forſooth ile fetch it you: I am glad hee went not in himſelfe: if he had found the yong man he would haue bin horne-mad.

 Ca.

Fe, fe, fe, fe, maifoy, il fait for ehando, Ie man voi a le Court la grand affaires.

Qu.

Is it this Sir?

 Ca. Ony mette le au mon pocket, de-petch quickly: Vere is dat knaue Rugby? Qu.

What Iohn Rugby, Iohn?

 Ru.

Here Sir.

 Ca. You are Iohn Rugby, aad you are Iacke Rugby: Come, take-a-your Rapier, and come after my heele to the Court. Ru.

'Tis ready Sir, here in the Porch.

 Ca.

By my trot: I tarry too long: od's-me: que ay ie oublie: dere is ſome Simples in my Cloſſet, dat I vill not for the varld I ſhall leaue behinde.

 Qu.

Ay-me, he'll finde the yong man there, & be mad.

 Ca. O Diable, Diable: vat is in my Cloſſet? Villanie, La-roone: Rugby, my Rapier. Qu.

Good Maſter be content.

 Ca.

Wherefore ſhall I be content-a?

 Qu.

The yong man is an honeſt man.

 Ca.

What ſhall de honeſt man do in my Cloſſet: dere is no honeſt man dat ſhall come in my Cloſſet.

 Qu.

I beſeech you be not ſo flegmaticke: heare the truth of it. He came of an errand to mee, from Parſon Hugh.

Ca.

Vell.

 Si.

I forſooth: to deſire her to —

 Qu.

Peace, I pray you.

 Ca.

Peace-a-your tongue: ſpeake-a-your Tale.

 Si.

To deſire this honeſt Gentlewoman (your Maid) to ſpeake a good word to Miſtris Anne Page, for my Maſter in the way of Marriage.

 Qu.

This is all indeede-la: but ile nere put my finger in the fire, and neede not.

 Ca.

Sir Hugh ſend-a you? Rugby, ballow mee ſome paper: tarry you a littell-a-while.

 Qui.

I am glad he is ſo quiet if he had bin throughly moued, you ſhould haue heard him ſo loud, and ſo melancholly: but notwithſtanding man, Ile doe yoe your Maſter what good I can: and the very yea, & the no is, ye French Doctor my Maſter, (I may call him my Maſter, looke you, for I keepe his houſe; and I waſh, • ing, brew, bake, ſcowre, dreſſe meat and drinke, make the beds, and doe all my ſelfe.)

 Simp.

'Tis a great charge to come vnder one bodies hand.

 Qui.

Are you a-uis'd o' that? you ſhall finde it a great charge: and to be vp early, and down later but notwithſtanding, (to tell you in your eare, I wold haue no words of it) my Maſter himſelfe is in loue with Miſtris Anne Page: but notwithſtanding that I know Ans mind, that's neither heere nor there.

 Caius.

You, lack 'Nape: giue-'a this Letter to Sir Hugh, by gar it is a ſhallenge: I will cut his troat in de Parke, and I will teach a ſouruy lack-a-nape Prieſt to meddle, or make: — you may be gon: it is not good you tarry here: by gar I will cut all his two ſtones: by gar, he ſhall not haue a ſtone to throw at his dogge.

 Qui.

Alas: he ſpeakes but for his friend.

 Caius.

It is no matter'a ver dat: do not you tell-a-me dat I ſhall haue Anne Page for my ſelfe? by gar, I vill kill de Iack-Prieſt: and I haue appointed mine Hoſt of de Iarteer to meaſure our weapon: by gar, I wil my ſelfe haue Anne Page.

Qui. Sir, the maid loues you, and all ſhall bee well: We muſt giue folkes leaue to prate: what the good-ier. Caius.

Rugby, come to the Court with me: by gar, if I haue not Anne Page, I ſhall turne your head out of my dore: follow my heeles, Rugby.

Qui.

You ſhall haue An-fooles head of your owne: No, I know Ans mind for that: neuer a woman in Windſor knowes more of Ans minde then I doe, nor can doe more then I doe with her, I thanke heauen.

 Fenton.

Who's with in there, hoa?

 Qui.

Who's there, I troa? Come neere the houſe I pray you.

 Fen.

How now (good woman) how doſt thou?

 Qui.

The better that it pleaſes your good Worſhip to aske?

 Fen.

What newes? how do's pretty Miſtris Anne?

 Qui.

In truth Sir, and ſhee is pretty, and honeſt, and gentle, and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by the way, I praiſe heauen for it.

 Fen.

Shall I doe any good thinkſt thou? ſhall I not looſe my ſuit?

 Qui.

Troth Sir, all is in his hands aboue: but notwithſtanding (Maſter Fenton) Ile be ſworne on a booke ſhee loues you: haue not your Worſhip a wart aboue your eye?

 Fen.

Yes marry haue I, what of that?

 Qui.

Wel, thereby hangs a tale: good faith, it is ſuch another Nan; (but (I deteſt) an honeſt maid as euer broke bread: wee had an howres talke of that wart; I ſhall neuer laugh but in that maids company: but (indeed) ſhee is giuen too much to Allicholy and muſing: but for you — well — goe too —

 Fen.

Well: I ſhall ſee her to day: hold, there's money for thee: Let mee haue thy voice in my behalfe: if thou ſeeſt her before me, commend me. —

 Qui.

Will I? I faith that wee will: And I will tell your Worſhip more of the Wart, the next time we haue confidence, and of other wooers.

 Fen.

Well, fare-well, I am in great haſte now.

 Qui.

Fare-well to your Worſhip: truely an honeſt Gentleman: but Anne loues hiim not: for I know Ans minde as well as another do's: out vpon't: what haue I forgot.

Exit.
Actus Secundus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Miſtris Page, Miſtris Ford, Maſter Page, Maſter Ford, Piſtoll, Nim, Quickly, Hoſt, Shallow. Miſt. Page.

What, haue ſcap'd Loue-letters in the holly-day-time of my beauty, and am I now a ſubiect for them? let me ſee?

Aske me no reaſon why I loue you, for though Loue vſe Reaſon for his preciſian, hee admits him not for his Counſailour: you are not yong, no more am I: goe to then, there's ſimpathie: you are merry, ſo am I: ha, ha, then there's more ſimpathie: you loue ſacke, and ſo do I: would you deſire better ſimpathie? Let it ſuffice thee (Miſtris Page) at the leaſt if the Loue of Souldier can ſuffice, that I loue thee: I will not ſay pitty mee, 'tis not a Souldier-like phraſe; but I ſay, loue me:

By me, thine owne true Knight, by day or night: Or any kinde of light, with all his might, For thee to fight. Iohn Falſtaffe.

What a Herod of Iurie is this? O wicked, wicked world: One that is well-nye worne to peeces with age To ſhow himſelfe a yong Gallant? What an vnwaied Behauiour hath this Flemiſh drunkard pickt (with The Deuills name) out of my conuerſation, that he dares In this manner aſſay me? why, hee hath not beene thrice In my Company: what ſhould I ſay to him? I was then Frugall of my mirth: (heauen forgiue mee:) why Ile

Exhibit a Bill in the Parliament for the putting downe of men: how ſhall I be reueng'd on him? for reueng'd I will be? as ſure as his guts are made of puddings.

 Miſ Ford.

Miſtris Page, truſt me, I was going to your houſe.

 Miſ Page.

And truſt me, I was comming to you: you looke very ill.

 Miſ. Ford.

Nay, Ile nere beleeee that; I haue to ſhew to the contrary.

 Miſ. Page.

'Faith but you doe in my minde.

 Miſ. Ford.

Well: I doe then: yet I ſay, I could ſhew you to the contrary: O Miſtris Page, giue mee ſome counſaile.

 Miſ. Page.

What's the matter, woman?

 Mi. Ford.

O woman: if it were not for one trifling reſpect, I could come to ſuch honour.

 Mi. Page.

Hang the trifle (woman) take the honour: what is it? diſpence with trifles: what is it?

 Mi. Ford.

If I would but goe to hell, for an eternall moment, or ſo: I could be knighted.

 Mi. Page.

What thou lieſt? Sir Alice Ford? theſe Knights will hacke, and ſo thou ſhouldſt not alter the article of thy Gentry.

 Mi. Ford.

Wee burne day-light: heere, read, read: perceiue how I might bee knighted, I ſhall thinke the worſe of fat men, as long as I haue an eye to make difference of mens liking: and yet hee would not ſweare: praiſe womens modeſty: and gaue ſuch orderly and wel-behaued reproofe to al vncomelineſſe, that I would haue ſworne his diſpoſition would haue gone to the truth of his words: but they doe no more adhere and keep place together, then the hundred Pſalms to the tune of Green-ſleeues: What tempeſt (I troa) threw this Whale, (with ſo many Tuns of oyle in his belly) a'ſhoare at Windſor? How ſhall I bee reuenged on him? I thinke the beſt way were, to entertaine him with hope, till the wicked fire of luſt haue melted him in his owne greace: Did you euer heare the like?

 Miſ. Page.

Letter for letter; but that the name of Page and Ford differs: to thy great comfort in this myſtery of ill opinions, heere's the twyn-brother of thy Letter: but let thine inherit firſt, for I proteſt mine neuer ſhall: I warrant he hath a thouſand of theſe Letters, writ with blancke-ſpace for different names (ſure more): and theſe are of the ſecond edition: hee will print them out of doubt: for he cares not what hee puts into the preſſe, when he would put vs two: I had rather be a Gianteſſe, and lye vnder Mount Pelion: Well; I will find you twentie laſciuious Turtles ere one chaſte man.

 Miſ. Ford.

Why this is the very ſame: the very hand: the very words: what doth he thinke of vs?

 Miſ. Page.

Nay I know not: it makes me almoſt readie to wrangle with mine owne honeſty: Ile entertaine my ſelfe like one that I am not acquainted withall: for ſure vnleſſe hee know ſome ſtraine in mee, that I know not my ſelfe, hee would neuer haue boorded me in this furie.

 Mi. Ford.

Boording, call you it? Ile bee ſure to keepe him aboue decke.

 Mi. Page.

So will I: if hee come vnder my hatches, Ile neuer to Sea againe: Let's bee reueng'd on him: let's appoint him a meeting: giue him a ſhow of comfort in his Suit, and lead him on with a fine baited delay, till hee hath pawn'd his horſes to mine Hoſt of the Garter.

 Mi. Ford.

Nay, I wil conſent to act any villany againſt him, that may not ſully the charineſſe of our honeſty: oh that my husband ſaw this Letter: it would giue eternall food to his iealouſie.

 Miſ. Page.

Why look where he comes; and my good man too: hee's as farre from iealouſie, as I am from giuing him cauſe, and that (I hope) is an vnmeaſurable diſtance.

 Miſ. Ford.

You are the happier woman.

 Miſ. Page.

Let's conſult together againſt this greaſie Knight: Come hither.

 Ford.

Well: I hope, it be not ſo.

 Piſt. Hope is a curtall-dog in ſome affaires: Sir Iohn affects thy wife. Ford.

Why ſir, my wife is not young.

 Piſt.

He wooes both high and low, both rich & poor, both yong and old, one with another (Ford) he loues the Gally-mawfry (Ford) perpend.

 Ford.

Loue my wife?

 Piſt. With liuer, burning hot: preuent: Or goe thou like Sir Acteon he, with Ring-wood at thy heeles: O, odious is the name. Ford.

What name Sir?

 Piſt. The horne I ſay: Farewell: Take heed, haue open eye, for theeues doe foot by night. Take heed, ere ſommer comes, or Cuckoo-birds do ſing. Away ſir Corporall Nim: Beleeue it (Page) he ſpeakes ſence. Ford.

I will be patient: I will find out this.

 Nim.

And this is true: I like not the humor of lying: hee hath wronged mee in ſome humors: I ſhould haue borne the humour'd Letter to her: but I haue a ſword: and it ſhall bite vpon my neceſſitie: he loues your wife; There's the ſhort and the long: My name is Corporall Nim: I ſpeak, and I auouch; 'tis true: my name is Nim: and Falſtaffe loues your wife: adieu, I loue not the humour of bread and cheeſe: adieu.

 Page.

The humour of it (quoth'a?) heere's a fellow frights Engliſh out of his wits.

 Ford.

I will ſeeke out Falſtaffe.

Page.

I neuer heard ſuch a drawling-affecting rogue.

 Ford.

If I doe finde it: well.

 Page.

I will not beleeue ſuch a Cataian, though the Prieſt o' th' Towne commended him for a true man.

 Ford.

'Twas a good ſenſible fellow: well.

 Page.

How now Meg?

 Miſt. Page.

Whether goe you (George?) harke you.

 Miſ. Ford.

How now (ſweet Frank) why art thou melancholy?

 Ford. I melancholy? I am not melancholy: Get you home: goe. Miſ. Ford. Faith, thou haſt ſome crochets in thy head, Now: will you goe, Miſtris Page? Miſ. Page.

Haue with you: you'll come to dinner George? Looke who comes yonder: ſhee ſhall bee our Meſſenger to this paltrie Knight.

 Miſ. Ford.

Truſt me, I thought on her: ſhee'll fit it.

 Miſ. Page.

You are come to ſee my daughter Anne?

 Qui.

I forſooth: and I pray how do's good Miſtreſſe Anne?

 Miſ. Page.

Go in with vs and ſee: we haue an houres talke with you.

 Page.

How now Maſter Ford?

 For.

You heard what this knaue told me, did you not?

 Page.

Yes, and you heard what the other told me?

 Ford.

Doe you thinke there is truth in them?

 Pag.

Hang 'em ſlaues: I doe not thinke the Knight would offer it: But theſe that accuſe him in his intent towards our wiues, are a yoake of his diſcarded men: very rogues, now they be out of ſeruice.

 Ford.

Were they his men?

 Page.

Marry were they.

 Ford. I like it neuer the beter for that, Do's he lye at the Garter? Page.

I marry do's he: if hee ſhould intend this voyage toward my wife, I would turne her looſe to him; and what hee gets more of her, then ſharpe words, let it lye on my head.

 Ford.

I doe not miſdoubt my wife: but I would bee loath to turne them together: a man may be too confident: I would haue nothing lye on my head: I cannot be thus ſatiſfied.

 Page.

Looke where my ranting-Hoſt of the Garter comes: there is eyther liquor in his pate, or mony in his purſe, when hee lookes ſo merrily: How now mine Hoſt?

 Hoſt.

How now Bully-Rooke: thou'rt a Gentleman Caueleiro Iuſtice, I ſay.

 Shal.

I follow, (mine Hoſt) I follow: Good-euen, and twe • ty (good Maſter Page.) Maſter Page, wil you go with vs? we haue ſport in hand.

 Hoſt.

Tell him Caueleiro-Iuſtice: tell him Bully-Rooke.

 Shall.

Sir, there is a fray to be fought, betweene Sir Hugh the Welch Prieſt, and Caius the French Doctor.

 Ford.

Good mine Hoſt o' th' Garter: a word with you.

 Hoſt.

What ſaiſt thou, my Bully-Rooke?

 Shal.

Will you goe with vs to behold it? My merry Hoſt hath had the meaſuring of their weapons; and (I thinke) hath appointed them contrary places: for (beleeue mee) I heare the Parſon is no Ieſter: harke, I will tell you what our ſport ſhall be.

 Hoſt.

Haſt thou no ſuit againſt my Knight? my gueſt-Caualeire?

 Shal.

None, I proteſt: but Ile giue you a pottle of burn'd ſacke, to giue me recourſe to him, and tell him my name is Broome: onely for a • eſt.

 Hoſt.

My hand, (Bully:) thou ſhalt haue egreſſe and regreſſe, (ſaid I well?) and thy name ſhall be Broome. It is a merry Knight: will you goe An-heires?

 Shal.

Haue with you mine Hoſt.

 Page.

I haue heard the French-man hath good skill in his Rapier.

 Shal.

Tut ſir: I could haue told you more: In theſe times you ſtand on diſtance: your Paſſes, Stoccado's, and I know not what: 'tis the heart (Maſter Page) 'tis heere, 'tis heere: I haue ſeene the time, with my long-ſword, I would haue made you fowre tall fellowes skippe like Rattes.

 Hoſt.

Heere boyes, heere, heere: ſhall we wag?

 Page.

Haue with you: I had rather heare them ſcold, then fight.

 Ford.

Though Page be a ſecure foole, and ſtands ſo firmely on his wiues frailty; yet, I cannot put-off my opinion ſo eaſily: ſhe was in his company at Pages houſe: and what they made there, I know not. Well, I wil looke further into't, and I haue a diſguiſe, to ſound Falſtaffe; if I finde her honeſt, I looſe not my labor: if ſhe be otherwiſe, 'tis labour well beſtowed.

Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Falſtaffe, Piſtoll, Robin, Quickly, Bardolffe, Ford. Fal.

I will not lend thee a penny.

 Piſt.

Why then the world's mine Oyſter, which I, with ſword will open.

 Fal.

Not a penny: I haue beene content (Sir,) you ſhould lay my countenance to pawne: I haue grated vpon my good friends for three Repreeues for you, and your Coach-fellow Nim; or elſe you had look'd through the grate, like a Geminy of Baboones: I am damn'd in hell, for ſwearing to Gentlemen my friends, you were good Souldiers, and tall-fellowes. And when Miſtreſſe Bright loſt the handle of her Fan, I took't vpon mine honour thou hadſt it not.

 Piſt.

Didſt not thou ſhare? hadſt thou not fifteene pence?

 Fal.

Reaſon, you roague, reaſon: thinkſt thou Ile endanger my ſoule, gratis? at a word, hang no more about mee, I am no gibbet for you: goe, a ſhort knife, and a throng, to your Mannor of Pickt-hatch: goe, you'll not beare a Letter for mee you roague? you ſtand vpon your honor: why, (thou vnconfinable baſeneſſe) it is as much as I can doe to keepe the termes of my hononor preciſe: I, I, I my ſelfe ſometimes, leauing the feare of heauen on the left hand, and hiding mine honor in my neceſſity, am faine to ſhufflle: to hedge, and to lurch, and yet, you Rogue, will en-ſconce your raggs; your Cat-a-Mountaine-lookes, your red-lattice phraſes, and your bold-beating-oathes, vnder the ſhelter of your honor? you will not doe it? you?

 Piſt.

I doe relent: what would thou more of man?

 Robin.

Sir, here's a woman would ſpeake with you.

 Fal.

Let her approach.

 Qui.

Giue your worſhip good morrow.

 Fal.

Good-morrow, good-wife.

 Qui.

Not ſo and't pleaſe your worſhip.

 Fal.

Good maid then.

 Qui. Ile be ſworne, As my mother was the firſt houre I was borne. Fal.

I doe beleeue the ſwearer; what with me?

 Qui.

Shall I vouch-ſafe your worſhip a word, or two?

 Fal.

Two thouſand (faire woman) and ile vouchſafe thee the hearing.

 Qui.

There is one Miſtreſſe Ford, (Sir) I pray come a little neerer this waies: I my ſelfe dwell with M. Doctor Caius:

Fal.

Well, on; Miſtreſſe Ford, you ſay.

 Qui.

Your worſhip ſaies very true: I pray your worſhip come a little neerer this waies.

 Fal.

I warrant thee, no-bodie heares: mine owne people, mine owne people.

 Qui.

Are they ſo? heauen-bleſſe them, and make them his Seruants.

 Fal.

Well; Miſtreſſe Ford, what of her?

 Qui.

Why, Sir; ſhee's a good-creature; Lord, Lord, your Worſhip's a wanton: well: heauen forgiue you, and all of vs, I pray—.

 Fal.

Miſtreſſe Ford: come, Miſtreſſe Ford.

Qui.

Marry this is the ſhort, and the long of it: you haue brought her into ſuch a Canaries, as 'tis wonderfull: the beſt Courtier of them all (when the Court lay at Windſor) could neuer haue brought her to ſuch a Canarie: yet there has beene Knights, and Lords, and Gentlemen, with their Coaches; I warrant you Coach after Coach, letter after letter, gift after gift, ſmelling ſo ſweetly; all Muske, and ſo ruſhling, I warrant you, in ſilke and golde, and in ſuch alligant termes, and in ſuch wine and ſuger of the beſt, and the faireſt, that would haue wonne any womans heart: and I warrant you, they could neuer get an eye-winke of her: I had my ſelfe twentie Angels giuen me this morning, but I defie all Angels (in any ſuch ſort, as they ſay) but in the way of honeſty: and I warrant you, they could neuer get her ſo much as ſippe on a cup with the prowdeſt of them all, and yet there has beene Earles: nay, (which is more) Pentioners, but I warrant you all is one with her.

 Fal.

But what ſaies ſhee to mee? be briefe my good ſhee-Mercurie.

Qui.

Marry, ſhe hath receiu'd your Letter: for the which ſhe thankes you a thouſand times; and ſhe giues you to notifie, that her husband will be abſence from his houſe, betweene ten and eleuen.

 Fal.

Ten, and eleuen.

 Qui.

I, forſooth: and then you may come and ſee the picture (ſhe ſayes) that you wot of: Maſter Ford her huſband will be from home: alas, the ſweet woman leades an ill life with him: hee's a very iealouſie-man; ſhe leads a very frampold life with him, (good hart.)

 Fal. Ten, and eleuen. Woman, commend me to her, I will not faile her. Qui.

Why, you ſay well: But I haue another meſſenger to your worſhip: Miſtreſſe Page hath her heartie commendations to you to: and let mee tell you in your eare, ſhee's as fartuous a ciuill modeſt wife, and one (I tell you) that will not miſſe you morning nor euening prayer, as any is in Windſor, who ere bee the other: and ſhee bade me tell your worſhip, that her husband is ſeldome from home, but ſhe hopes there will come a time. I neuer knew a woman ſo doate vpon a man; ſurely I thinke you haue charmes, la: yes in truth.

 Fal.

Not I, I aſſure thee; ſetting the attraction of my good parts aſide, I haue no other charmes.

 Qui.

Bleſſing on your heart for't.

 Fal.

But I pray thee tell me this: has Fords wife, and Pages wife acquainted each other, how they loue me?

 Qui.

That were a ieſt indeed: they haue not ſo little grace I hope, that were a tricke indeed: But Miſtris Page would deſire you to ſend her your little Page of al loues: her husband has a maruellous infectiō to the little Page: and truely Maſter Page is an honeſt man: neuer a wife in Windſor leades a better life then ſhe do's: doe what ſhee will, ſay what ſhe will, take all, pay all, goe to bed when ſhe liſt, riſe when ſhe liſt, all is as ſhe will: and truly ſhe deſerues it; for if there be a kinde woman in Windſor, ſhe is one: you muſt ſend her your Page, no remedie.

 Fal.

Why, I will.

 Qu.

Nay▪ but doe ſo then, and looke you, hee may come and goe betweene you both: and in any caſe haue a nay-word, that you may know one anothers minde, and the Boy neuer neede to vnderſtand any thing; for 'tis not good that children ſhould know any wickednes: olde folkes you know, haue diſcretion, as they ſay, and know the world.

 Fal.

Farethee-well, commend mee to them both: there's my purſe, I am yet thy debter: Boy, goe along with this woman, this newes diſtracts me.

 Piſt. This Puncke is one of Cupids Carriers, Clap on more ſailes, purſue: vp with your fights: Giue fire: ſhe is my prize, or Ocean whelme them all. Fal.

Saiſt thou ſo (old Iacke) go thy waies: Ile make more of thy olde body then I haue done: will they yet looke after thee? wilt thou after the expence of ſo much money, be now a gainer? good Body, I thanke thee: let them ſay 'tis groſſely done, ſo it bee fairely done, no matter.

 Bar.

Sir Iohn, there's one Maſter Broome below would faine ſpeake with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath ſent your worſhip a mornings draught of Sacke.

 Fal.

Broome is his name?

 Bar.

I Sir.

 Fal.

Call him in: ſuch Broomes are welcome to mee, that ore' flowes ſuch liquor: ah ha, Miſtreſſe Ford and Miſtreſſe Page, haue I encompaſs'd you? goe to, via.

Ford.

'Bleſſe you ſir.

 Fal.

And you ſir: would you ſpeake with me?

 Ford.

I make bold, to preſſe, with ſo little preparation vpon you.

 Fal.

You'r welcome, what's your will? giue vs leaue Drawer.

 Ford.

Sir, I am a Gentleman that haue ſpent much, my name is Broome.

Fal.

Good Maſter Broome, I deſire more acquaintance of you.

 Ford.

Good Sir Iohn, I ſue for yours: not to charge you, for I muſt let you vnderſtand, I thinke my ſelfe in better plight for a Lender, then you are: the which hath ſomething emboldned me to this vnſeaſon'd intruſion: for they ſay, if money goe before, all waies doe lye open.

 Fal.

Money is a good Souldier (Sir) and will on.

 Ford.

Troth, and I haue a bag of money heere troubles me: if you will helpe to beare it (Sir Iohn) take all, or halfe, for eaſing me of the carriage.

 Fal.

Sir, I know not how I may deſerue to bee your Porter.

 Ford.

I will tell you ſir, if you will giue mee the hearing.

 Fal.

Speake (good Maſter Broome) I ſhall be glad to be your Seruant.

 Ford.

Sir, I heare you are a Scholler: (I will be briefe with you) and you haue been a man long knowne to me, though I had neuer ſo good means as deſire, to make my ſelfe acquainted with you. I ſhall diſcouer a thing to you, wherein I muſt very much lay open mine owne imperfection: but (good Sir Iohn) as you haue one eye vpon my follies, as you heare them vnfolded, turne another into the Regiſter of your owne, that I may paſſe with a reproofe the eaſier, ſith you your ſelfe know how eaſie it is to be ſuch an offender.

 Fal.

Very well Sir, proceed.

 Ford

There is a Gentlewoman in this Towne, her husbands name is Ford.

Fal.

Well Sir.

 Ford.

I haue long lou'd her, and I proteſt to you, beſtowed much on her: followed her with a doating obſeruance: Ingroſs'd opportunities to meete her: fee'd euery ſlight occaſion that could but nigardly giue mee ſight of her: not only bought many preſents to giue her, but haue giuen largely to many, to know what ſhee would haue giuen: briefly, I haue purſu'd her, as Loue hath purſued mee, which hath beene on the wing of all occaſions: but whatſoeuer I haue merited, either in my minde, or in my meanes, meede I am ſure I haue receiued none, vnleſſe Experience be a Iewell, that I haue purchaſed at an infinite rate, and that hath taught mee to ſay this, " Loue like a ſhadow flies, when ſubſtance Loue purſues, " Purſuing that that flies, and flying what purſues.

Fal.

Haue you receiu'd no promiſe of ſatisfaction at her hands?

 Ford.

Neuer.

 Fal.

Haue you importun'd her to ſuch a purpoſe?

 Ford.

Neuer.

 Fal.

Of what qualitie was your loue then?

 Ford.

Like a fair houſe, built on another mans ground, ſo that I haue loſt my edifice, by miſtaking the place, where I erected it.

 Fal.

To what purpoſe haue you vnfolded this to me?

 For.

When I haue told you that, I haue told you all: Some ſay, that though ſhe appeare honeſt to mee, yet in other places ſhee enlargeth her mirth ſo farre, that there is ſhrewd conſtruction made of her. Now (Sir Iohn) here is the heart of my purpoſe: you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable diſcourſe, of great admittance, authenticke in your place and perſon, generally allow'd for your many war-like, court-like, and learned preparations.

 Fal.

O Sir.

 Ford.

Beleeue it, for you know it: there is money, ſpend it, ſpend it, ſpend more; ſpend all I haue, onely giue me ſo much of your time in enchange of it, as to lay an amiable ſiege to the honeſty of this Fords wife: vſe your Art of wooing; win her to conſent to you: if any man may, you may as ſoone as any.

 Fal.

Would it apply well to the vehemency of your affection that I ſhould win what you would enioy? Methinkes you preſcribe to your ſelfe very prepoſterouſly.

 Ford.

O, vnderſtand my drift: ſhe dwells ſo ſecurely on the excellency of her honor, that the folly of my ſoule dares not preſent it ſelfe: ſhee is too bright to be look'd againſt. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand; my deſires had inſtance and argument to commend themſelues, I could driue her then from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thouſand other her defences, which now are too-too ſtrongly embattaild againſt me: what ſay you too't, Sir Iohn?

 Fal.

Maſter Broome, I will firſt make bold with your money: next, giue mee your hand: and laſt, as I am a gentleman, you ſhall, if you will, enioy Fords wife.

 Ford.

O good Sir.

 Fal.

I ſay you ſhall.

 Ford.

Want no money (Sir Iohn) you ſhall want none.

 Fal.

Want no Miſtreſſe Ford (Maſter Broome) you ſhall want none: I ſhall be with her (I may tell you) by her owne appointment, euen as you came in to me, her aſſiſtant, or goe-betweene, parted from me: I ſay I ſhall be with her betweene ten and eleuen: for at that time the iealious-raſcally-knaue her husband will be forth: come you to me at night, you ſhall know how I ſpeed.

 Ford.

I am bleſt in your acquaintance: do you know Ford Sir?

 Fal.

Hang him (poore Cuckoldly knaue) I know him not: yet I wrong him to call him poore: They ſay the iealous wittolly-knaue hath maſſes of money, for the which his wife ſeemes to me well-fauourd: I will vſe her as the key of the Cuckoldly-rogues Coffer, & ther's my harueſt-home.

 Ford.

I would you knew Ford, ſir, that you might auoid him, if you ſaw him.

 Fal.

Hang him, mechanicall-ſalt-butter rogue; I wil ſtare him out of his wits: I will awe-him with my cudgell: it ſhall hang like a Meteor ore the Cuckolds horns: Maſter Broome, thou ſhalt know, I will predominate ouer the pezant, and thou ſhalt lye with his wife. Come to me ſoone at night: Ford's a knaue, and I will aggrauate his ſtile: thou (Maſter Broome) ſhalt know him for knaue, and Cuckold. Come to me ſoone at night.

 Ford.

What a damn'd Epicurian-Raſcall is this? my heart is ready to cracke with impatience: who ſaies this is improuident iealouſie? my wife hath ſent to him, the howre is fixt, the match is made: would any man haue thought this? ſee the hell of hauing a falſe woman: my bed ſhall be abus'd, my Coffers ranſack'd, my reputation gnawne at, and I ſhall not onely receiue this villanous wrong, but ſtand vnder the adoption of abhominable termes, and by him that does mee this wrong: Termes, names: Amaimon ſounds well: Lucifer, well: Barbaſon, well: yet they are Diuels additions, the names of fiends: But Cuckold, Wittoll, Cuckold? the Diuell himſelfe hath not ſuch a name. Page is an Aſſe, a ſecure Aſſe; hee will truſt his wife, hee will not be iealous: I will rather truſt a Fleming with my butter, Parſon Hugh the Welſhman with my Cheeſe, an Iriſh-man with my Aqua-vitae-bottle, or a Theefe to walke my ambling gelding, then my wife with her ſelfe. Then ſhe plots, then ſhee ruminates, then ſhee deuiſes: and what they thinke in their hearts they may effect; they will breake their hearts but they will effect. Heauen bee prais'd for my iealouſie: eleuen o' clocke the howre, I will preuent this, detect my wife, bee reueng'd on Falſtaffe, and laugh at Page. I will about it, better three houres too ſoone, then a mynute too late: fie, fie, fie: Cuckold, Cuckold, Cuckold.

 Exti.
Scena Tertia. Enter Caius, Rugby, Page, Shallow, Slender, Hoſt. Caius. Iacke Rugby. Rug.

Sir.

 Caius.

Vat is the clocke, Iack.

Rug.

'Tis paſt the howre (Sir) that Sir Hugh promis'd to meet.

 Cai.

By gar, he has ſaue his ſoule, dat he is no-come: hee has pray his Pible well, dat he is no-come: by gar (Iack Rugby) he is dead already, if he be come.

 Rug.

Hee is wiſe Sir: hee knew your worſhip would kill him if he came.

 Cai.

By gar, de herring is no dead, ſo as I vill kill him: take your Rapier, (Iacke) I vill tell you how I vill kill him.

 Rug.

Alas ſir, I cannot fence.

 Cai.

Villanie, take your Rapier.

 Rug.

Forbeare: heer's company.

 Hoſt.

'Bleſſe thee, bully-Doctor.

 Shal.

'Saue you Mr. Doctor Caius.

Page.

Now, good Mr. Doctor.

 Slen.

'Giue you good-morrow, ſir.

 Caius.

Vat be all you one, two, tree, fowre, come for?

 Hoſt.

To ſee thee fight, to ſee thee foigne, to ſee thee trauerſe, to ſee thee heere, to ſee thee there, to ſee thee paſſe thy puncto, thy flock, thy reuerſe, thy diſtance, thy montant: Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Franciſco? ha Bully? what ſaies my Eſculapius? my Galien? my heart of Elder? ha? is he dead bully-Stale? is he dead?

 Cai.

By gar, he is de Coward-Iack-Prieſt of de vorld: he is not ſhow his face.

 Hoſt.

Thou art a Caſtalion-king-Vrinall: Hector of Greece (my Boy)

 Cai.

I pray you beare witneſſe, that me haue ſtay, ſixe or ſeuen, two tree howres for him, and hee is nocome.

 Shal.

He is the wiſer man (M. Docto) rhe is a curer of ſoules, and you a curer of bodies: if you ſhould fight, you goe againſt the haire of your profeſſions: is it not true, Maſter Page?

 Page.

Maſter Shallow; you haue your ſelfe beene a great fighter, though now a man of peace.

 Shal.

Body-kins M. Page, though I now be old, and of the peace; if I ſee a ſword out, my finger itches to make one: though wee are Iuſtices, and Doctors, and Church-men (M. Page) wee haue ſome ſalt of our youth in vs, we are the ſons of women (M. Page.)

 Page.

'Tis true, Mr. Shallow.

Shal.

It wil be found ſo, (M. Page:) M. Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home: I am ſworn of the peace: you haue ſhow'd your ſelfe a wiſe Phyſician, and Sir Hugh hath ſhowne himſelfe a wiſe and patient Churchman: you muſt goe with me, M. Doctor.

 Hoſt

Pardon, Gueſt-Iuſtice; a Mounſeur: Mocke-water.

 Cai.

Mock-vater? vat is dat?

 Hoſt.

Mock-water, in our Engliſh tongue, is Valour (Bully.)

 Cai.

By gar, then I haue as much Mock-vater as de Engliſhman: ſcuruy-Iack-dog-Prieſt: by gar, mee vill cut his eares.

 Hoſt.

He will Clapper-claw thee tightly (Bully.)

 Cai.

Clapper-de-claw? vat is dat?

 Hoſt.

That is, he will make thee amends.

 Cai.

By-gar, me doe looke hee ſhall clapper-de-claw me, for by-gar, me vill haue it.

 Hoſt.

And I will prouoke him to't, or let him wag.

 Cai.

Me tanck you for dat.

 Hoſt.

And moreouer, (Bully) but firſt, Mr. Ghueſt, and M. Page, & eeke Caualeiro Slender, goe you through the Towne to Frogmore.

Page.

Sir Hugh is there, is he?

 Hoſt.

He is there, ſee what humor he is in: and I will bring the Doctor about by the Fields: will it doe well?

 Shal.

We will doe it.

 All.

Adieu, good M. Doctor.

 Cai.

By-gar, me vill kill de Prieſt, for he ſpeake for a Iack-an-Ape to Anne Page.

Hoſt.

Let him die: ſheath thy impatience: throw cold water on thy Choller: goe about the fields with mee through Frogmore, I will bring thee where Miſtris Anne Page is, at a Farm-houſe a Feaſting: and thou ſhalt wooe her: Cride-game, ſaid I well?

 Cai.

By-gar, mee dancke you vor dat: by gar I loue you: and I ſhall procure 'a you de good Gueſt: de Earle, de Knight, de Lords, de Gentlemen, my patients.

 Hoſt.

For the which, I will be thy aduerſary toward Anne Page: ſaid I well?

 Cai.

By-gar, 'tis good: vell ſaid.

 Hoſt.

Let vs wag then.

 Cai.

Come at my heeles, Iack Rugby.

Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Scoena Prima. Enter Euans, Simple, Page, Shallow, Slender, Hoſt, Caius, Rugby. Euans.

I pray you now, good Maſter Slenders ſeruing-man, and friend Simple by your name; which way haue you look'd for Maſter Caius, that calls himſelfe Doctor of Phiſicke.

 Sim.

Marry Sir, the pittie-ward, the Parke-ward: euery way: olde Windſor way, and euery way but the Towne-way.

 Euan.

I moſt fehemently deſire you, you will alſo looke that way.

 Sim.

I will ſir.

 Euan.

'Pleſſe my ſoule: how full of Chollors I am, and trempling of minde: I ſhall be glad if he haue deceiued me: how melancholies I am? I will knog his Vrinalls about his knaues coſtard, when I haue good oportunities for the orke: 'Pleſſe my ſoule: To ſhallow Ruiers to whoſe falls: melodious Birds ſings Madrigalls: There will we make our Peds of Roſes: and a thouſand fragrant poſies. To ſhallow: 'Mercie on mee, I haue a great diſpoſitions to cry. Melodious birds ſing Madrigalls: — When as I ſat in Pabilon: and a thouſand vagram Poſies. To ſhallow, &c.

Sim.

Yonder he is comming, this way, Sir Hugh.

Euan. Hee's welcome: To ſhallow Riuers, to whoſe fals: Heauen proſper the right: what weapons is he? Sim.

No weapons, Sir: there comes my Maſter, Mr. Shallow, and another Gentleman; from Frogmore, ouer the ſtile, this way.

 Euan.

Pray you giue mee my gowne, or elſe keepe it in your armes.

 Shal.

How now Maſter Parſon? good morrow good Sir Hugh: keepe a Gameſter from the dice, and a good Studient from his booke, and it is wonderfull.

 Slen.

Ah ſweet Anne Page.

Page.

'Saue you, good Sir Hugh.

Euan.

'Pleſſe you from his mercy-ſake, all of you.

 Shal. What? the Sword, and the Word? Doe you ſtudy them both, Mr. Parſon? Page.

And youthfull ſtill, in your doublet and hoſe, this raw-rumaticke day?

 Euan.

There is reaſons, and cauſes for it.

 Page.

We are come to you, to doe a good office, Mr. Parſon.

 Euan.

Fery-well: what is it?

 Page.

Yonder is a moſt reuerend Gentleman; who (be-like) hauing receiued wrong by ſome perſon, is at moſt odds with his owne grauity and patience, that euer you ſaw.

 Shal.

I haue liued foure-ſcore yeeres, and vpward: I neuer heard a man of his place, grauity, and learning, ſo wide of his owne reſpect.

 Euan.

What is he?

 Page.

I thinke you know him: Mr. Doctor Caius the renowned French Phyſician.

 Euan.

Got's-will, and his paſſion of my heart: I had as lief you would tell me of a meſſe of porredge.

 Page.

Why?

 Euan.

He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen, and hee is a knaue beſides: a cowardly knaue, as you would deſires to be acquainted withall.

 Page.

I warrant you, hee's the man ſhould fight with him.

 Slen.

O ſweet Anne Page.

Shal.

It appeares ſo by his weapons: keepe them aſunder: here comes Doctor Caius.

Page.

Nay good Mr. Parſon, keepe in your weapon.

 Shal.

So doe you, good Mr. Doctor.

 Hoſt.

Diſarme them, and let them queſtion: let them keepe their limbs whole, and hack our Engliſh.

 Cai.

I pray you let-a-mee ſpeake a word with your eare; vherefore vill you not meet-a me?

 Euan.

Pray you vſe your patience in good time.

 Cai.

By-gar, you are de Coward: de Iack dog: Iohn Ape.

 Euan.

Pray you let vs not be laughing-ſtocks to other mens humors: I deſire you in friendſhip, and I will one way or other make you amends: I will knog your Vrinal about your knaues Cogs-combe.

 Cai.

Diablo: Iack Rugby: mine Hoſt de Iarteer: haue I not ſtay for him, to kill him? haue I not at deplace I did appoint?

 Euan.

As I am a Chriſtians-ſoule, now looke your: this is the place appointed, Ile bee iudgement by mine Hoſt of the Garter.

Hoſt.

Peace, I ſay, Gallia and Gaule, French & Welch, Soule-Curer, and Body-Curer.

 Cai.

I, dat is very good, excellant.

 Hoſt.

Peace, I ſay: heare mine Hoſt of the Garter, Am I politi • ke? Am I ſubtle? Am I a Machiuell?

Shall I looſe my Doctor? No, hee giues me the Potions and the Motions. Shall I looſe my Parſon? my Prieſt? my Sir Hugh? No, he giues me the Prouerbes, and the No-verbes. Giue me thy hand (Celeſtiall) ſo: Boyes of Art, I haue deceiu'd you both: I haue directed you to wrong places: your hearts are mighty, your skinnes are whole, and let burn'd Sacke be the iſſue: Come, lay their ſwords to pawne: Follow me, Lad of peace, follow, follow, follow.

 Shal.

Truſt me, a mad Hoſt: follow Gentlemen, follow.

 Slen.

O ſweet Anne Page.

Cai.

Ha' do I perceiue dat? Haue you make-a-de-ſot of vs, ha, ha?

 Eua.

This is well, he has made vs his vlowting-ſtog: I deſire you that we may be friends: and let vs knog our praines together to be reuenge on this ſame ſcall ſcuruy-cogging-companion the Hoſt of the Garter.

 Cai.

By gar, with all my heart: he promiſe to bring me where is Anne Page: by gar he deceiue me too.

 Euan.

Well, I will ſmite his noddles: pray you follow.
Scena Secunda. Miſt. Page, Robin, Ford, Page, Shallow, Slender, Hoſt, Euans, Caius. Miſt. Page.

Nay keepe your way (little Gallant) you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a Leader: whether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your maſters heeles?

 Rob.

I had rather (forſooth) go before you like a man, then follow him like a dwarfe.

 M. Pa.

O you are a flattering boy, now I ſee you'l be a Courtier.

 Ford.

Well met miſtris Page, whether go you.

 M. Pa.

Truly Sir, to ſee your wife, is ſhe at home?

 Ford.

I, and as idle as ſhe may hang together for want of company: I thinke if your husbands were dead, you two would marry.

 M. Pa.

Be ſure of that, two other husbands.

 Ford.

Where had you this pretty weather-cocke?

 M. Pa.

I cannot tell what (the dickens) his name is my husband had him of, what do you cal your Knights name ſirrah?

 Rob.

Sir. Iohn Falſtaffe.

Ford.

Sir. Iohn Falſtaffe.

M. Pa.

He, he, I can neuer hit on's name; there is ſuch a league betweene my goodman, and he: is your Wife at home indeed?

 Ford.

Indeed ſhe is.

 M. Pa.

By your leaue ſir, I am ſicke till I ſee her.

 Ford.

Has Page any braines? Hath he any eies? Hath he any thinking? Sure they ſleepe, he hath no vſe of them: why this boy will carrie a letter twentie mile as eaſie, as a Canon will ſhoot point-blanke twelue ſcore: hee peeces out his wiues inclination; he giues her folly motion and advantage; and now ſhe's going to my wife, & Falſtaffes boy with her: A man may heare this ſhowre ſing in the winde; and Falstaffes boy with her: good plots, they are laide, and our reuolted wiues ſhare damnation together. Well, I will take him, then torture my wife, plucke the borrowed vaile of modeſtie from the ſo-ſeeming Miſt. Page, divulge Page himſelfe for a ſecure and wilfull Acteon, and to theſe violent proceedings all my neighbors ſhall cry aime. The clocke giues me my Qu, and my aſſurance bids me ſearch, there I ſhall finde Falſtaffe: I ſhall be rather praiſd for this, then mock'd, for it is as poſſitiue, as the earth is firme, that Falſtaffe is there: I will go.

 Shal.

Page, &c. Well met Mr Ford.

Ford.

Truſt me, a good knotte; I haue good cheere at home, and I pray you all go with me.

 Shal.

I muſt excuſe my ſelfe Mr Ford.

Slen. And ſo muſt I Sir, We haue appointed to dine with Miſtris Anne, And I would not breake with her for more mony Then Ile ſpeake of. Shal.

We haue linger'd about a match betweene An Page, and my cozen Slender, and this day wee ſhall haue our anſwer.

 Slen.

I hope I haue your good will Father Page.

Pag. You haue Mr Slender, I ſtand wholly for you, But my wife (Mr Doctor) is for you altogether. Cai.

I be-gar, and de Maid is loue-a-me: my nurſha-Quickly tell me ſo muſh

 Hoſt.

What ſay you to yong Mr Fenton? He capers, he dances, he has eies of youth: he writes verſes, hee ſpeakes holliday, he ſmels April and May, he wil carry't, he will carry't, 'tis in his buttons, he will carry't.

 Page.

Not by my conſent I promiſe you. The Gentleman is of no hauing, hee kept companie with the wilde Prince, and Pointz: he is of too high a Region, he knows too much: no, hee ſhall not knit a knot in his fortunes, with the finger of my ſubſtance: if he take her, let him take her ſimply: the wealth I haue waits on my conſent, and my conſent goes not that way.

 Ford.

I beſeech you heartily, ſome of you goe home with me to dinner: beſides your cheere you ſhall haue ſport, I will ſhew you a monſter: Mr Doctor, you ſhal go, ſo ſhall you Mr Page, and you Sir Hugh.

Shal. Well, fare you well: We ſhall haue the freer woing at Mr. Pages. Cai.

Go home Iohn Rugby, I come anon.

 Hoſt.

Farewell my hearts, I will to my honeſt Knight Falſtaffe, and drinke Canarie with him.

 Ford.

I thinke I ſhall drinke in Pipe-wine firſt with him, Ile make him dance. Will you go, Gentles?

 All.

Haue with you, to ſee this Monſter.

Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter M. Ford, M. Page, Seruants, Robin, Falſtaffe, Ford, Page, Caius, Euans. Miſt. Ford.

What Iohn, what Robert.

M. Page.

Quickly, quickly: Is the Buck-basket —

 Miſ. Ford.

I warrant. What Robin I ſay.

 Miſ. Page.

Come, come, come.

 Miſt. Ford.

Heere, ſet it downe.

 M. Pag.

Giue your men the charge, we muſt be briefe.

 M. Ford.

Marrie▪ as I told you before (Iohn & Robert) be ready here hard-by in the Brew-houſe, & when I ſodainly call you, come forth, and (without any pauſe, or ſtaggering) take this basket on your ſhoulders: yt done, trudge with it in all haſt, and carry it among the Whitſters in Dotchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddie ditch, cloſe by the Thames ſide.

 M. Page.

You will do it?

 M. Ford. I ha told them ouer and ouer, they lacke no direction Be gone, and come when you are call'd. M. Page.

Here comes little Robin.

Miſt. Ford.

How now my Eyas-Musket, what newes with you?

 Rob.

My M. Sir Iohn is come in at your backe doore (Miſt. Ford, and requeſts your company.

 M. Page.

You litle Iack-a-lent, haue you bin true to vs

 Rob.

I, Ile be ſworne: my Maſter knowes not of your being heere: and hath threatned to put me into euerlaſting liberty, if I tell you of it: for he ſweares he'll turne me away.

 Miſt. Pag.

Thou'rt a good boy: this ſecrecy of thine ſhall be a Tailor to thee, and ſhal make thee a new doublet and hoſe. Ile go hide me.

 Mi. Ford.

Do ſo: go tell thy Maſter, I am alone: Miſtris Page, remember you your Qu.

Miſt. Pag.

I warrant thee, if I do not act it, hiſſe me.

 Miſt. Ford.

Go-too then: we'l vſe this vnwholſome humidity, this groſſe-watry Pumpion; we'll teach him to know Turtles from Iayes.

 Fal.

Haue I caught thee, my heauenly Iewell? Why now let me die, for I haue liu'd long enough: This is the period of my ambition: O this bleſſed houre.

 Miſt. Ford.

O ſweet Sir Iohn.

Fal.

Miſtris Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate (Miſt. Ford) now ſhall I ſin in my wiſh; I would thy Husband were dead, Ile ſpeake it before the beſt Lord, I would make thee my Lady.

 Miſt. Ford.

I your Lady Sir Iohn? Alas, I ſhould bee a pittifull Lady.

 Fal.

Let the Court of France ſhew me ſuch another: I ſee how thine eye would emulate the Diamond: Thou haſt the right arched-beauty of the brow, that becomes the Ship-tyre, the Tyre-valiant, or any Tire of Venetian admittance.

 Miſt. Ford. A plaine Kerchiefe, Sir Iohn: My browes become nothing elſe, nor that well neither. Fal.

Thou art a tyrant to ſay ſo: thou wouldſt make an abſolute Courtier, and the firme fixture of thy foote, would giue an excellent motion to thy gate, in a ſemicircled Farthingale. I ſee what thou wert if Fortune thy foe, were not Nature thy friend: Come, thou canſt not hide it.

 Miſt. Ford.

Beleeue me, ther's no ſuch thing in me.

 Fal.

What made me loue thee? Let that perſwade thee. Ther's ſomething extraordinary in thee: Come, I cannot cog, and ſay thou art this and that, like a-manie of theſe liſping-hauthorne buds, that come like women in mens apparrell, and ſmell like. Bucklers-berry in ſimple time: I cannot, but I loue thee, none but thee; and thou deſeru'ſt it.

 M. Ford.

Do not betray me ſir, I fear you loue M. Page.

Fal.

Thou mightſt as well ſay, I loue to walke by the Counter-gate, which is as hatefull to me, as the reeke of a Lime-kill.

 Miſ. Ford. Well, heauen knowes how I loue you, And you ſhall one day finde it. Fal.

Keepe in that minde, Ile deſerue it.

 Miſt. Ford. Nay, I muſt tell you, ſo you doe; Or elſe I could not be in that minde. Rob.

Miſtris Ford, Miſtris Ford: heere's Miſtris Page at the doore, ſweating, and blowing, and looking wildely, and would needs ſpeake with you preſently.

 Fal.

She ſhall not ſee me, I will enſconce mee behinde the Arras.

 M. Ford.

Pray you do ſo, ſhe's a very tatling woman. Whats the matter? How now?

 Miſt. Page. O miſtris Ford what haue you done? You'r ſham'd, y' are ouerthrowne, y' are vndone for euer. M. Ford.

What's the matter, good miſtris Page?

M. Page.

O weladay, miſt. Ford, hauing an honeſt man to your husband, to giue him ſuch cauſe of ſuſpition.

 M. Ford.

What cauſe of ſuſpition?

 M. Page. What cauſe of ſuſpition? Out vpon you: How am I miſtooke in you? M. Ford.

Why (alas) what's the matter?

 M. Page.

Your husband's comming hether (Woman) with all the Officers in Windſor, to ſearch for a Gentleman, that he ſayes is heere now in the houſe; by your conſent to take an ill aduantage of his abſence: you are vndone.

 M. Ford.

'Tis not ſo, I hope.

 M. Page.

Pray heauen it be not ſo, that you haue ſuch a man heere: but 'tis moſt certaine your husband's comming, with halfe Windſor at his heeles, to ſerch for ſuch a one, I come before to tell you: If you know your ſelfe cleere, why I am glad of it: but if you haue a friend here, conuey, conuey him out. Be not amaz'd, call all your ſenſes to you, defend your reputation, or bid farwell to your good life for euer.

 M. Ford.

What ſhall I do? There is a Gentleman my deere friend: and I feare not mine owne ſhame ſo much, as his perill. I had rather then a thouſand pound he were out of the houſe.

 M. Page.

For ſhame, neuer ſtand (you had rather, and you had rather:) your husband's heere at hand, bethinke you of ſome conueyance: in the houſe you cannot hide him. Oh, how haue you deceiu'd me? Looke, heere is a basket, if he be of any reaſonable ſtature, he may creepe in heere, and throw fowle linnen vpon him, as if it were going to bucking: Or it is whiting time, ſend him by your two men to Datchet-Meade:

 M. Ford.

He's too big to go in there: what ſhall I do?

 Fal. Let me ſee't, let me ſee't, O let me ſee't: Ile in, Ile in: Follow your friends counſell, Ile in. M. Page.

What Sir Iohn Faiſtaſſe? Are theſe your Letters, Knight?

 Fal.

I loue thee, helpe mee away: let me creepe in heere: ile neuer—

 M. Page.

Helpe to couer your maſter (Boy:) Call your men (Miſt. Ford.) You diſſembling Knight.

 M. Ford.

What Iohn, Robert, Iohn; Go, take vp theſe cloathes heere, quickly: Wher's the Cowle-ſtaffe? Look how you drumble? Carry them to the Landreſſe in Datchet mead: quickly, come.

 Ford. 'Pray you come nere: if I ſuſpect without cauſe, Why then make ſport at me, then let me be your ieſt, I deſerue it: How now? Whether beare you this? Ser.

To the Landreſſe forſooth?

 M. Ford.

Why, what haue you to doe whether they beare it? You were beſt meddle with buck-waſhing.

 Ford. Bucke I would I could waſh my ſelfe of ye Buck: Bucke, bucke, bucke, I bucke: I warrant you Bucke, And of the ſeaſon too; it ſhall appeare.

Gentlemen, I haue dream'd to night, Ile tell you my dreame: heere, heere, heere bee my keyes, aſcend my Chambers, ſearch, ſeeke, finde out: Ile warrant wee'le vnkennell the Fox. Let me ſtop this way firſt: ſo, now vncape.

 Page. Good maſter Ford, be contented: You wrong your ſelfe too much. Ford. True (maſter Page) vp Gentlemen, You ſhall ſee ſport anon: Follow me Gentlemen. Euans.

This is fery fantaſticall humors and iealouſies.

 Caius. By gar, 'tis no-the faſhion of France: It is not iealous in France. Page.

Nay follow him (Gentlemen) ſee the yſſue of his ſearch.

 Miſt. Page

Is there not a double excellency in this?

 Miſt. Ford. I know not which pleaſes me better, That my husband is deceiued, or Sir Iohn. Miſt. Page.

What a taking was hee in, when your husband askt who was in the basket?

 Miſt. Ford.

I am halfe affraid he will haue neede of waſhing: ſo throwing him into the water, will doe him a benefit.

 Miſt. Page.

Hang him diſhoneſt raſcall: I would all of the ſame ſtraine, were in the ſame diſtreſſe.

 Miſt. Ford.

I thinke my husband hath ſome ſpeciall ſuſpition of Falſtaffs being heere: for I neuer ſaw him ſo groſſe in his iealouſie till now.

 Miſt. Page.

I will lay a plot to try that, and wee will yet haue more trickes with Falſtaffe: his diſſolute diſeaſe will ſcarſe obey this medicine.

 Miſ. Ford.

Shall we ſend that fooliſhion Carion, Miſt. Quickly to him, and excuſe his throwing into the water, and giue him another hope, to betray him to another puniſhment?

 Mist. Page.

We will do it: let him be ſent for to morrow eight a clocke to haue amends.

 Ford.

I cannot finde him: may be the knaue bragg'd of that he could not compaſſe.

 Miſ. Page.

Heard you that?

 Miſ. Ford.

You vſe me well, M. Ford? Do you?

 Ford.

I, I do ſo.

 M. Ford.

Heauen make you better then your thoghts

 Ford.

Amen.

 Mi. Page.

You do your ſelfe mighty wrong (M. Ford)

 Ford.

I, I: I muſt beare it.

 Eu.

If there be any pody in the houſe, & in the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the preſſes: heauen forgiue my ſins at the day of iudgement.

 Caius.

Be gar, nor I too: there is no-bodies.

 Page.

Fy, fy, M. Ford, are you not aſham'd? What ſpirit, what diuell ſuggeſts this imagination? I wold not ha your diſtemper in this kind, for ye welth of Windſor caſtle.

Ford.

'Tis my fault (M. Page) I ſuffer for it.

 Euans.

You ſuffer for a pad conſcience: your wife is as honeſt a o' mans, as I will deſires among fiue thouſand, and fiue hundred too.

 Cai

By gar, I ſee 'tis an honeſt woman.

 Ford.

Well, I promiſd you a dinner: come, come, walk in the Parke, I pray you pardon me: I wil hereafter make knowne to you why I haue done this. Come wife, come Mi. Page, I pray you pardon me. Pray hartly pardon me.

 Page.

Let's go in Gentlemen, but (truſt me) we'l mock him: I doe inuite you to morrow morning to my houſe to breakfaſt: after we'll a Birding together, I haue a fine Hawke for the buſh. Shall it be ſo:

 Ford.

Any thing.

 Eu.

If there is one, I ſhall make two in the Companie

 Ca.

If there be one, or two, I ſhall make-a-theturd.

 Ford.

Pray you go, M. Page.

Eua.

I pray you now remembrance to morrow on the lowſie knaue, mine Hoſt.

 Cai.

Dat is good by gar, withall my heart.

 Eua.

A lowſie knaue, to haue his gibes, and his mockeries.

 Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Fenton, Anne, Page, Shallow, Slender, Quickly, Page, Miſt. Page. Fen: I ſee I cannot get thy Fathers loue, Therefore no more turne me to him (ſweet Nan.) Anne.

Alas, how then?

 Fen. Why thou muſt be thy ſelfe. He doth obiect, I am too great of birth, And that my ſtate being gall'd with my expence, I ſeeke to heale it onely by his wealth. Beſides theſe, other barres he layes before me, My Riots paſt, my wilde Societies, And tels me 'tis a thing impoſſible I ſhould loue thee, but as a property. An. May be he tels you true. No, heauen ſo ſpeed me in my time to come, Albeit I will confeſſe, thy Fathers wealth Was the firſt motiue that I woo'd thee (Anne:) Yet wooing thee, I found thee of more valew Then ſtampes in Gold, or ſummes in ſealed bagges: And 'tis the very riches of thy ſelfe, That now I ayme at. An. Gentle M. Fenton, Yet ſeeke my Fathers loue, ſtill ſeeke it ſir, If opportunity and humbleſt ſuite Cannot attaine it, why then harke you hither. Shal. Breake their talke Miſtris Quickly, My Kinſman ſhall ſpeake for himſelfe. Slen.

Ile make a ſhaft or a bolt on't, ſlid, tis but venturing.

 Shal.

Be not diſmaid.

 Slen. No, ſhe ſhall not diſmay me: I care not for that, but that I am affeard. Qui.

Hark ye, M. Slender would ſpeak a word with you

 An. I come to him. This is my Fathers choice: O what a world of vilde ill-fauour'd faults Lookes handſome in three hundred pounds a yeere? Qui. And how do's good Maſter Fenton? Pray you a word with you. Shal. Shee's comming; to her Coz: O boy, thou hadſt a father. Slen.

I had a father (M. An) my vncle can tel you good ieſts of him: pray you Vncle tel Miſt. Anne the ieſt how my Father ſtole two Geeſe out of a Pen, good Vnckle.

 Shal.

Miſtris Anne, my Cozen loues you.

 Slen.

I that I do, as well as I loue any woman in Gloceſterſhire.

 Shal.

He will maintaine you like a Gentlewoman.

 Slen.

I that I will, come cut and long-taile, vnder the degree of a Squire.

 Shal.

He will make you a hundred and fiftie pounds ioynture.

 Anne.

Good Maiſter Shallow let him woo for himſelfe.

 Shal.

Marrie I thanke you for it: I thanke you for that good comfort: ſhe cals you (Coz) Ile leaue you.

 Anne.

Now Maſter Slender.

Slen.

Now good Miſtris Anne.

Anne.

What is your will?

 Slen.

My will? Odd's-hart-lings, that's a prettie ieſt indeede: I ne're made my Will yet (I thanke Heauen:) I am not ſuch a ſickely creature, I giue Heauen praiſe.

 Anne.

I meane (M. Slender) what wold you with me?

 Slen.

Truely, for mine owne part, I would little or nothing with you: your father and my vncle hath made motion,: if it be my lucke, ſo; if not, happy man bee his dole, they can tell you how things go, better then I can: you may aske your father, heere he comes.

 Page. Now Mr Slender; Loue him daughter Anne. Why how now? What does Mr Fenter here? You wrong me Sir, thus ſtill to haunt my houſe. I told you Sir, my daughter is diſpoſd of. Fen.

Nay Mr Page, be not impatient.

 Miſt. Page.

Good M. Fenton▪ come not to my child.

 Page.

She is no match for you.

 Fen.

Sir, will you heare me?

 Page. No, good M. Fenton. Come M. Shallow: Come ſonne Slender, in; Knowing my minde, you wrong me (M. Fenton.) Qui.

Speake to Miſtris Page.

Fen. Good Miſt. Page, for that I loue your daughter In ſuch a righteous faſhion as I do, Perforce, againſt all checkes, rebukes, and manners, I muſt aduance the colours of my loue, And not retire. Let me haue your good will. An.

Good mother, do not marry me to yond foole.

 Miſt. Page.

I meane it not, I ſeeke you a better huſband.

 Qui.

That's my maſter, M. Doctor.

 An. Alas I had rather be ſet quick i' th earth, And bowl'd to death with Turnips. Miſt. Page. Come, trouble not your ſelfe good M. Fenton, I will not be your friend, nor enemy: My daughter will I queſtion how ſhe loues you, And as I finde her, ſo am I affected: Till then, farewell Sir, ſhe muſt needs go in, Her father will be angry. Fen.

Farewell gentle Miſtris: farewell Nan.

Qui.

This is my doing now: Nay, ſaide I, will you caſt away your childe on a Foole, and a Phyſitian: Looke on M. Fenton, this is my doing.

 Fen. I thanke thee: and I pray thee once to night, Giue my ſweet Nan this Ring: there's for thy paines. Qui.

Now heauen ſend thee good fortune, a kinde heart he hath: a woman would run through fire & water for ſuch a kinde heart. But yet, I would my Maiſter had Miſtris Anne, or I would M. Slender had her: or (in ſooth) I would M. Fenton had her; I will do what I can for them all three, for ſo I haue promiſd, and Ile bee as good as my word, but ſpeciouſly for M. Fenton. Well, I muſt of another errand to Sir Iohn Falstaffe from my two Miſtreſſes: what a beaſt am I to ſlacke it.

Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Falſtaffe, Bardolfe, Quickly, Ford. Fal.

Bardolfe I ſay.

 Bar.

Heere Sir.

 Fal.

Go, fetch me a quart of Sacke, put a toſt in't. Haue I liu'd to be carried in a Basket like a barrow of butchers Offall? and to be throwne in the Thames? Wel, if I be ſeru'd ſuch another tricke, Ile haue my braines 'tane out and butter'd, and giue them to a dogge for a New-yeares gift. The rogues ſlighted me into the riuer with as little remorſe, as they would haue drown'de a blinde bitches Puppies, fifteene i' th litter: and you may know by my ſize, that I haue a kinde of alacrity in ſinking: if the bottome were as deepe as hell, I ſhold down. I had beene drown'd, but that the ſhore was ſheluy and ſhallow: a death that I abhorre: for the water ſwelles a man; and what a thing ſhould I haue beene, when I had beene ſwel'd? I ſhould haue beene a Mountaine of Mummie.

 Bar.

Here's M. Quickly Sir to ſpeake with you.

 Fal.

Come, let me poure in ſome Sack to the Thames water: for my bellies as cold as if I had ſwallow'd ſnowbals, for pilles to coole the reines. Call her in.

 Bar.

Come in woman.

 Qui. By your leaue: I cry you mercy? Giue your worſhip good morrow. Fal. Take away theſe Challices: Go, brew me a pottle of Sacke finely. Bard.

With Egges, Sir?

 Fal.

Simple of it ſelfe: Ile no Pullet-Sperſme in my brewage. How now?

 Qui.

Marry Sir, I come to your worſhip from M. Ford.

Fal.

Miſt. Ford? I haue had Ford enough: I was thrown into the Ford; I haue my belly full of Ford.

 Qui.

Alas the day, (good-heart) that was not her fault: ſhe do's ſo take on with her men; they miſtooke their erection.

 Fal.

So did I mine, to build vpon a fooliſh Womans promiſe.

 Qui.

Well, ſhe laments Sir for it, that it would yern your heart to ſee it: her husband goes this morning a birding; ſhe deſires you once more to come to her, betweene eight and nine: I muſt carry her word quickely, ſhe'll make you amends I warrant you.

 Fal.

Well, I will viſit her, tell her ſo: and bidde her thinke what a man is: Let her conſider his frailety, and then iudge of my merit.

 Qui.

I will tell her.

 Fal.

Do ſo. Betweene nine and ten ſaiſt thou?

 Qui.

Eight and nine Sir.

 Fal.

Well, be gone: I will not miſſe her.

 Qui.

Peace be with you Sir.

 Fal.

I meruaile I heare not of Mr Broome: he ſent me word to ſtay within: I like his money well. Oh, heere be comes.

 Ford.

Bleſſe you Sir.

 Fal. Now M. Broome, you come to know What hath paſt betweene me, and Fords wife. Ford.

That indeed (Sir Iohn) is my buſineſſe.

 Fal. M. Broome I will not lye to you, I was at her houſe the houre ſhe appointed me. Ford.

And ſped you Sir?

 Fal.

very ill-fauouredly M. Broome.

Ford.

How ſo ſir, did ſhe change her determination?

 Fal.

No (M. Broome) but the peaking Curnuto her huſband (M. Broome) dwelling in a continual larum of ielouſie, coms me in the inſtant of our encounter, after we had embraſt, kiſt, proteſted, & (as it were) ſpoke the prologue of our Comedy: and at his heeles, a rabble of his companions, thither prouoked and inſtigated by his diſtemper, and (forſooth) to ſerch his houſe for his wiues Loue.

 Ford.

What? While you were there?

 Fal.

While I was there.

 For.

And did he ſearch for you, & could not find you?

 Fal.

You ſhall heare. As good lucke would haue it, comes in one Miſt. Page▪ giues intelligence of Fords approch: and in her inuention, and Fords wiues diſtraction, they conuey'd me into a bucke-basket.

 Ford.

A Buck-basket?

 Fal.

Yes: a Buck-basket: ram'd mee in with foule Shirts and Smockes, Socks, foule Stockings, greaſie Napkins, that (Maſter Broome) there was the rankeſt compound of villanous ſmell, that euer offended noſtrill.

 Ford.

And how long lay you there?

 Fal.

Nay, you ſhall heare (Maſter Broome) what I hau • ſufferd, to bring this woman to euill, for your good: Being thus cram'd in the Basket, a couple of Fords knaues, his Hindes, were cald forth by their Miſtris, to carry mee in the name of foule Cloathes to Datchet-lane: they tooke me on their ſhoulders: met the iealous knaue their Maſter in the doore; who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their Baſket? I quak'd for feare leaſt the Lunatique Knaue would haue ſearch'd it: but Fate (ordaining he ſhould be a Cuckold) held his hand: well, on went hee, for a ſearch, and away went I for foule Cloathes: But marke the ſequell (Maſter Broome) I ſuffered the pangs of three ſeuerall deaths: Firſt, an intollerable fright, to be detected with a iealious rotten Bell-weather: Next to be compaſs'd like a good Bilbo in the circumference of a Pecke, hilt to point, heele to head. And then to be ſtopt in like a ſtrong diſtillation with ſtinking Cloathes, that fretted in their owne greaſe: thinke of that, a man of my Kidney; thinke of that, that am as ſubiect to heate as butter; a man of continuall diſſolution, and thaw: it was a miracle to ſcape ſuffocation. And in the height of this Bath (when I was more then halfe ſtew'd in greaſe (like a Dutchdiſh) to be throwne into the Thames, and coold, glowing-hot, in that ſerge like a Horſeſhoo; thinke of that; hiſſing hot: thinke of that (Maſter Broome.)

 Ford. In good ſadneſſe Sir, I am ſorry, that for my ſake you haue ſufferd all this. My ſuite then is deſperate: You'll vndertake her no more? Fal.

Maſter Broome: I will be throwne into Etna, as I haue beene into Thames, ere I will leaue her thus; her Husband is this morning gone a Birding: I haue receiued from her another ambaſſie of meeting: 'twixt eight and nine is the houre (Maſter Broome.)

 Ford.

'Tis paſt eight already Sir.

 Fal.

Is it? I will then addreſſe mee to my appointment: Come to mee at your conuenient leiſure, and you ſhall know how I ſpeede: and the concluſion ſhall be crowned with your enioying her: adiew: you ſhall haue her (Maſter Broome) Maſter Broome, you ſhall cuckold Ford.

Ford.

Hum: ha? Is this a viſion? Is this a dreame? doe I ſleepe? Maſter Ford awake, awake Maſter Ford: ther's a hole made in your beſt coate (Maſter Ford:) this 'tis to be married; this 'tis to haue Lynnen, and Buck-baskets: Well, I will proclaime my ſelfe what I am: I will now take the Leacher: hee is at my houſe: hee cannot ſcape me: 'tis impoſſible hee ſhould: hee cannot creepe into a halfe-penny purſe, nor into a Pepper-Boxe: But leaſt the Diuell that guides him, ſhould aide him, I will ſearch impoſſible places: though what I am, I cannot auoide; yet to be what I would not, ſhall not make me tame: If I haue hornes, to make one mad, let the prouerbe goe with me, Ile be hornemad.

Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Miſtris Page, Quickly, William, Euans. Miſt. Pag.

Is he at M. Fords already think'ſt thou?

 Qui.

Sure he is by this; or will be preſently; but truely he is very couragious mad, about his throwing into the water. Miſtris Ford deſires you to come ſodainely.

 Miſt. Pag.

Ile be with her by and by: Ile but bring my yong-man here to Schoole: looke where his Maſter comes; 'tis a playing day I ſee: how now Sir Hugh, no Schoole to day?

 Eua.

No: Maſter Slender is let the Boyes leaue to play.

 Qui

'Bleſſing of his heart.

 Miſt. Pag.

Sir Hugh, my husband ſaies my ſonne profits nothing in the world at his Booke: I pray you aske him ſome queſtions in his Accidence.

 Eu.

Come hither William; hold vp your head; come.

 Miſt. Pag.

Come-on Sirha; hold vp your head; anſwere your Maſter, be not afraid.

 Eua.

William, how many Numbers is in Nownes?

 Will.

Two.

 Qui.

Truely, I thought there had bin one Number more, becauſe they ſay od's-Nownes.

 Eua.

Peace, your tatlings. What is (Faire) William?

Will.

Pulcher.

Qu.

Powlcats? there are fairer things then Powlcats, ſure.

 Eua.

You are a very ſimplicity o' man: I pray you peace. What is (Lapis) William?

 Will.

A Stone.

 Eua.

And what is a Stone (William?)

Will.

A Peeble.

 Eua.

No; it is Lapis: I pray you remember in your praine.

 Will.

Lapis.

Eua.

That is a good William: what is he (William) that do's lend Articles.

 Will.

Articles are borrowed of the Pronoune; and be thus declined. Singulariter nominatiuo hic haec, hoc.

Eua.

Nominatiuo hig, hag, hog: pray you marke: genitiuo huius: Well: what is your Accuſatiue-caſe?

 Will.

Accuſatiuo hinc.

Eua.

I pray you haue your remembrance (childe) Accuſatiuo hing, hang, hog.

Qu.

Hang-hog, is latten for Bacon, I warrant you.

 Eua.

Leaue your prables (o' man) What is the Focatiue caſe (William?)

Will.

O, Vocatiuo, O.

Eua.

Remember William, Focatiue, is caret.

Qu.

And that's a good roote.

 Eua.

O' man, forbeare.

 Miſt. Pag.

Peace.

 Eua:

What is your Genitiue caſe plurall (William?)

Will.

Genitiue caſe?

 Eua.

I.

 Will.

Genitiue horum, harum, horum.

Qu.

'Vengeance of Ginyes caſe; fie on her; neuer name her (childe) if ſhe be a whore.

 Eua.

For ſhame o' man.

 Qu.

You doe ill to teach the childe ſuch words: hee teaches him to hic, and to hac; which they'll doe faſt enough of themſelues, and to call horum; fie vpon you.

 Euans.

O' man, art thou Lunaties? Haſt thou no vnderſtandings for thy Caſes, & the numbers of the Genders? Thou art as fooliſh Chriſtian creatures, as I would deſires.

 Mi. Page.

Pre'thee hold thy peace.

 Eu.

Shew me now (William) ſome declenſions of your Pronounes.

 Will.

Forſooth, I haue forgot.

 Eu.

It is Qui, que, quod; if you forget your Quies, your Ques, and your Quods, you muſt be preeches: Goe your waies and play, go.

 M. Pag.

He is a better ſcholler then I thought he was.

 Eu.

He is a good ſprag-memory: Farewel Mis. Page.

Miſ. Page. Adieu good Sir Hugh: Get you home boy, Come we ſtay too long. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Falſtoffe, Miſt. Ford, Miſt. Page, Seruants, Ford, Page, Caius, Euans, Shallow. Fal.

Mi. Ford, Your ſorrow hath eaten vp my ſufferance; I ſee you are obſequious in your loue, and I profeſſe requitall to a haires bredth, not onely Miſt. Ford, in the ſimple office of loue, but in all the accuſtrement, complement, and ceremony of it: But are you ſure of your husband now?

 Miſ. Ford.

Hee's a birding (ſweet Sir Iohn.)

 Miſ. Page.

What hoa, goſſip Ford: what hoa.

 Miſ. Ford.

Step into th' chamber, Sir Iohn.

Miſ. Page.

How now (ſweete heart) whoſe at home beſides your ſelfe?

 Miſ Ford

Why none but mine owne people.

 Miſ. Page.

Indeed?

 Miſ. Ford.

No certainly: Speake louder.

 Miſt. Pag.

Truly, I am ſo glad you haue no body here.

 Miſt. Ford.

Why?

 Miſ. Page.

Why woman, your husband is in his olde lines againe: he ſo takes on yonder with my husband, ſo railes againſt all married mankinde; ſo curſes all Eues daughters, of what complexion ſoeuer; and ſo buffettes himſelfe on the for-head: crying peere-out, peere-out, that any madneſſe I euer yet beheld, ſeem'd but tameneſſe, ciuility, and patience to this his diſtemper he is in now: I am glad the fat Knight is not heere.

 Miſt. Ford.

Why, do's he talke of him?

 Miſt. Page.

Of none but him, and ſweares he was caried out the laſt time hee ſearch'd for him, in a Basket: Proteſts to my husband he is now heere, & hath drawne him and the reſt of their company from their ſport, to make another experiment of his ſuſpition: But I am glad the Knight is not heere; now he ſhall ſee his owne foolerie.

 Miſt. Ford.

How neere is he Miſtris Page?

Miſt. Pag.

Hard by, at ſtreet end; he wil be here anon.

 Miſt. Ford.

I am vndone, the Knight is heere.

 Miſt. Page.

Why then you are vtterly ſham'd, & hee's but a dead man. What a woman are you? Away with him, away with him▪ Better ſhame, then murther.

 Miſt. Ford.

Which way ſhould he go? How ſhould I beſtow him? Shall I put him into the basket againe?

 Fal. No, Ile come no more i' th Basket: May I not go out ere he come? Miſt. Page.

Alas: three of Mr. Fords brothers watch the doore with Piſtols, that none ſhall iſſue out: otherwiſe you might ſlip away ere hee came: But what make you heere?

 Fal.

What ſhall I do? Ile creepe vp into the chimney.

 Miſt. Ford.

There they alwaies vſe to diſcharge their Birding-peeces: creepe into the Kill-hole.

 Fal.

Where is it?

 Mist. Ford.

He will ſeeke there on my word: Neyther Preſſe, Coffer, Cheſt, Trunke, Well, Vault, but he hath an abſtract for the remembrance of ſuch places, and goes to them by his Note: There is no hiding you in the houſe.

 Fal.

Ile go out then.

 Miſt. Ford.

If you goe out in your owne ſemblance, you die Sir Iohn, vnleſſe you go out diſguis'd.

 Miſt. Ford.

How might we diſguiſe him?

 Mist. Page.

Alas the day I know not, there is no womans gowne bigge enough for him: otherwiſe he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchiefe, and ſo eſcape.

 Fal.

Good hearts, deuiſe ſomething: any extremitie, rather then a miſchiefe.

 Miſt. Ford.

My Maids Aunt the fat woman of Brainford, has a gowne aboue.

 Miſt. Page.

On my word it will ſerue him: ſhee's as big as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her muffler too: run vp Sir Iohn.

Miſt. Ford.

Go, go, ſweet Sir Iohn: Miſtriis Page and I will looke ſome linnen for your head.

 Miſt. Page.

Quicke, quicke, wee'le come dreſſe you ſtraight: put on the gowne the while.

 Miſt. Ford.

I would my husband would meete him in this ſhape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he ſweares ſhe's a witch, forbad her my houſe, and hath threatned to beate her.

 Miſt. Page.

Heauen guide him to thy husbands cudgell: and the diuell guide his cudgell afterwards.

 Miſt. Ford.

But is my husband comming?

 Miſt. Page.

I in good ſadneſſe is he, and talkes of the basket too, howſoeuer he hath had intelligence.

 Miſt. Ford.

Wee'l try that: for Ile appoint my men to carry the basket againe, to meete him at the doore with it, as they did laſt time.

 Miſt. Page.

Nay, but hee'l be heere preſently: let's go dreſſe him like the witch of Brainford.

Miſt. Ford.

Ile firſt direct direct my men, what they ſhall doe with the basket: Goe vp, Ile bring linnen for him ſtraight.

 Miſt. Page. Hang him diſhoneſt Varlet, We cannot miſuſe enough: We'll leaue a proofe by that which we will doo, Wiues may be merry, and yet honeſt too: We do not acte that often, ieſt, and laugh, 'Tis old, but true, Still Swine eats all the draugh. Miſt. Ford.

Go Sirs, take the basket againe on your ſhoulders: your Maſter is hard at doore: if hee bid you ſet it downe, obey him: quickly, diſpatch.

 1 Ser.

Come, come, take it vp.

 2 Ser.

Pray heauen it be not full of Knight againe.

 1 Ser.

I hope not, I had liefe as beare ſo much lead.

 Ford.

I, but if it proue true (Mr. Page) haue you any way then to vnfoole me againe. Set downe the basket villaine: ſome body call my wife: Youth in a basket: Oh you Panderly Raſcals, there's a knot: a gin, a packe, a conſpiracie againſt me: Now ſhall the diuel be ſham'd. What wife I ſay: Come, come forth: behold what honeſt cloathes you ſend forth to bleaching.

 Page.

Why, this paſſes M. Ford: you are not to goe looſe any longer, you muſt be pinnion'd.

 Euans.

Why, this is Lunaticks: this is madde, as a mad dogge.

 Shall.

Indeed M. Ford, thi is not well indeed.

 Ford.

So ſay I too Sir, come hither Miſtris Ford, Miſtris Ford, the honeſt woman, the modeſt wife, the vertuous creature, that hath the iealious foole to her husband: I ſuſpect without cauſe (Miſtris) do I?

 Miſt. Ford.

Heauen be my witneſſe you doe, if you ſuſpect me in any diſhoneſty.

 Ford.

Well ſaid Brazon-face, hold it out: Come forth ſirrah.

 Page.

This paſſes.

 Miſt. Ford.

Are you not aſham'd, let the cloths alone.

 Ford.

I ſhall finde you anon.

 Eua.

'Tis vnreaſonable; will you take vp your wiues cloathes? Come, away.

 Ford.

Empty the basket I ſay.

 M. Ford.

Why man, why?

 Ford.

Maſter Page, as I am a man, there was one conuay'd out of my houſe yeſterday in this basket: why may not he be there againe, in my houſe I am ſure he is: my Intelligence is true, my iealouſie is reaſonable, pluck me out all the linnen.

 Miſt. Ford.

If you find a man there, he ſhall dye a Fleas death.

 Page.

Heer's no man.

 Shal.

By my fidelity this is not well Mr. Ford: This wrongs you.

 Euans.

Mr Ford, you muſt pray, and not follow the imaginations of your owne heart: this is iealouſies.

 Ford.

Well, hee's not heere I ſeeke for.

 Page.

No, nor no where elſe but in your braine.

 Ford.

Helpe to ſearch my houſe this one time: if I find not what I ſeeke, ſhew no colour for my extremity: Let me for euer be your Table-ſport: Let them ſay of me, as iealous as Ford, that ſearch'd a hollow Wall-nut for his wiues Lemman. Satisfie me once more, once more ſerch with me.

 M. Ford.

What hoa (Miſtris Page,) come you and the old woman downe: my husband will come into the Chamber.

 Ford.

Old woman? what old womans that?

 M. Ford.

Why it is my maids Aunt of Brainford.

Ford.

A witch, a Queane, an olde couzening queane: Haue I not forbid her my houſe. She comes of errands do's ſhe? We are ſimple men, wee doe not know what's brought to paſſe vnder the profeſſion of Fortune-telling. She workes by Charmes, by Spels, by th' Figure, & ſuch dawbry as this is, beyond our Element: wee know nothing. Come downe you Witch, you Hagge you, come downe I ſay.

 Miſt. Ford.

Nay, good ſweet husband, good Gentlemen, let him ſtrike the old woman.

 Miſt. Page.

Come mother Prat, Come giue me your hand.

 Ford.

Ile Prat-her: Out of my doore, you Witch, you Ragge, you Baggage, you Poulcat, you Runnion, out, out: Ile coniure you, Ile fortune-tell you.

 Miſt. Page.

Are you not aſham'd? I thinke you haue kill'd the poore woman.

 Miſt. Ford.

Nay he will do it, 'tis a goodly credite for you.

 Ford.

Hang her witch.

 Eua.

By yea, and no, I thinke the o' man is a witch indeede: I like not when a o' man has a great peard; I ſpie a great peard vnder his muffler.

 Ford.

Will you follow Gentlemen, I beſeech you follow: ſee but the iſſue of my iealouſie: If I cry out thus vpon no traile, neuer truſt me when I open againe.

 Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: Come Gentlemen. Miſt. Page.

Truſt me he beate him moſt pittifully.

 Miſt. Ford.

Nay by th' Maſſe that he did not: he beate him moſt vnpittifully, me thought.

 Miſt. Page.

Ile haue the cudgell hallow'd, and hung ore the Altar, it hath done meritorious ſeruice.

 Miſt. Ford.

What thinke you? May we with the warrant of woman hood, and the witneſſe of a good conſcience, purſue him with any further reuenge?

 M. Page.

The ſpirit of wantonneſſe is ſure ſcar'd out of him, if the diuell haue him not in fee-ſimple, with fine and recouery, he will neuer (I thinke) in the way of waſte, attempt vs againe.

 Miſt. Ford.

Shall we tell our husbands how wee haue ſeru'd him?

 Miſt. Page.

Yes, by all meanes: if it be but to ſcrape the figures out of your husbands braines: if they can find in their hearts, the poore vnuertuous fat Knight ſhall be any further afflicted, wee two will ſtill bee the miniſters.

 Miſt. Ford.

Ile warrant, they'l haue him publiquely ſham'd, and me thinkes there would be no period to the ieſt, ſhould he not be publikely ſham'd.

 Miſt. Page. Come, to the Forge with it, then ſhape it: I would not haue things coole. Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter Hoſt and Bardolfe. Bar.

Sir, the Germane deſires to haue three of your horſes: the Duke himſelfe will be to morrow at Court, and they are going to meet him.

 Hoſt.

What Duke ſhould that be comes ſo ſecretly? I heare not of him in the Court: let mee ſpeake with the Gentlemen, they ſpeake Engliſh?

 Bar.

I Sir? Ile call him to you.

 Hoſt.

They ſhall haue my horſes, but Ile make them pay: Ile ſauce them, they haue had my houſes a week at commaund: I haue turn'd away my other gueſts, they muſt come off, Ile ſawce them, come.

Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Page, Ford, Miſtris Page, Miſtris Ford, and Euans. Eua.

'Tis one of the beſt diſcretions of a o' man as euer I did looke vpon.

 Page.

And did he ſend you both theſe Letters at an inſtant?

 Miſt. Page.

VVithin a quarter of an houre.

 Ford. Pardon me (wife) henceforth do what yu wilt: I rather will ſuſpect the Sunne with gold, Then thee with wantonnes: Now doth thy honor ſtand (In him that was of late an Heretike) As firme as faith. Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well, no more: Be not as extreme in ſubmiſſion, as in offence, But let our plot go forward: Let our wiues Yet once againe (to make vs publike ſport) Appoint a meeting with this old fat-fellow, Where we may take him, and diſgrace him for it. Ford.

There is no better way then that they ſpoke of.

 Page.

How? to ſend him word they'll meete him in the Parke at midnight? Fie, fie, he'll neuer come.

 Eu.

You ſay he has bin throwne in the Riuers: and has bin greeuouſly peaten, as an old o' man: me-thinkes there ſhould be terrors in him, that he ſhould not come: Me-thinkes his fleſh is puniſh'd, hee ſhall haue no deſires.

 Page.

So thinke I too.

 M. Ford. Deuiſe but how you'l vſe him whē he comes, And let vs two deuiſe to bring him thether. Miſ Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne the Hunter (ſometime a keeper heere in Windſor Forreſt) Doth all the winter time, at ſtill midnight Walke round about an Oake, with great rag'd-hornes, And there he blaſts the tree, and takes the cattle, And make milch-kine yeeld blood, and ſhakes a chaine In a moſt hideous and dreadfull manner. You haue heard of ſuch a Spirit, and well you know The ſuperſtitious idle-headed-Eld Receiu'd, and did deliuer to our age This tale of Herne the Hunter, for a truth. Page. Why yet there want not many that do feare In deepe of night to walke by this Hernes Oake: But what of this? Miſt. Ford. Marry this is our deuiſe, That Falstaffe at that Oake ſhall meete with vs. Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, And in this ſhape, when you haue brought him thether, What ſhall be done with him? What is your plot? Miſt. Pa. That likewiſe haue we thoght vpon: & thus: Nan Page (my daughter) and my little ſonne, And three or foure more of their growth, wee'l dreſſe Like Vrchins, Ouphes, and Fairies, greene and white, With rounds of waxen Tapers on their heads, And rattles in their hands; vpon a ſodaine, As Falſtaffe, ſhe, and I, are newly met, Let them from forth a ſaw-pit ruſh at once With ſome diffuſed ſong: Vpon their ſight We two, in great amazedneſſe will flye: Then let them all encircle him about, And Fairy-like to pinch the vncleane Knight; And aske him why that houre of Fairy Reuell, In their ſo ſacred pathes, he dares to tread In ſhape prophane. Ford. And till he tell the truth, Let the ſuppoſed Fairies pinch him, ſound, And burne him with their Tapers. Miſt Page. The truth being knowne, We'll all preſent our ſelues; diſ-horne the ſpirit, And mocke him home to Windſor. Ford. The children muſt Be practis'd well to this, or they'll neu'r doo't. Eua.

I will teach the children their behauiours: and I will be like a Iacke-an-Apes alſo, to burne the Knight with my Taber.

 Ford. That will be excellent, Ile go buy them vizards. Miſt. Page.

My Nan ſhall be the Queene of all the Fairies, finely attired in a robe of white.

 Page. That ſilke will I go buy, and in that time Shall M. Slender ſteale my Nan away, And marry her at Eaton: go, ſend to Falſtaffe ſtraight. Ford. Nay, Ile to him againe in name of Broome, Hee'l tell me all his purpoſe: ſure hee'l come. Miſt. Page. Feare not you that: Go get vs properties And tricking for our Fayries. Euans. Let vs about it, It is admirable pleaſures, and ferry honeſt knaueries. Miſ. Page. Go Miſt. Ford, Send quickly to Sir Iohn, to know his minde: Ile to the Doctor, he hath my good will, And none but he to marry with Nan Page: That Slender (though well landed) is an Ideot: And he, my husband beſt of all affects: The Doctor is well monied, and his friends Potent at Court: he, none but he ſhall haue her, Though twenty thouſand worthier come to craue her.
Scena Quinta. Enter Hoſt, Simple, Falſtaffe, Bardolfe, Euans, Caius, Quickly. Hoſt.

What wouldſt thou haue? (Boore) what? (thick skin) ſpeake, breathe, diſcuſſe: breefe, ſhort, quicke, ſnap.

 Simp.

Marry Sir, I come to ſpeake with Sir Iohn Falſtaffe from M. Slender.

Hoſt.

There's his Chamber, his Houſe, his Caſtle, his ſtanding-bed and truckle-bed: 'tis painted about with the ſtory of the Prodigall, freſh and new: go, knock and call: hee'l ſpeake like an Anthropophaginian vnto thee: Knocke I ſay.

 Simp.

There's an olde woman, a fat woman gone vp into his chamber: Ile be ſo bold as ſtay Sir till ſhe come downe: I come to ſpeake with her indeed.

 Hoſt.

Ha? A fat woman? The Knight may be robb'd: Ile call, Bully-Knight, Bully Sir Iohn: ſpeake from thy Lungs Military: Art thou there? It is thine Hoſt, thine Epheſian cals.

 Fal.

How now, mine Hoſt?

 Host.

Here's a Bohemian-Tartar taries the comming downe of thy fat-woman: Let her deſcend (Bully) let her deſcend: my Chambers are honourable: Fie, priuacy? Fie.

 Fal.

There was (mine Hoſt) an old-fat-woman euen now with me, but ſhe's gone.

 Simp.

Pray you Sir, was't not the Wiſe-woman of Brainford?

Fal.

I marry was it (Muſſel-ſhell) what would you with her?

 Simp.

My Maſter (Sir) my maſter Slender, ſent to her ſeeing her go thorough the ſtreets, to know (Sir) whether one Nim (Sir) that beguil'd him of a chaine, had the chaine, or no.

 Fal.

I ſpake with the old woman about it.

 Sim.

And what ſayes ſhe, I pray Sir?

 Fal.

Marry ſhee ſayes, that the very ſame man that beguil'd Maſter Slender of his Chaine, cozon'd him of it.

 Simp.

I would I could haue ſpoken with the Woman her ſelfe, I had other things to haue ſpoken with her too, from him.

 Fal.

What are they? let vs know.

 Hoſt.

I: come: quicke.

 Fal.

I may not conceale them (Sir.)

 Hoſt.

Conceale them, or thou di'ſt.

 Sim.

Why ſir, they were nothing but about Miſtris Anne Page, to know if it were my Maſters fortune to haue her, or no.

 Fal.

'Tis, 'tis his fortune.

 Sim.

What Sir?

 Fal.

To haue her, or no: goe; ſay the woman told me ſo.

 Sim.

May I be bold to ſay ſo Sir?

 Fal.

I Sir: like who more bold.

 Sim.

I thanke your worſhip: I ſhall make my Maſter glad with theſe tydings.

 Hoſt.

Thou are clearkly: thou art clearkly (Sir Iohn) was there a wiſe woman with thee?

 Fal.

I that there was (mine Hoſt) one that hath taught me more wit, then euer I learn'd before in my life: and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my learning.

 Bar.

Out alas (Sir) cozonage: meere cozonage.

 Hoſt.

Where be my horſes? ſpeake well of them varletto.

 Bar.

Run away with the cozoners: for ſo ſoone as I came beyond Eaton, they threw me off, from behinde one of them, in a ſlough of myre; and ſet ſpurres, and away; like three Germane-diuels; three Doctor Fauſtaffes.

Hoſt.

They are gone but to meete the Duke (villaine) doe not ſay they be fled: Germanes are honeſt men.

 Euan.

Where is mine Hoſt?

Hoſt.

What is the matter Sir?

 Euan.

Haue a care of your entertainments: there is a friend of mine come to Towne, tels mee there is three Cozen-Iermans, that has cozend all the Hoſts of Readins, of Maidenhead; of Cole-brooke, of horſes and money: I tell you for good will (looke you) you are wiſe, and full of gibes, and vlouting-ſtocks: and 'tis not conuenient you ſhould be cozoned. Fare you well.

 Cai.

Ver' is mine Hoſt de Iarteere?

 Hoſt.

Here (Maſter Doctor) in perplexitie, and doubtfull delemma.

 Cai.

I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is tell-a-me, dat you make grand preparation for a Duke de Iamanie: by my trot: der is no Duke that the Court is know, to come: I tell you for good will: adieu.

 Hoſt.

Huy and cry, (villaine) goe: aſſiſt me Knight, I am vndone: fly, run: huy, and cry (villaine) I am vndone.

 Fal.

I would all the world might be cozond, for I haue beene cozond and beaten too: if it ſhould come to the eare of the Court, how I haue beene transformed; and how my transformation hath beene waſhd, and cudgeld, they would melt mee out of my fat drop by drop, and liquor Fiſhermens-boots with me: I warrant they would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as creſt-falne as a dride-peare: I neuer proſper'd, ſince I forſwore my ſelfe at Primer • : well, if my winde were but long enough; I would repent: Now? Whence come you?

 Qui.

From the two parties forſooth.

 Fal.

The Diuell take one partie, and his Dam the other: and ſo they ſhall be both beſtowed; I haue ſuffer'd more for their ſakes; more then the villanous inconſtancy of mans diſpoſition is able to beare.

 Qui.

And haue not they ſuffer'd? Yes, I warrant; ſpeciouſly one of them; Miſtris Ford (good heart) is beaten blacke and blew, that you cannot ſee a white ſpot about her.

 Fal.

What tell'ſt thou mee of blacke, and blew? I was beaten my ſelfe into all the colours of the Rainebow: and I was like to be apprehended for the Witch of Braineford, but that my admirable dexteritie of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman deliuer'd me, the knaue Conſtable had ſet me ith' Stocks, ith' common Stocks, for a Witch.

 Qu▪

Sir: let me ſpeake with you in your Chamber, you ſhall heare how things goe, and (I warrant) to your content: here is a Letter will ſay ſomewhat: (good-hearts) what a-doe here is to bring you together? Sure, one of you do's not ſerue heauen well, that you are ſo croſſ'd.

 Fal.

Come vp into my Chamber.

Exeunt.
Scena Sexta. Enter Fenton, Hoſt. Hoſt.

Maſter Fenton, talke not to mee, my minde is heauy: I will giue ouer all.

 Fen. Yet heare me ſpeake: aſſiſt me in my purpoſe, And (as I am a gentleman) ile giue thee A hundred pound in gold, more then your loſſe. Hoſt.

I will heare you (Maſter Fenton) and I will (at the leaſt) keepe your counſell.

 Fen. From time to time, I haue acquainted you With the deare loue I beare to faire Anne Page, Who, mutually, hath anſwer'd my affection, (So farre forth, as her ſelfe might be her chooſer) Euen to my wiſh; I haue a letter from her Of ſuch contents, as you will wonder at; The mirth whereof, ſo larded with my matter, That neither (ſingly) can be manifeſted Without the ſhew of both: fat Falſtaffe Hath a great Scene; the image of the ieſt Ile ſhow you here at large (harke good mine Hoſt:) To night at Hernes-Oke, iuſt 'twixt twelue and one, Muſt my ſweet Nan preſent the Faerie-Queene: The purpoſe why, is here: in which diſguiſe VVhile other Ieſts are ſomething ranke on foote, Her father hath commanded her to ſlip Away with Slender, and with him, at Eaton Immediately to Marry: She hath conſented: Now Sir, Her Mother, (euen ſtrong againſt that match And firme for Doctor Caius) hath appointed That he ſhall likewiſe ſhuffle her away, While other ſports are tasking of their mindes, And at the Deanry, where a Prieſt attends Strait marry her: to this her Mothers plot She ſeemingly obedient) likewiſe hath Made promiſe to the Doctor: Now, thus it reſts, Her Father meanes ſhe ſhall be all in white; And in that habit, when Slender ſees his time To take her by the hand, and bid her goe, She ſhall goe with him: her Mother hath intended (The better to deuote her to the Doctor; For they muſt all be mask'd, and vizarded) That quaint in greene, ſhe ſhall be looſe en-roab'd, With Ribonds-pendant, flaring 'bout her head; And when the Doctor ſpies his vantage ripe, To pinch her by the hand, and on that token, The maid hath giuen conſent to go with him. Hoſt.

Which meanes ſhe to deceiue? Father, or Mother.

 Fen. Both (my good Hoſt) to go along with me: And heere it reſts, that you'l procure the Vicar To ſtay for me at Church, 'twixt twelue, and one, And in the lawfull name of marrying, To giue our hearts vnited ceremony. Hoſt. Well, husband your deuice; Ile to the Vicar, Bring you the Maid, you ſhall not lacke a Prieſt. Fen. So ſhall I euermore be bound to thee; Beſides, Ile make a preſent recompence. Exeunt
Actus Quintus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Falſtoffe, Quickly, and Ford. Fal.

Pre'thee no more pratling: go, Ile hold, this is the third time: I hope good lucke lies in odde numbers: Away, go, they ſay there is Diuinity in odde Numbers, either in natiuity, chance, or death: away.

 Qai.

Ile prouide you a chaine, and Ile do what I can to get you a paire of hornes.

 Fall.

Away I ſay, time weares, hold vp your head & mince. How now M. Broome? Maſter Broome, the matter will be knowne to night, or neuer. Bee you in the Parke about midnight, at Hernes-Oake, and you ſhall ſee wonders.

 Ford.

Went you not to her yeſterday (Sir) as you told me you had appointed?

 Fal.

I went to her (Maſter Broome) as you ſee, like a poore-old-man, but I came from her (Maſter Broome) like a poore-old-woman; that ſame knaue (Ford hir huſband) hath the ſineſt mad diuell of • ealouſie in him (Maſter Broome) that euer gouern'd Frenſie. I will tell you, he beate me greeuouſly, in the ſhape of a woman: (for in the ſhape of Man (Maſter Broome) I feare not Goliah with a Weauers beame, becauſe I know alſo, life is a Shuttle) I am in haſt, go along with mee, Ile tell you all (Maſter Broome:) ſince I pluckt Geeſe, plaide Trew • nt, and whipt Top, I knew not what 'twas to be beaten, till lately. Follow mee, Ile tell you ſtrange things of this knaue Ford, on whom to night I will be reuenged, and I will deliuer his wife into your hand. Follow, ſtraunge things in hand (M. Broome) follow.

Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Page, Shallow, Slender. Page.

Come, come: wee'll couch i' th Caſtle-ditch, till we ſee the light of our Fairies. Remember ſon Slender, my

 Slen.

I forſooth, I haue ſpoke with her, & we haue a nay-word, how to know one another. I come to her in white, and cry Mum; ſhe cries Budget, and by that we know one another.

 Shal.

That's good too: But what needes either your Mum, or her Budget? The white will decipher her well enough. It hath ſtrooke ten a'clocke.

 Page.

The night is darke, Light and Spirits will become it wel: Heauen proſper our ſport. No man means euill but the deuill, and we ſhal know him by his hornes. Lets away: follow me.

Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Miſt. Page, Miſt. Ford, Caius. Miſt. Page.

Mr Doctor, my daughter is in green, when you ſee your time, take her by the hand, away with her to the Deauerie, and diſpatch it quickly: go before into the Parke: we two muſt go together.

 Cai.

I know vat I haue to do, adieu.

 Miſt. Page.

Fare you well (Sir.) my husband will not reioyce ſo much at the abuſe of Falſtaffe, as he will chafe at the Doctors marrying my daughter: But 'tis no matter; better a little chiding, then a great deale of heartbreake.

 Miſt. Ford.

Where is Nan now? and her troop of Fairies? and the Welch-deuill Herne?

 Miſt. Page.

They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Hernes Oake, with obſcur'd Lights; which at the very inſtant of Falſtaffes and our meeting, they will at once diſplay to the night.

 Miſt. Ford.

That cannot chooſe but amaze him.

 Miſt. Page.

If he be not amaz'd he will be mock'd: If he be amaz'd, he will euery way be mock'd.

 Miſt. Ford.

Wee'll betray him finely.

 Miſt. Page. Againſt ſuch Lewdſters, and their lechery, Thoſe that betray them, do no treachery. Miſt. Ford.

The houre drawes-on: to the Oake, to the Oake.

Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Euans and Fairies. Euans.

Trib, trib Fairies: Come, and remember your parts: be pold (I pray you) follow me into the pit, and when I giue the watch-'ords, do as I pid you: Come, come, trib, trib.

Exeunt▪
Scena Quinta. Enter Falſtaffe, Miſtris Page, Mistris Ford, Euans, Anne Page, Fairies, Page, Ford, Quickly, Slender, Fenton, Caius, Pistoll. Fal.

The Windſor-bell hath ſtroke twelue: the Minute drawes-on: Now the hot-bloodied-Gods aſſiſt me: Remember lou • , thou was't a Bull for thy Europa, Loue ſet on thy hornes. O powerfull Loue, that in ſome reſpects makes a Beaſt a Man: in ſom other, a Man a beaſt. You were alſo (Iupiter) a Swan, for the loue of Leda: O omnipotent Loue, how nere the God drew to the complexion of a Gooſe: a fault done firſt in the forme of a beaſt, (O Ioue, a beaſtly fault:) and then another fault, in the ſemblance of a Fowle, thinke on't (Ioue) a fowle-fault. When Gods haue hot backes, what ſhall poore men do? For me, I am heere a Windſor Stagge, and the fatteſt (I thinke) i' th Forreſt. Send me a coole rut-time (Ioue) or who can blame me to piſſe my Tallow? Who comes heere? my Doe?

 M. Ford. Sir Iohn? Art thou there (my Deere?) My male-Deere? Fal.

My Doe, with the blacke Scut? Let the skie raine Potatoes: let it thunder, to the tune of Greeneſleeues, haile-kiſſing Comfits, and ſnow Eringoes: Let there come a tempeſt of prouocation, I will ſhelter mee heere.

 M. Ford.

Miſtris Page is come with me (ſweet hart.)

 Fal.

Diuide me like a brib'd-Bucke, each a Haunch: I will keepe my ſides to my ſelfe, my ſhoulders for the fellow of this walke; and my hornes I bequeath your husbands. Am I a Woodman, ha? Speake I like Herne the Hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conſcience, he makes reſtitution. As I am a true ſpirit, welcome.

 M. Page.

Alas, what noiſe?

 M. Ford.

Heauen forgiue our ſinnes.

 Fal.

What ſhould this be?

 M. Ford. M. Page.

Away, away.

 Fal. I thinke the diuell wil not haue me damn'd, Leaſt the oyle that's in me ſhould ſet hell on fire; He would neuer elſe croſſe me thus. Enter Fairies. Qui. Fairies blacke, gray, greene, and white, You Moone-ſhine reuellers, and ſhades of night. You Orphan heires of fixed deſtiny, Attend your office, and your quality. Crier Hob-goblyn, make the Fairy Oyes. Piſt. Elues, liſt your names: Silence you aiery toyes. Cricket, to Windſor-chimnies ſhalt thou leape; Where fires thou find'ſt vnrak'd, and hearths vnſwept, There pinch the Maids as blew as Bill-berry, Our radiant Queene, hates Sluts, and Sluttery. Fal. They are Fairies, he that ſpeaks to them ſhall die, Ile winke, and couch: No man their workes muſt eie. Eu. Wher's Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid That ere ſhe ſleepe has thrice her prayers ſaid, Raiſe vp the Organs of her fantaſie, Sleepe ſhe as ſound as careleſſe infancie, But thoſe as ſleepe, and thinke not on their ſins, Pinch them armes, legs, backes, ſhoulders, ſides, & ſhins. Qu. About, about: Search Windſor Caſtle (Elues) within, and out. Strew good • k • (Ouphes) on euery ſacred roome, That it may ſtand till the perpetuall doome, In ſtate as wholſome, as in ſtate 'tis ſit, Worthy the Owner, and the Owner it. The ſeuerall Chai • of Order, tooke you ſ • owre With iuyce of Balme; and euery precious flowre, Each faire Inſtalment, Coate, and ſeu'rall Creſt, With loyall Blazon, euermore be bleſt. And Nightly-meadow-Fairies, looke you ſing Like to the Garters-Compaſſe, in a ring, Th' expreſſure that it beares: Greene let it be, Mote fertile-freſh then all the Field to ſee: And, Hony Soit Qui Mal-y-Pence, write In Emrold-tuffes, Flowres purple, blew, and white, Like Saphire-pearle, and rich embroiderie, Buckled below faire Knight-hoods bending knee; Fairies vſe Flowres for their characterie. Away, diſperſe: But till 'tis one a clocke, Our Dance of Cuſtome, round about the Oke Of Herne the Hunter, let vs not forget. Euan. Pray you lock hand in hand: your ſelues in order ſet: And twenty glow-wormes ſhall our Lanthornes bee To guide our Meaſure round about the Tree. But ſtay, I ſmell a man of middle earth. Fal. Heauens defend me from that Welſh Fairy, Leaſt he transforme me to a peece of Cheeſe. Piſt.

Vilde worme, thou waſt ore-look'd euen in thy birth.

 Qu. With Triall-fire touch me his finger end: If he be chaſte, the flame will backe deſcend And turne him to no paine: but if he ſtart, It is the fleſh of a corrupted hart. Piſt.

A triall, come.

 Eua.

Come: will this wood take fire?

 Fal.

Oh, oh, oh.

 Qui. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in deſire. About him (Fairies) ſing a ſcornfull rime, And as you trip, ſtill pinch him to your time. The Song. Fie on ſinnefull phantaſie▪ Fie on Luſt, and Luxurie: Luſt is but a bloudy fire, kindled with vnchaste deſire, Fed in heart whoſe flames aſpire, As thoughts do blow them higher and higher. Pinch him (Fairies) mutually: Pinch him for his villanie. Pinch him, and burne him, and turne him about, Till Candles, & Star-light, & Moone-ſhine be out. Page.

Nay do not flye, I thinke we haue watcht you now: VVill none but Herne the Hunter ſerue your turne?

 M. Page. I pray you come, hold vp the ieſt no higher. Now (good Sir Iohn) how like you Windſor wiues? See you theſe husband? Do not theſe faire yoakes Become the Forreſt better then the Towne? Ford. Now Sir, whoſe a Cuckold now? Mr Broome, Falstaffes a Knaue, a Cuckoldly knaue, Heere are his hornes Maſter Broome:

And Maſter Broome, he hath enioyed nothing of Fords, but his Buck-basket, his cudgell, and twenty pounds of money, which muſt be paid to Mr Broome, his horſes are arreſted for it, Mr Broome.

M. Ford.

Sir Iohn, we haue had ill lucke: wee could neuer meete: I will neuer take you for my Loue againe, but I will alwayes count you my Deere.

 Fal.

I do begin to perceiue that I am made an Aſſe.

 Ford.

I, and an Oxe too: both the proofes are extant.

 Fal.

And theſe are not Fairies▪ I was three or foure times in the thought they were not Fairies, and yet the guiltineſſe of my minde, the ſodaine ſurprize of my powers, droue the groſſeneſſe of the foppery into a receiu'd beleefe, in deſpight of the teeth of all rime and reaſon, that they were Fairies. See now how wit may be made a Iacke-a-Lent, when 'tis vpon ill imployment.

 Euant.

Sir Iohn Falstaffe, ſerue Got, and leaue your deſires, and Fairies will not pinſe you.

 Ford.

VVell ſaid Fairy Hugh.

Euans.

And leaue you your iealouzies too, I pray you.

 Ford.

I will neuer miſtruſt my wife againe, till thou art able to woo her in good Engliſh.

 Fal.

Haue I laid my braine in the Sun, and dri'de it, that it wants matter to preuent ſo groſſe ore-reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch Goate too? Shal I haue a Coxcombe of Frize? Tis time I were choak'd with a peece of toaſted Cheeſe.

 Eu.

Seeſe is not good to giue putter; your belly is al putter.

 Fal.

Seeſe, and Putter? Haue I liu'd to ſtand at the taunt of one that makes Fritters of Engliſh? This is enough to be the decay of luſt and late-walking through the Realme.

 Miſt. Page.

Why Sir Iohn, do you thinke though wee would haue thruſt vertue out of our hearts by the head and ſhoulders, and haue giuen our ſelues without ſcruple to hell, that euer the deuill could haue made you our delight?

 Ford

What, a hodge-pudding? A bag of flax?

 Miſt. Page.

A puft man?

 Page.

Old, cold, wither'd, and of intollerable entrailes?

 Ford.

And one that is as ſlanderous as Sathan?

 Page.

And as poore as Iob?

 Ford.

And as wicked as his wife?

 Euan.

And giuen to Fornications, and to Tauernes, and Sacke, and Wine, and Metheglins, and to drinkings and ſwearings, and ſtarings? Pribles and prables?

 Fal.

Well, I am your Theame: you haue the ſtart of me. I am deiected: I am not able to anſwer the Welch Flannell, Ignorance it ſelfe is a plummet ore me, vſe me as you will.

 Ford.

Marry Sir, wee'l bring you to Windſor to one Mr Broome, that you haue cozon'd of money, to whom you ſhould haue bin a Pander: ouer and aboue that you haue ſuffer'd, I thinke, to repay that money will be a biting affliction.

 Page.

Yet be cheerefull Knight▪ thou ſhalt eat a poſſet to night at my houſe, wher I will deſire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughes at thee: Tell her Mr Slender hath married her daughter.

 Miſt. Page.

Doctors doubt that;

If Anne Page be my daughter, ſhe is (by this) Doctour Caius wife.

 Slen.

Whoa hoe, hoe, Father Page.

Page. Sonne? How now? How now Sonne, Haue you diſpatch'd? Slen.

Diſpatch'd? Ile make the beſt in Glofterſhire know on't: would I were hang'd la, elſe.

 Page.

Of what ſonne?

 Slen.

I came yonder at Eaton to marry Miſtris Anne Page, and ſhe's a great lubberly boy. If it had not bene i' th Church, I would haue ſwing'd him, or hee ſhould haue ſwing'd me. If I did not thinke it had beene Anne Page, would I might neuer ſtirre, and 'tis a Poſt-maſters Boy.

 Page.

Vpon my life then, you tooke the wrong.

 Slen.

What neede you tell me that? I think ſo, when I tooke a Boy for a Girle: If I had bene married to him, (for all he was in womans apparrell) I would not haue had him.

 Page. Why this is your owne folly, Did not I tell you how you ſhould know my daughter, By her garments? Slen.

I went to her in greene, and cried Mum, and ſhe cride budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yet it was not Anne, but a Poſt-maſters boy.

 Mist. Page.

Good George be not angry, I knew of your purpoſe: turn'd my daughter into white, and indeede ſhe is now with the Doctor at the Deanrie, and there married.

 Cai.

Ver is Miſtris Page: by gar I am cozoned, I ha married oon Garſoon, a boy; oon peſant, by gar. A boy, it is not An Page, by gar, I am cozened.

 M. Page.

VVhy? did you take her in white?

 Cai.

I bee gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, Ile raiſe all Windſor.

 Ford.

This is ſtrange: Who hath got the right Anne?

Page. My heart miſgiues me, here comes Mr Fenton. How now Mr Fenton? Anne.

Pardon good father, good my mother pardon

 Page. Now Miſtris: How chance you went not with Mr Slender? M. Page.

Why went you not with Mr Doctor, maid?

 Fen. You do amaze her: heare the truth of it, You would haue married her moſt ſhamefully, Where there was no proportion held in loue: The truth is, ſhe and I (long ſince contracted) Are now ſo ſure that nothing can diſſolue vs: Th' offence is holy, that ſhe hath committed, And this deceit looſes the name of craft, Of diſobedience, or vnduteous title, Since therein ſhe doth euitate and ſhun A thouſand irreligious curſed houres Which forced marriage would haue brought vpon her. Ford. Stand not amaz'd, here is no remedie: In Loue, the heauens themſelues do guide the ſtate, Money buyes Lands, and wiues are ſold by fate. Fal.

I am glad, though you haue tane a ſpecial ſtand to ſtrike at me, that your Arrow hath glanc'd.

 Page.

Well, what remedy? Fenton, heauen giue thee ioy, what cannot be eſchew'd, muſt be embrac'd.

 Fal.

When night-dogges run, all ſorts of Deere are chac'd.

 Miſt. Page. Well, I will muſe no further: Mr Fenton, Heauen giue you many, many merry dayes: Good husband, let vs euery one go home, And laugh this ſport ore by a Countrie fire, Sir Iohn and all. Ford. Let it be ſo (Sir Iohn:) To Maſter Broome, you yet ſhall hold your word, For he, to night, ſhall lye with Miſtris Ford▪ Exeunt.
FINIS.
MEASVRE, For Meaſure.
Actus primus,
Scena prima. Enter Duke, Eſcalus, Lords. Duke.

EScalus.

Eſc.

My Lord.

 Duk. Of Gouernment, the properties to vnfold, Would ſeeme in me t' affect ſpeech & diſcourſe, Since I am put to know, that your owne Science Exceedes (in that) the liſts of all aduice My ſtrength can giue you: Then no more remaines But that, to your ſufficiency, as your worth is able, And let them worke: The nature of our People, Our Cities Inſtitutions, and the Termes For Common Iuſtice, y' are as pregnant in As Art, and practiſe, hath inriched any That we remember: There is our Commiſſion, From which, we would not haue you warpe; call hither, I ſay, bid come before vs Angelo: What figure of vs thinke you, he will beare. For you muſt know, we haue with ſpeciall ſoule Elected him our abſence to ſupply; Lent him our terror, dreſt him with our loue, And giuen his Deputation all the Organs Of our owne powre: What thinke you of it? Eſc. If any in Vienna be of worth To vndergoe ſuch ample grace, and honour, It is Lord Angelo. Enter Angelo. Duk.

Looke where he comes.

 Ang. Alwayes obedient to your Graces will▪ I come to know your pleaſure. Duke. Angelo: There is a kinde of Character in thy life, That to th' obſeruer, doth thy hiſtory Fully vnfold: Thy ſelfe, and thy belongings Are not thine owne ſo proper, as to waſte Thy ſelfe vpon thy vertues; they on thee: Heauen doth with vs, as we, with Torches doe, Not light them for themſelues: For if our vertues Did not goe forth of vs, 'twere all alike As if we had them not: Spirits are not finely touch'd, But to fine iſſues: nor nature neuer lends The ſmalleſt ſcruple of her excellence, But like a thrifty goddeſſe, ſhe determines Her ſelfe the glory of a creditour, Both thanks, and vſe; but I do bend my ſpeech To one that can my part in him aduertiſe; Hold therefore Angelo: In our remoue, be thou at full, our ſelfe: Mortallitie and Mercie in Vienna Liue in thy tongue, and heart: Old Eſcalus Though firſt in queſtion, is thy ſecondary. Take thy Commiſſion. Ang. Now good my Lord Let there be ſome more teſt, made of my mettle, Before ſo noble, and ſo great a figure Be ſtamp't vpon it. Duk. No more euaſion: We haue with a leauen'd, and prepared choice Proceeded to you; therefore take your honors: Our haſte from hence is of ſo quicke condition, That it prefers it ſelfe, and leaues vnqueſtion'd Matters of needfull value: We ſhall write to you As time, and our concernings ſhall importune, How it goes with vs, and doe looke to know What doth befall you here. So fare you well: To th' hopefull execution doe I leaue you, Of your Commiſſions. Ang. Yet giue leaue (my Lord▪) That we may bring you ſomething on the way. Duk. My haſte may not admit it, Nor neede you (on mine honor) haue to doe With any ſcruple: your ſcope is as mine owne, So to inforce, or qualifie the Lawes As to your ſoule ſeemes good: Giue me your hand, Ile priuily away: I loue the people, But doe not like to ſtage me to their eyes: Though it doe well, I doe not relliſh well Their lowd applauſe, and Aues vehement: Nor doe I thinke the man of ſafe diſcretion That do's affect it. Once more fare you well. Ang.

The heauens giue ſafety to your purpoſes.

 Eſc.

Lead forth, and bring you backe in happineſſe.

Exit. Duk. I thanke you, fare you well. Eſc. I ſhal deſire you, Sir, to giue me leaue To haue free ſpeech with you; and it concernes me To looke into the bottome of my place: A powre I haue, but of what ſtrength and nature, I am not yet inſtructed. Ang. 'Tis ſo with me: Let vs with-draw together, And we may ſoone our ſatisfaction haue Touching that point. Eſc.

Ile wait vpon your honor.

Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Lucio, and two other Gentlemen. Luc.

If the Duke, with the other Dukes, come not to compoſition with the King of Hungary, why then all the Dukes fall vpon the King.

 1. Gent.

Heauen grant vs its peace, but not the King of Hungaries.

2. Gent.

Amen.

 Luc.

Thou conclud'ſt like the Sanctimonious Pirat, that went to ſea with the ten Commandements, but ſcrap'd one out of the Table.

 2. Gent.

Thou ſhalt not Steale?

 Luc.

I, that he raz'd.

 1. Gent.

Why? 'twas a commandement, to command the Captaine and all the reſt from their functions: they put forth to ſteale: There's not a Souldier of vs all, that in the thankſ-giuing before meate, do ralliſh the petition well, that praies for peace.

 2. Gent.

I neuer heard any Souldier diſlike it.

 Luc.

I beleeue thee: for I thinke thou neuer was't where Grace was ſaid.

 2. Gent.

No? a dozen times at leaſt.

 1. Gent.

What? In meeter?

 Luc.

In any proportion. or in any language.

 1. Gent.

I thinke, or in any Religion.

 Luc.

I, why not? Grace, is Grace, deſpight of all controuerſie: as for example; Thou thy ſelfe art a wicked villaine, deſpight of all Grace.

 1. Gent.

Well: there went but a paire of ſheeres betweene vs.

 Luc.

I grant: as there may betweene the Liſts, and the Veluet. Thou art the Liſt.

 1. Gent.

And thou the Veluet; thou art good veluet; thou'rt a three pild-peece I warrant thee: I had as liefe be a Lyſt of an Engliſh Kerſey, as be pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French Veluet. Do I ſpeake feelingly now?

 Luc.

I thinke thou do'ſt: and indeed with moſt painfull feeling of thy ſpeech: I will, out of thine owne confeſſion, learne to begin thy health; but, whilſt I liue forget to drinke after thee.

 1. Gen.

I think I haue done my ſelfe wrong, haue I not?

 2. Gent.

Yes, that thou haſt; whether thou art tainted, or free.

Enter Bawde. Luc.

Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes. I haue purchaſ'd as many diſeaſes vnder her Roofe, As come to

 2. Gent.

To what, I pray?

 Luc.

Iudge.

 2. Gent.

To three thouſand Dollours a yeare.

 1. Gent.

I, and more.

 Luc.

A French crowne more.

 1. Gent.

Thou art alwayes figuring diſeaſes in me; but thou art full of error, I am ſound.

 Luc.

Nay, not (as one would ſay) healthy: but ſo ſound, as things that are hollow; thy bones are hollow; Impiety has made a feaſt of thee.

 1. Gent.

How now, which of your hips has the moſt profound Ciatica?

 Bawd.

Well, well: there's one yonder arreſted, and carried to priſon, was worth fiue thouſand of you all.

 2. Gent.

Who's that I pray'thee?

 Bawd.

Marry Sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

1. Gent.

Claudio to priſon? 'tis not ſo.

 Bawd.

Nay, but I know 'tis ſo: I ſaw him arreſted: ſaw him carried away: and which is more, within theſe three daies his head to be chop'd off.

 Luc.

But, after all this fooling, I would not haue it ſo: Art thou ſure of this?

 Bawd.

I am too ſure of it: and it is for getting Madam Iulietta with childe.

 Luc.

Beleeue me this may be: he promis'd to meete me two howres ſince, and he was euer preciſe in promiſe keeping.

 2. Gent.

Beſides you know, it drawes ſomthing neere to the ſpeech we had to ſuch a purpoſe.

 1. Gent.

But moſt of all agreeing with the proclamatiō.

 Luc.

Away: let's goe learne the truth of it.

Exit. Bawd.

Thus, what with the war; what with the ſweat, what with the gallowes, and what with pouerty, I am Cuſtom-ſhrunke. How now? what's the newes with you.

Enter Clowne. Clo.

Yonder man is carried to priſon.

 Baw.

Well: what has he done?

 Clo.

A Woman.

 Baw.

But what's his offence?

 Clo.

Groping for Trowts, in a peculiar Riuer.

 Baw.

What? is there a maid with child by him?

 Clo.

No: but there's a woman with maid by him you haue not heard of the proclamation, haue you?

 Baw.

What proclamation, man?

 Clow.

All howſes in the Suburbs of Vienna muſt bee pluck'd downe.

 Bawd.

And what ſhall become of thoſe in the Citie?

 Clow.

They ſhall ſtand for ſeed: they had gon down to, but that a wiſe Burger put in for them.

 Bawd.

But ſhall all our houſes of reſort in the Suburbs be puld downe?

 Clow.

To the ground, Miſtris.

 Bawd.

Why heere's a change indeed in the Commonwealth: what ſhall become of me?

 Clow.

Come: feare not you: good Counſellors lacke no Clients: though you change your place, you neede not change your Trade: Ile bee your Tapſter ſtill; courage, there will bee pitty taken on you; you that haue worne your eyes almoſt out in the ſeruice, you will bee conſidered.

 Bawd.

What's to doe heere, Thomas Tapſter? let's withdraw?

 Clo.

Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the Prouoſt to priſon: and there's Madam Iuliet.

Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Prouoſt, Claudio, Iuliet, Officers, Lucio, & 2. Gent. Cla.

Fellow, why do'ſt thou ſhow me thus to th' world? Beare me to priſon, where I am committed.

 Pro.

I do it not in euill diſpoſition, But from Lord Angelo by ſpeciall charge.

 Clau. Thus can the demy-god (Authority) Make vs pay downe, for our offence, by waight The words of heauen▪ on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not (ſoe) yet ſtill 'tis iuſt. Luc.

Why how now Claudio▪ whence comes this reſtraint.

 Cla. From too much liberty, (my Lucio) Liberty As ſurfet is the father of much faſt, So euery Scope by the immoderate vſe Turnes to reſtraint: Our Natures doe purſue Like Rats that rauyn downe their proper Bane, A thirſty euill, and when we drinke, we die. Luc.

If I could ſpeake ſo wiſely vnder an arreſt, I would ſend for certaine of my Creditors: and yet, to ſay the truth, I had as lief haue the foppery of freedome, as the mortality of impriſonment: what's thy offence, Claudio?

 Cla.

What (but to ſpeake of) would offend againe.

 Luc.

What, is't murder?

 Cla.

No.

 Luc.

Lecherie?

 Cla.

Call it ſo.

 Pro.

Away, Sir, you muſt goe.

 Cla. One word, good friend: Lucio, a word with you. Luc. A hundred: If they'll doe you any good: Is Lechery ſo look'd after? Cla. Thus ſtands it with me: vpon a true contract I got poſſeſſion of Iulietas bed, You know the Lady, ſhe is faſt my wife, Saue that we doe the denunciation lacke Of outward Order. This we came not to, Onely for propogation of a Dowre Remaining in the Coffer of her friends, From whom we thought it meet to hide our Loue Till Time had made them for vs. But it chances The ſtealth of our moſt mutuall entertainment With Character too groſſe, is writ on Iuliet. Luc.

With childe, perhaps?

 Cla. Vnhappely, euen ſo. And the new Deputie, now for the Duke, Whether it be the fault and glimpſe of newnes, Or whether that the body publique, be A horſe whereon the Gouernor doth ride, Who newly in the Seate, that it may know He can command; lets it ſtrait feele the ſpur: Whether the Tirranny be in his place, Or in his Eminence that fills it vp I ſtagger in: But this new Gouernor Awakes me all the inrolled penalties Which haue (like vn-ſcowr'd Armor) hung by th' wall So long, that ninteene Zodiacks haue gone round, And none of them beene worne; and for a name Now puts the drowſie and neglected Act Freſhly on me: 'tis ſurely for a name. Luc.

I warrant it is: And thy head ſtands ſo tickle on thy ſhoulders, that a milke-maid, if ſhe be in loue, may ſigh it off: Send after the Duke, and appeale to him.

 Cla. I haue done ſo, but hee's not to be found. I pre'thee (Lucio) doe me this kinde ſeruice: This day, my ſiſter ſhould the Cloyſter enter, And there receiue her approbation. Acquaint her with the danger of my ſtate, Implore her, in my voice, that ſhe make friends To the ſtrict deputie: bid her ſelfe aſſay him, I haue great hope in that: for in her youth There is a prone and ſpeechleſſe dialect, Such as moue men: beſide, ſhe hath proſperous Art When ſhe will play with reaſon, and diſcourſe, And well ſhe can perſwade. Luc.

I pray ſhee may; aſwell for the encouragement of the like, which elſe would ſtand vnder greeuous impoſition: as for the enioying of thy life, who I would be ſorry ſhould bee thus fooliſhly loſt, at a game of ticke-tacke: Ile to her.

 Cla.

I thanke you good friend Lucio.

Luc.

Within two houres.

 Cla.

Come Officer, away.

Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke and Frier Thomas. Duk. No: holy Father, throw away that thought, Beleeue not that the dribling dart of Loue Can pierce a compleat boſome: why, I deſire thee To giue me ſecret harbour, hath a purpoſe More graue, and wrinkled, then the aimes, and ends Of burning youth. Fri.

May your Grace ſpeake of it?

 Duk. My holy Sir, none better knowes then you How I haue euer lou'd the life remoued And held in idle price, to haunt aſſemblies Where youth, and coſt, witleſſe brauery keepes. I haue deliuerd to Lord Angelo (A man of ſtricture and firme abſtinence) My abſolute power, and place here in Ʋienna, And he ſuppoſes me trauaild to Poland, (For ſo I haue ſtrewd it in the common eare) And ſo it is receiu'd: Now (pious Sir) You will demand of me, why I do this. Fri.

Gladly, my Lord.

 Duk. We haue ſtrict Statutes, and moſt biting Laws, (The needfull bits and curbes to headſtrong weedes,) Which for this foureteene yeares, we haue let ſlip, Euen like an ore-growne Lyon in a Caue That goes not out to prey: Now, as fond Fathers, Hauing bound vp the threatning twigs of birch, Onely to ſticke it in their childrens ſight, For terror, not to vſe: in time the rod More mock'd, then fear'd: ſo our Decrees, Dead to infliction, to themſelues are dead, And libertie, plucks Iuſtice by the noſe; The Baby beates the Nurſe, and quite a thwart Goes all decorum. Fri. It reſted in your Grace To vnlooſe this tyde-vp Iuſtice, when you pleaſ'd: And it in you more dreadfull would haue ſeem'd Then in Lord Angelo. Duk. I doe feare: too dreadfull: Sith 'twas my fault, to giue the people ſcope, 'T would be my tirrany to ſtrike and gall them, For what I bid them doe: For, we bid this be done When euill deedes haue their permiſſiue paſſe, And not the puniſhment: therefore indeede (my father) I haue on Angelo impos'd the office, Who may in th' ambuſh of my name, ſtrike home, And yet, my nature neuer in the fight To do in ſlander: And to behold his ſway I will, as 'twere a brother of your Order, Viſit both Prince, and People: Therefore I pre'thee Supply me with the habit, and inſtruct me How I may formally in perſon beare Like a true Frier: Moe reaſons for this action At our more leyſure, ſhall I render you; Onely, this one: Lord Angelo is preciſe, Stands at a guard with Enuie: ſcarce confeſſes That his blood flowes: or that his appetite Is more to bread then ſtone: hence ſhall we ſee If power change purpoſe: what our Seemers be. Exit.
Scena Quinta. Enter Iſabell and Franciſca a Nun. Iſa.

And haue you Nuns no farther priuiledges?

 Nun.

Are not theſe large enough?

 Iſa. Yes truely; I ſpeake not as deſiring more, But rather wiſhing a more ſtrict reſtraint Vpon the Siſterſtood, the Votariſts of Saint Clare. Lucio within. Luc.

Hoa? peace be in this place.

 Iſa:

Who's that which cals?

 Nun. It is a mans voice: gentle Iſabella Turne you the key, and know his buſineſſe of him; You may; I may not: you are yet vnſworne: When you haue vowd, you muſt not ſpeake with men, But in the preſence of the Prioreſſe; Then if you ſpeake, you muſt not ſhow your face; Or if you ſhow your face, you muſt not ſpeake: He cals againe: I pray you anſwere him. Iſa.

Peace and proſperitie: who is't that cals?

 Luc. Haile Virgin, (if you be) as thoſe cheeke-Roſes Proclaime you are no leſſe: can you ſo ſteed me, As bring me to the fight of Iſabella, A Nouice of this place, and the faire Siſter To her vnhappie brother Claudio? Iſa. Why her vnhappy Brother? Let me aske, The rather for I now muſt make you know I am that Iſabella, and his Siſter. Luc. Gentle & faire: your Brother kindly greets you; Not to be weary with you; he's in priſon. Iſa.

Woe me; for what?

 Luc. For that, which if my ſelfe might be his Iudge, He ſhould receiue his puniſhment, in thankes: He hath got his friend with childe. Iſa.

Sir, make me not your ſtorie.

 Luc. 'Tis true; I would not, though 'tis my familiar ſin, With Maids to ſeeme the Lap wing, and to ieſt Tongue, far from heart: play with all Virgins ſo: I hold you as a thing en-skied, and ſainted, By your renouncement, an imortall ſpirit And to be talk'd with in ſincerity, As with a Saint. Iſa.

You doe blaſpheme the good, in mocking me.

 Luc. Doe not beleeue it: fewnes, and truth; tis thus, Your brother, and his louer haue embrac'd; As thoſe that feed, grow full: as bloſſoming Time That from the ſeednes, the bare fallow brings To teeming foyſon: euen ſo her plenteous wombe Expreſſeth his full Tilth, and husbandry. Iſa.

Some one with childe by him? my coſen Iuliet?

 Luc.

Is ſhe your coſen?

 Iſa.

Adoptedly, as ſchoole-maids change their names By vaine, though apt affection.

 Luc.

She it is.

 Iſa.

Oh, let him marry her.

 Luc. This is the point. The Duke is very ſtrangely gone from hence; Bore many gentlemen (my ſelfe being one) In hand, and hope of action: but we doe learne, By thoſe that know the very Nerues of State, His giuing-out, were of an infinite diſtance From his true meant deſigne: vpon his place, (And with full line of his authority) Gouernes Lord Angelo; A man, whoſe blood Is very ſnow-broth: one, who neuer feeles The wanton ſtings, and motions of the ſence; But doth rebate, and blunt his naturall edge With profits of the minde: Studie, and faſt He (to giue feare to vſe, and libertie, Which haue, for long, run-by the hideous law, As Myce, by Lyons) hath pickt out an act, Vnder whoſe heauy ſence, your brothers life Fals into forfeit: he arreſts him on it, And followes cloſe the rigor of the Statute To make him an example: all hope is gone, Vnleſſe you haue the grace, by your faire praier To ſoften Angelo: And that's my pith of buſineſſe 'Twixt you, and your poore brother. Iſa. Doth he ſo, Seeke his life? Luc. Has cenſur'd him already, And as I heare, the Prouoſt hath a warrant For's execution. Iſa.

Alas: what poore Abilitie's in me, to doe him good.

 Luc.

Aſſay the powre you haue.

 Iſa.

My power? alas, I doubt.

 Luc. Our doubts are traitors And makes vs looſe the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt: Goe to Lord Angelo And let him learne to know, when Maidens ſue Men giue like gods: but when they weepe and kneele, All their petitions, are as freely theirs As they themſelues would owe them. Iſa.

Ile ſee what I can doe.

 Luc.

But ſpeedily.

 Iſa. I will about it ſtrait; No longer ſtaying, but to giue the Mother Notice of my affaire: I humbly thanke you: Commend me to my brother: ſoone at night Ile ſend him certaine word of my ſucceſſe. Luc.

I take my leaue of you.

 Iſa.

Good ſir, adieu.

Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Angelo, Eſcalus, and ſeruants, Iuſtice. Ang. We muſt not make a ſcar-crow of the Law, Setting it vp to feare the Birds of prey, And let it keepe one ſhape, till cuſtome make it Their pearch, and not their terror. Eſc. I, but yet Let vs be keene, and rather cut a little Then fall, and bruiſe to death: alas, this gentleman Whom I would ſaue, had a moſt noble father, Let but your honour know (Whom I beleeue to be moſt ſtrait in vertue) That in the working of your owne affections, Had time coheard with Place, or place with wiſhing, Or that the reſolute acting of our blood Could haue attained th' effect of your owne purpoſe, Whether you had not ſometime in your life Er'd in this point, which now you cenſure him, And puld the Law vpon you. Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted (Eſcalus) Another thing to fall: I not deny The Iury paſſing on the Priſoners life May in the ſworne-twelue haue a thiefe, or two Guiltier then him they try; what's open made to Iuſtice, That Iuſtice ceizes; What knowes the Lawes That theeues do paſſe on theeues? 'Tis very pregnant, The Iewell that we finde, we ſtoope, and take't, Becauſe we ſee it; but what we doe not ſee, We tread vpon, and neuer thinke of it. You may not ſo extenuate his offence, For I haue had ſuch faults; but rather tell me When I, that cenſure him, do ſo offend, Let mine owne Iudgement patterne out my death, And nothing come in partiall. Sir, he muſt dye. Enter Prouoſt. Eſc.

Be it as your wiſedome will.

 Ang.

Where is the Prouoſt?

 Pro.

Here if it like your honour.

 Ang. See that Claudio Be executed by nine to morrow morning, Bring him his Confeſſor, let him be prepar'd, For that's the vtmoſt of his pilgrimage. Eſc. Well: heauen forgiue him; and forgiue vs all: Some riſe by ſinne, and ſome by vertue fall: Some run from brakes of Ice, and anſwere none, And ſome condemned for a fault alone. Enter Elbow, Froth, Clowne, Officers. Elb.

Come, bring them away: if theſe be good people in a Common-weale, that doe nothing but vſe their abuſes in common houſes, I know no law: bring them away.

 Ang.

How now Sir, what's your name? And what's the matter?

 Elb.

If it pleaſe your honour, I am the poore Dukes Conſtable, and my name is Elbow; I doe leane vpon Iuſtice Sir, and doe bring in here before your good honor, two notorious Benefactors.

 Ang.

Benefactors? Well: What Benefactors are they? Are they not Malefactors?

 Elb.

If it pleaſe your honour, I know not well what they are: But preciſe villaines they are, that I am ſure of and void of all prophanation in the world, that good Chriſtians ought to haue.

 Eſc.

This comes off well: here's a wiſe Officer.

 Ang. Goe to: What quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why do'ſt thou not ſpeake Elbow? Clo.

He cannot Sir: he's out at Elbow.

 Ang.

What are you Sir?

 Elb.

He Sir: a Tapſter Sir: parcell Baud: one that ſerues a bad woman: whoſe houſe Sir was (as they ſay) pluckt downe in the Suborbs: and now ſhee profeſſes a hot-houſe; which, I thinke is a very ill houſe too.

 Eſc.

How know you that?

 Elb.

My wife Sir? whom I deteſt before heauen, and your honour.

 Eſc.

How? thy wife?

 Elb.

I Sir: whom I thanke heauen is an honeſt woman.

 Eſc.

Do'ſt thou deteſt her therefore?

 Elb.

I ſay ſir, I will deteſt my ſelfe alſo, as well as ſhe, that this houſe, if it be not a Bauds houſe, it is pitty of her life, for it is a naughty houſe.

 Eſc.

How do'ſt thou know that, Conſtable?

 Elb.

Marry ſir, by my wife, who, if ſhe had bin a woman Cardinally giuen, might haue bin accus'd in fornication, adultery, and all vncleanlineſſe there.

 Eſc.

By the womans meanes?

 Elb.

I ſir, by Miſtris Ouer-dons meanes: but as ſhe ſpit in his face, ſo ſhe defide him.

 Clo.

Sir, if it pleaſe your honor, this is not ſo.

 Elb.

Proue it before theſe varlets here, thou honorable man, proue it.

 Eſc.

Doe you heare how he miſplaces?

 Clo.

Sir, ſhe came in great with childe: and longing (ſauing your honors reuerence) for ſtewd prewyns; ſir, we had but two in the houſe, which at that very diſtant time ſtood, as it were in a fruit diſh (a diſh of ſome three pence; your honours haue ſeene ſuch diſhes) they are not China-diſhes, but very good diſhes.

 Eſc.

Go too: go too: no matter for the diſh ſir.

 Clo.

No indeede ſir not of a pin; you are therein in the right: but, to the point: As I ſay, this Miſtris Elbow, being (as I ſay) with childe, and being great bellied, and longing (as I ſaid) for prewyns: and hauing but two in the diſh (as I ſaid) Maſter Froth here, this very man, hauing eaten the reſt (as I ſaid) & (as I ſay) paying for them very honeſtly: for, as you know Maſter Froth, I could not giue you three pence againe.

 Fro.

No indeede.

 Clo.

Very well: you being then (if you be remembred) cracking the ſtones of the foreſaid prewyns.

 Fro.

I, ſo I did indeede.

 Clo.

Why, very well: I telling you then (if you be remembred) that ſuch a one, and ſuch a one, were paſt cure of the thing you wot of, vnleſſe they kept very good diet, as I told you.

 Fro.

All this is true.

 Clo.

Why very well then.

 Eſc.

Come: you are a tedious foole: to the purpoſe: what was done to Elbowes wife, that hee hath cauſe to complaine of? Come me to what was done to her.

 Clo.

Sir, your honor cannot come to that yet.

 Eſc.

No ſir, nor I meane it not.

 Clo.

Sir, but you ſhall come to it, by your honours leaue: And I beſeech you, looke into Maſter Froth here ſir, a man of foure-ſcore pound a yeare; whoſe father died at Hallowmas: Was't not at Hallowmas Maſter Froth?

 Fro.

Allhallond-Eue.

 Clo.

Why very well: I hope here be truthes: he Sir, ſitting (as I ſay) in a lower chaire, Sir, 'twas in the bunch of Grapes, where indeede you haue a delight to ſit, haue you not?

 Fro.

I haue ſo, becauſe it is an open roome, and good for winter.

 Clo.

Why very well then: I hope here be truthes.

 Ang. This will laſt out a night in Ruſsia When nights are longeſt there: Ile take my leaue, And leaue you to the hearing of the cauſe; Hoping youle finde good cauſe to whip them all. Exit. Eſc.

I thinke no leſſe: good morrow to your Lordſhip. Now Sir, come on: What was done to Elbowes wife, once more?

 Clo.

Once Sir? there was nothing done to her once.

 Elb.

I beſeech you Sir, aske him what this man did to my wife.

 Clo.

I beſeech your honor, aske me.

 Eſc.

Well ſir, what did this Gentleman to her?

 Clo.

I beſeech you ſir, looke in this Gentlemans face: good Maſter Froth looke vpon his honor; 'tis for a good purpoſe: doth your honor marke his face?

 Eſc.

I ſir, very well.

 Clo.

Nay, I beſeech you marke it well.

 Eſc.

Well, I doe ſo.

 Clo.

Doth your honor ſee any harme in his face?

 Eſc.

Why no.

 Clo.

Ile be ſuppoſd vpon a booke, his face is the worſt thing about him: good then: if his face be the worſt thing about him, how could Maſter Froth doe the Conſtables wife any harme? I would know that of your honour.

 Eſc.

He's in the right (Conſtable) what ſay you to it?

 Elb.

Firſt, and it like you, the houſe is a reſpected houſe; next, this is a reſpected fellow; and his Miſtris is a reſpected woman.

 Clo.

By this hand Sir, his wife is a more reſpected perſon then any of vs all.

 Elb.

Varlet, thou lyeſt; thou lyeſt wicked varlet: the time is yet to come that ſhee was euer reſpected with man, woman, or childe.

 Clo.

Sir, ſhe was reſpected with him, before he married with her.

 Eſc.

Which is the wiſer here; Iuſtice or Iniquitie? Is this true?

 Elb.

O thou caytiffe: O thou varlet: O thou wicked Hanniball; I reſpected with her, before I was married to her? If euer I was reſpected with her, or ſhe with me, let not your worſhip thinke mee the poore Dukes Officer: proue this, thou wicked Hanniball, or ile haue mine action of battry on thee.

 Eſc.

If he tooke you a box' oth' eare, you might haue your action of ſlander too.

 Elb.

Marry I thanke your good worſhip for it: what is't your Worſhips pleaſure I ſhall doe with this wicked Caitiffe?

 Eſc.

Truly Officer, becauſe he hath ſome offences in him, that thou wouldſt diſcouer, if thou couldſt, let him continue in his courſes, till thou knowſt what they are.

 Elb.

Marry I thanke your worſhip for it: Thou ſeeſt thou wicked varlet now, what's come vpon thee. Thou art to continue now thou Varlet, thou art to continue.

 Eſc.

Where were you borne, friend?

 Froth.

Here in Vienna, Sir.

 Eſc.

Are you of foureſcore pounds a yeere?

 Froth.

Yes, and 't pleaſe you ſir.

 Eſc.

So: what trade are you of, ſir?

 Clo.

A Tapſter, a poore widdowes Tapſter.

 Eſc.

Your Miſtris name?

 Clo.

Miſtris Ouer-do • .

Eſc.

Hath ſhe had any more then one husband?

 Clo.

Nine, ſir: Ouer-don by the laſt.

 Eſc.

Nine? come hether to me, Maſter Froth; Maſter Froth, I would not haue you acquainted with Tapſters; they will draw you Maſter Froth, and you wil hang them: get you gon, and let me heare no more of you.

 Fro.

I thanke your worſhip: for mine owne part, I neuer come into any roome in a Tap-houſe, but I am drawne in.

 Eſc.

Well: no more of it Maſter Froth: farewell: Come you hether to me, Mr. Tapſter: what's your name Mr. Tapſter?

 Clo.

Pompey.

Eſc.

What elſe?

 Clo.

Bum, Sir.

 Eſc.

Troth, and your bum is the greateſt thing about you, ſo that in the beaſtlieſt ſence, you are Pompey the great; Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey; howſoeuer you colour it in being a Tapſter, are you not? come, tell me true, it ſhall be the better for you.

 Clo.

Truly ſir, I am a poore fellow that would liue.

 Eſc.

How would you liue Pompey? by being a bawd? what doe you thinke of the trade Pompey? is it a lawfull trade?

 Clo.

If the Law would allow it, ſir.

 Eſc.

But the Law will not allow it Pompey; nor it ſhall not be allowed in Ʋienna.

Clo.

Do's your Worſhip meane to geld and ſplay all the youth of the City?

 Eſc.

No, Pompey.

Clo.

Truely Sir, in my poore opinion they will too't then: if your worſhip will take order for the drabs and the knaues, you need not to feare the bawds.

 Eſc.

There is pretty orders beginning I can tell you: It is but heading, and hanging.

 Clo.

If you head, and hang all that offend that way but for ten yeare together; you'll be glad to giue out a Commiſſion for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten yeare, ile rent the faireſt houſe in it after three pence a Bay: if you liue to ſee this come to paſſe, ſay Pompey told you ſo.

 Eſc.

Thanke you good Pompey; and in requitall of your propheſie, harke you: I aduiſe you let me not finde you before me againe vpon any complaint whatſoeuer; no, not for dwelling where you doe: if I doe Pompey, I ſhall beat you to your Tent, and proue a ſhrewd Caeſar to you: in plaine dealing Pompey, I ſhall haue you whipt; ſo for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

 Clo.

I thanke your Worſhip for your good counſell; but I ſhall follow it as the fleſh and fortune ſhall better determine. Whip me? no, no, let Carman whip his Iade, The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.

Exit. Eſc.

Come hether to me, Maſter Elbow: come hither Maſter Conſtable: how long haue you bin in this place of Conſtable?

 Elb.

Seuen yeere, and a halfe ſir.

 Eſc.

I thought by the readineſſe in the office, you had continued in it ſome time: you ſay ſeauen yeares together.

 Elb.

And a halfe ſir.

 Eſc.

Alas, it hath beene great paines to you: they do you wrong to put you ſo oft vpon't. Are there not men in your Ward ſufficient to ſerue it?

 Elb.

'Faith ſir, few of any wit in ſuch matters: as they are choſen, they are glad to chooſe me for them; I do it for ſome peece of money, and goe through with all.

 Eſc.

Looke you bring mee in the names of ſome ſixe or ſeuen, the moſt ſufficient of your pariſh.

 Elb.

To your Worſhips houſe ſir?

 Eſc.

To my houſe: fare you well: what's a clocke, thinke you?

 Iust.

Eleuen, Sir.

 Eſc.

I pray you home to dinner with me.

 Iuſt.

I humbly thanke you.

 Eſc. It grieues me for the death of Claudio But there's no remedie: Iuſt.

Lord Angelo is ſeuere.

 Eſc. It is but needfull. Mercy is not it ſelfe, that oft lookes ſo, Pardon is ſtill the nurſe of ſecond woe: But yet, poore Claudio; there is no remedie. Come Sir. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Prouost, Seruant. Ser.

Hee's hearing of a Cauſe; he will come ſtraight, I'le tell him of you.

 Pro. 'Pray you doe; Ile know His pleaſure, may be he will relent; alas He hath but as offended in a dreame, All Sects, all Ages ſmack of this vice, and he To die for't? Enter Angelo. Ang.

Now, what's the matter Prouoſt?

 Pro.

Is it your will Claudio ſhall die to morrow?

 Ang.

Did not I tell thee yea? hadſt thou not order? Why do'ſt thou aske againe?

 Pro. Leſt I might be too raſh: Vnder your good correction, I haue ſeene When after execution, Iudgement hath Repented ore his doome. Ang. Goe to; let that be mine, Doe you your office, or giue vp your Place, And you ſhall well be ſpar'd. Pro. I craue your Honours pardon: What ſhall be done Sir, with the groaning Iuliet? Shee's very neere her howre. Ang. Diſpoſe of her To ſome more fitter place; and that with ſpeed. Ser. Here is the ſiſter of the man condemn'd, Deſires acceſſe to you. Ang.

Hath he a Siſter?

 Pro. I my good Lord, a very vertuous maid, And to be ſhortlie of a Siſter-hood, If not alreadie. Ang. Well: let her be admitted, See you the Fornicatreſſe be remou'd, Let her haue needfull, but not lauiſh meanes, There ſhall be order for't. Enter Lucio and Iſabella. Pro.

'Saue your Honour.

 Ang.

Stay a little while: y' are welcome: what's your will?

 Iſab. I am a wofull Sutor to your Honour, 'Pleaſe but your Honor heare me. Ang.

Well: what's your ſuite.

 Iſab. There is a vice that moſt I doe abhorre, And moſt deſire ſhould meet the blow of Iuſtice; For which I would not plead, but that I muſt, For which I muſt not plead, but that I am At warre, twixt will, and will not. Ang.

Well: the matter?

 Iſab. I haue a brother is condemn'd to die, I doe beſeech you let it be his fault, And not my brother. Pro.

Heauen giue thee mouing graces.

 Ang. Condemne the fault, and not the actor of it, Why euery fault's condemnd ere it be done: Mine were the verie Cipher of a Function To fine the faults, whoſe fine ſtands in record, And let goe by the Actor: Iſab. Oh iuſt, but ſeuere Law: I had a brother then; heauen keepe your honour. Luc. Giue't not ore ſo: to him againe, entreat him, Kneele downe before him, hang vpon his gowne, You are too cold: if you ſhould need a pin, You could not with more t • me tongue deſire it: To him, I ſay. Iſab.

Muſt he needs die?

 Ang.

Maiden, no remedie.

 Iſab. Yes: I doe thinke that you might pardon him, And neither heauen, nor man grieue at the mercy. Ang.

I will not doe't.

 Iſab.

But can you if you would?

 Ang.

Looke what I will not, that I cannot doe.

 Iſab. But might you doe't & do the world no wrong If ſo your heart were touch'd with that remorſe, As mine is to him? Ang.

Hee's ſentenc'd, tis too late.

 Luc.

You are too cold.

 Iſab. Too late? why no: I that doe ſpeak a word May call it againe: well, beleeue this No ceremony that to great ones longs, Not the Kings Crowne; nor the deputed ſword, The Marſhalls Truncheon, nor the Iudges Robe Become them with one halfe ſo good a grace As mercie does: If he had bin as you, and you as he, You would haue ſlipt like him, but he like you Would not haue beene ſo ſterne. Ang.

Pray you be gone.

 Iſab. I would to heauen I had your potencie, And you were Iſabell: ſhould it then be thus? No: I would tell what 'twere to be a Iudge, And what a priſoner. Luc.

I, touch him: there's the vaine.

 Ang. Your Brother is a forfeit of the Law, And you but waſte your words. Iſab. Alas, alas: Why all the ſoules that were, were forfeit once, And he that might the vantage beſt haue tooke, Found out the remedie: how would you be, If he, which is the top of Iudgement, ſhould But iudge you, as you are? Oh, thinke on that, And mercie then will breathe within your lips Like man new made. Ang. Be you content, (faire Maid) It is the Law, not I, condemne your brother, Were he my kinſman, brother, or my ſonne, It ſhould be thus with him: he muſt die to morrow. Iſab. To morrow? oh, that's ſodaine, Spare him, ſpare him: Hee's not prepar'd for death; euen for our kitchins We kill the fowle of ſeaſon: ſhall we ſerue heauen With leſſe reſpect then we doe miniſter To our groſſe-ſelues? good, good my Lord, bethink you; Who is it that hath di'd for this offence? There's many haue committed it. Luc.

I, well ſaid.

 Ang. The Law hath not bin dead, thogh it hath ſlept Thoſe many had not dar'd to doe that euill If the firſt, that did th' Edict infringe Had anſwer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake. Takes note of what is done, and like a Prophet Lookes in a glaſſe that ſhewes what future euils Either now, or by remiſſeneſſe, new conceiu'd, And ſo in progreſſe to be hatc'hd, and borne, Are now to haue no ſucceſſiue degrees, But here they liue to end. Iſab.

Yet ſhew ſome pittie.

 Ang. I ſhew it moſt of all, when I ſhow Iuſtice; For then I pittie thoſe I doe not know, Which a diſmis'd offence, would after gaule And doe him right, that anſwering one foule wrong Liues not to act another. Be ſatisfied; Your Brother dies to morrow; be content. Iſab. So you muſt be ye firſt that giues this ſentence, And hee, that ſuffers: Oh, it is excellent To haue a Giants ſtrength: but it is tyrannous To vſe it like a Giant. Luc.

That's well ſaid.

 Iſab. Could great men thunder As Ioue himſelfe do's, Ioue would neuer be quiet, For euery pelting petty Officer Would vſe his heauen for thunder; Nothing but thunder: Mercifull heauen, Thou rather with thy ſharpe and ſulpherous bol • Splits the vn-wedgable and gnarled Oke, Then, the ſoft Mertill: But man, proud man, Dreſt in a little briefe authoritie, Moſt ignorant of what he's moſt aſſur'd, (His glaſsie Eſſence) like an angry Ape Plaies ſuch phantaſtique tricks before high heauen, As makes the Angels weepe: who with our ſpleenes, Would all themſelues laugh mortall. Luc. Oh, to him, to him wench: he will relent, Hee's comming: I perceiue't. Pro.

Pray heauen ſhe win him.

 Iſab. We cannot weigh our brother with our ſelfe, Great men may ieſt with Saints: tis wit in them, But in the leſſe fowle prophanation. Luc.

Thou'rt i' th right (Girle) more o' that.

 Iſab. That in the Captaine's but a chollericke word, Which in the Souldier is flat blaſphemie. Luc.

Art auis'd o' that? more on't.

 Ang.

Why doe you put theſe ſayings vpon me?

 Iſab. Becauſe Authoritie, though it erre like others, Hath yet a kinde of medicine in it ſelfe That skins the vice o' th top; goe to your boſome, Knock there, and aske your heart what it doth know That's like my brothers fault: if it confeſſe A naturall guiltineſſe, ſuch as is his, Let it not ſound a thought vpon your tongue Againſt my brothers life. Ang. Shee ſpeakes, and 'tis ſuch ſence That my Sence breeds with it; fare you well. Iſab.

Gentle my Lord, turne backe.

 Ang.

I will bethinke me: come againe to morrow.

 Iſa.

Hark, how Ile bribe you: good my Lord turn back.

 Ang.

How? bribe me?

 Iſ.

I, with ſuch gifts that heauen ſhall ſhare with you.

 Luc.

You had mar'd all elſe.

 Iſab. Not with fond Sickles of the teſted-gold, Or Stones, whoſe rate are either rich, or poore As fancie values them: but with true prayers, That ſhall be vp at heauen, and enter there Ere Sunne riſe: prayers from preſerued ſoules, From faſting Maides, whoſe mindes are dedicate To nothing temporall. Ang.

Well: come to me to morrow.

 Luc.

Goe to: 'tis well; away.

 Iſab.

Heauen keepe your honour ſafe.

 Ang. Amen. For I am that way going to temptation, Where prayers croſſe. Iſab. At what hower to morrow, Shall I attend your Lordſhip? Ang.

At any time 'fore-noone.

 Iſab.

'Saue your Honour.

 Ang. From thee: euen from thy vertue. What's this? what's this? is this her fault, or mine? The Tempter, or the Tempted, who ſins moſt? ha? Not ſhe: nor doth ſhe tempt: but it is I, That, lying by the Violet in the Sunne, Doe as the Carrion do's, not as the flowre, Corrupt with vertuous ſeaſon: Can it be, That Modeſty may more betray our Sence Then womans lightneſſe? hauing waſte ground enough, Shall we deſire to raze the Sanctuary And pitch our euils there? oh fie, fie, fie: What doſt thou? or what art thou Angelo? Doſt thou deſire her fowly, for thoſe things That make her good? oh, let her brother liue: Theeues for their robbery haue authority, When Iudges ſteale themſelues: what, doe I loue her, That I deſire to heare her ſpeake againe? And feaſt vpon her eyes? what is't I dreame on? Oh cunning enemy, that to catch a Saint, With Saints doſt bait thy hooke: moſt dangerous Is that temptation, that doth goad vs on To ſinne, in louing vertue: neuer could the Strumpet With all her double vigor, Art, and Nature Once ſtir my temper: but this vertuous Maid Subdues me quite: Euer till now When men were fond, I ſmild, and wondred how. Exit.
Scena Tertia. Enter Duke and Prouoſt. Duke.

Haile to you, Prouoſt, ſo I thinke you are.

 Pro.

I am the Prouoſt: whats your will, good Frier?

 Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bleſt order, I come to viſite the afflicted ſpirits Here in the priſon: doe me the common right To let me ſee them: and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may miniſter To them accordingly. Pro. I would do more then that, if more were needfull Enter Iuliet. Looke here comes one: a Gentlewoman of mine, Who falling in the flawes of her owne youth, Hath bliſterd her report: She is with childe, And he that got it, ſentenc'd: a yong man, More fit to doe another ſuch offence, Then dye for this. Duk.

When muſt he dye?

 Pro. As I do thinke to morrow. I haue prouided for you, ſtay a while And you ſhall be conducted. Duk.

Repent you (faire one) of the ſin you carry?

 Iul.

I doe; and beare the ſhame moſt patiently.

 Du. Ile teach you how you ſhal araign your conſciēce And try your penitence, if it be ſound, Or hollowly put on. Iul.

Ile gladly learne.

 Duk.

Loue you the man that wrong'd you?

 Iul.

Yes, as I loue the woman that wrong'd him.

 Duk. So then it ſeemes your moſt offence full act Was mutually committed. Iul.

Mutually.

 Duk.

Then was your ſin of heauier kinde then his.

 Iul.

I doe confeſſe it, and repent it (Father.)

 Duk. 'Tis meet ſo (daughter) but leaſt you do repent As that the ſin hath brought you to this ſhame, Which ſorrow is alwaies toward our ſelues, not heauen, Showing we would not ſpare heauen, as we loue it, But as we ſtand in feare. Iul. I doe repent me as it is an euill, And take the ſhame with ioy. Duke. There reſt: Your partner (as I heare) muſt die to morrow, And I am going with inſtruction to him: Grace goe with you, Benedicite. Exit. Iul. Muſt die tomorrow? oh iniurious Loue That reſpits me a life, whoſe very comfort Is ſtill a dying horror. Pro.

'Tis pitty of him.

Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Angelo. An. When I would pray, & think, I thinke, and pray To ſeuerall ſubiects: heauen hath my empty words, Whilſt my Inuention, hearing not my Tongue, Anchors on Iſabell: heauen in my mouth, As if I did but onely chew his name, And in my heart the ſtrong and ſwelling euill Of my conception: the ſtate whereon I ſtudied Is like a good thing, being often read Growne feard, and tedious: yea, my Grauitie Wherein (let no man heare me) I take pride, Could I, with boote, change for an idle plume Which the ayre beats for vaine: oh place, oh forme, How often doſt thou with thy caſe, thy habit Wrench awe from fooles, and tye the wiſer ſoules To thy falſe ſeeming? Blood, thou art blood, Let's write good Angell on the Deuills horne 'Tis not the Deuills Creſt: how now? who's there? Enter Seruant. Ser.

One Iſabell, a Siſter, deſires acceſſe to you,

 Ang. Teach her the way: oh, heauens Why doe's my bloud thus muſter to my heart, Making both it vnable for it ſelfe, And diſpoſſeſsing all my other parts Of neceſſary fitneſſe? So play the fooliſh throngs with one that ſwounds, Come all to help him, and ſo ſtop the ayre By which hee ſhould reuiue: and euen ſo The generall ſubiect to a wel-wiſht King Quit their owne part, and in obſequious fondneſſe Crowd to his preſence, where their vn-taught loue Muſt needs appear offence: how now faire Maid. Enter Iſabella. Iſab.

I am come to know your pleaſure.

 An. That you might know it, wold much better pleaſe me, Then to demand what 'tis: your Brother cannot liue. Iſab.

Euen ſo: heauen keepe your Honor.

 Ang. Yet may he liue a while: and it may be As long as you, or I: yet he muſt die. Iſab.

Vnder your Sentence?

 Ang.

Yea.

 Iſab. When, I beſeech you: that in his Reprieue (Longer, or ſhorter) he may be ſo fitted That his ſoule ſicken not. Ang. Ha? fie, theſe filthy vices: It were as good To pardon him, that hath from nature ſtolne A man already made, as to remit Their ſawcie ſweetnes, that do coyne heauens Image In ſtamps that are forbid: 'tis all as eaſie, Falſely to take away a life true made, As to put mettle in reſtrained meanes To make a falſe one. Iſab.

'Tis ſet downe ſo in heauen, but not in earth.

 Ang. Say you ſo: then I ſhall poze you quickly. Which had you rather, that the moſt iuſt Law Now tooke your brothers life, and to redeeme him Giue vp your body to ſuch ſweet vncleanneſſe As ſhe that he hath ſtaind? Iſab. Sir, beleeue this. I had rather giue my body, then my ſoule. Ang. I talke not of your ſoule: our compel'd ſins Stand more for number, then for accompt. Iſab.

How ſay you?

 Ang. Nay Ile not warrant that: for I can ſpeake Againſt the thing I ſay: Anſwere to this, I (now the voyce of the recorded Law) Pronounce a ſentence on your Brothers life, Might there not be a charitie in ſinne, To ſaue this Brothers life? Iſab. Pleaſe you to doo't, Ile take it as a perill to my ſoule, It is no ſinne at all, but charitie. Ang. Pleaſ'd you to doo't, at perill of your ſoule Were equall poize of ſinne, and charitie. Iſab. That I do beg his life, if it be ſinne Heauen let me beare it: you granting of my ſuit, If that be ſin, Ile make it my Morne-praier, To haue it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your anſwere. Ang. Nay, but heare me. Your ſence purſues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or ſeeme ſo crafty; and that's not good. Iſab. Let be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciouſly to know I am no better. Ang. Thus wiſdome wiſhes to appeare moſt bright, When it doth taxe it ſelfe: As theſe blacke Maſques Proclaime an en-ſhield beauty ten times louder Then beauty could diſplaied: But marke me, To be receiued plaine, Ile ſpeake more groſſe: Your Brother is to dye. Iſab.

So.

 Ang. And his offence is ſo, as it appeares, Accountant to the Law, vpon that paine. Iſab.

True.

 Ang. Admit no other way to ſaue his life (As I ſubſcribe not that, nor any other, But in the leſſe of queſtion) that you, his Siſter, Finding your ſelfe deſir'd of ſuch a perſon, Whoſe creadit with the Iudge, or owne great place, Could fetch your Brother from the Manacles Of the all-building-Law: and that there were No earthly meane to ſaue him, but that either You muſt lay downe the treaſures of your body, To this ſuppoſed, or elſe to let him ſuffer: What would you doe? Iſab. As much for my poore Brother, as my ſelfe; That is: were I vnder the tearmes of death, Th' impreſſion of keene whips, I'ld weare as Rubies, And ſtrip my ſelfe to death, as to a bed, That longing haue bin ſicke for, ere I'ld yeeld My body vp to ſhame. Ang.

Then muſt your brother die.

 Iſa. And 'twer the cheaper way: Better it were a brother dide at once, Then that a ſiſter, by redeeming him Should die for euer. Ang. Were not you then as cruell as the Sentence, That you haue ſlander'd ſo? Iſa. Ignomie in ranſome, and free pardon Are of two houſes: lawfull mercie, Is nothing kin to fowle redemption. Ang. You ſeem'd of late to make the Law a tirant, And rather prou'd the ſliding of your brother A merriment, then a vice. Iſa. Oh pardon me my Lord, it oft fals out To haue, what we would haue, We ſpeake not what vve meane; I ſomething do excuſe the thing I hate, For his aduantage that I dearely loue. Ang.

We are all fraile.

 Iſa. Elſe let my brother die, If not a fedarie but onely he Owe, and ſucceed thy weakneſſe. Ang.

Nay, women are fraile too.

 Iſa. I, as the glaſſes where they view themſelues, Which are as eaſie broke as they make formes: Women? Helpe heauen; men their creation marre In profiting by them: Nay, call vs ten times fraile, For we are ſoft, as our complexions are, And credulous to falſe prints. Ang. I thinke it well: And from this teſtimonie of your owne ſex (Since I ſuppoſe we are made to be no ſtronger Then faults may ſhake our frames) let me be bold; I do arreſt your words. Be that you are, That is a woman; if you be more, you'r none. If you be one (as you are well expreſt By all externall warrants) ſhew it now, By putting on the deſtin'd Liuerie. Iſa. I haue no tongue but one; gentle my Lord, Let me entreate you ſpeake the former language. Ang.

Plainlie conceiue I loue you.

 Iſa. My brother did loue Iuliet, And you tell me that he ſhall die for't. Ang

He ſhall not Iſabell if you giue me loue.

 Iſa. I know your vertue hath a licence in't, Which ſeemes a little fouler then it is, To plucke on others. Ang. Beleeue me on mine Honor, My words expreſſe my purpoſe. Iſa. Ha? Little honor, to be much beleeu'd, And moſt pernitious purpoſe: Seeming, ſeeming. I will proclaime thee Angelo, looke for't. Signe me a preſent pardon for my brother, Or with an out-ſtretcht throate Ile tell the world aloud What man thou art. Ang. Who will beleeue thee Iſabell? My vnſoild name, th' auſteereneſſe of my life, My vouch againſt you, and my place i' th State, Will ſo your accuſation ouer-weigh, That you ſhall ſtifle in your owne report, And ſmell of calumnie. I haue begun, And now I giue my ſenſuall race, the reine, Fit thy conſent to my ſharpe appetite, Lay by all nicetie, and prolixious bluſhes That baniſh what they ſue for: Redeeme thy brother, By yeelding vp thy bodie to my will, Or elſe he muſt not onelie die the death, But thy vnkindneſſe ſhall his death draw out To lingring ſufferance: Anſwer me to morrow, Or by the affection that now guides me moſt, Ile proue a Tirant to him. As for you, Say what you can; my falſe, ore-weighs your true. Exit Iſa. To whom ſhould I complaine? Did I tell this, Who would beleeue me? O perilous mouthes That beare in them, one and the ſelfeſame tongue, Either of condemnation, or approofe, Bidding the Law make curtſie to their will, Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, To follow as it drawes. Ile to my brother, Though he hath falne by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him ſuch a minde of Honor, That had he twentie heads to tender downe On twentie bloodie blockes, hee'ld yeeld them vp, Before his ſiſter ſhould her bodie ſtoope, To ſuch abhord pollution. Then Iſabell liue chaſte, and brother die; "More then our Brother, is our Chaſtitie. Ile tell him yet of Angelo's requeſt, And fit his minde to death, for his ſoules reſt. Exit.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Claudio, and Prouoſt. Du.

So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

 Cla. The miſerable haue no other medicine But onely hope: I' haue hope to liue, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be abſolute for death: either death or life Shall thereby be the ſweeter. Reaſon thus with life: If I do looſe thee, I do looſe a thing That none but fooles would keepe: a breath thou art, Seruile to all the skyie-influences, That doſt this habitation where thou keepſt Hourely afflict: Meerely, thou art deaths foole, For him thou labourſt by thy flight to ſhun, And yet runſt toward him ſtill. Thou art not noble, For all th' accommodations that thou bearſt, Are nurſt by baſeneſſe: Thou'rt by no meanes valiant, For thou doſt feare the ſoft and tender forke Of a poore worme: thy beſt of reſt is ſleepe, And that thou oft prouoakſt, yet groſſelie fearſt Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thy ſelfe, For thou exiſts on manie a thouſand graines That iſſue out of duſt. Happie thou art not, For what thou haſt not, ſtill thou ſtriu'ſt to get, And what thou haſt forgetſt. Thou art not certaine, For thy complexion ſhifts to ſtrange effects, After the Moone: If thou art rich, thou'rt poore, For like an Aſſe, whoſe backe with Ingots bowes; Thou bearſt thy heauie riches but a iournie, And death vnloads thee; Friend haſt thou none. For thine owne bowels which do call thee, fire The meere effuſion of thy proper loines Do curſe the Gowt, Sapego, and the Rheume For ending thee no ſooner. Thou haſt nor youth, nor age But as it were an after-dinners ſleepe Dreaming on both, for all thy bleſſed youth Becomes as aged, and doth begge the almes Of palſied-Eld: and when thou art old, and rich Thou haſt neither heate, affection, limbe, nor beautie To make thy riches pleaſant: what's yet in this That beares the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thouſand deaths; yet death we feare That makes theſe oddes, all euen. Cla. I humblie thanke you. To ſue to liue, I finde I ſeeke to die, And ſeeking death, finde life: Let it come on. Enter Iſabella. Iſab.

What hoa? Peace heere; Grace, and good companie.

 Pro.

Who's there? Come in, the wiſh deſerues a welcome.

 Duke.

Deere ſir, ere long Ile viſit you againe.

 Cla.

Moſt bolie Sir; I thanke you.

 Iſa.

My buſineſſe is a word or two with Claudio.

Pro.

And verie welcom: looke Signior, here's your ſiſter.

 Duke.

Prouoſt, a word with you.

 Pro.

As manie as you pleaſe.

 Duke.

Bring them to heare me ſpeak, where I may be conceal'd.

 Cla.

Now ſiſter, what's the comfort?

 Iſa. Why, As all comforts are: moſt good, moſt good indeede, Lord Angelo hauing affaires to heauen Intends you for his ſwift Ambaſſador, Where you ſhall be an euerlaſting Leiger; Therefore your beſt appointment make with ſpeed, To Morrow you ſet on. Clau.

Is there no remedie?

 Iſa. None, but ſuch remedie, as to ſaue a head To cleaue a heart in twaine: Clau.

But is there anie?

 Iſa. Yes brother, you may liue; There is a diuelliſh mercie in the Iudge, If you'l implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. Cla.

Perpetuall durance?

 Iſa. I iuſt, perpetuall durance, a reſtraint Through all the worlds vaſtiditie you had To a determin'd ſcope. Clau.

But in what nature?

 Iſa. In ſuch a one, as you conſenting too't, Would barke your honor from that trunke you beare, And leaue you naked. Clau.

Let me know the point.

 Iſa. Oh, I do feare thee Claudio, and I quake, Leaſt thou a feauorous life ſhouldſt entertaine, And ſix or ſeuen winters more reſpect Then a perpetuall Honor. Dar'ſt thou die? The ſence of death is moſt in apprehenſion, And the poore Beetle that we treade vpon In corporall ſufferance, finds a pang as great. As when a Giant dies. Cla. Why giue you me this ſhame? Thinke you I can a reſolution fetch From flowrie tenderneſſe? If I muſt die, I will encounter darkneſſe as a bride, And hugge it in mine armes. Iſa. There ſpake my brother: there my fathers graue Did vtter forth a voice. Yes, thou muſt die: Thou art too noble to conſerue a life In baſe appliances. This outward ſainted Deputie, Whoſe ſetled viſagn, and deliberate word Nips youth i' th head, and follies doth • new As Falcon doth the Fowle, is yet a diuell: His filth within being caſt, he would appeare A pond, as deepe as hell. Cla.

The prenzie, Angelo?

 Iſa. Oh 'tis the cunning Liuerie of hell, The damneſt bodie to inueſt, and couer In prenzie gardes; doſt thou thinke Claudio, If I would yeeld him my virginitie Thou might'ſt be freed? Cla.

Oh heauens, it cannot be.

 Iſa. Yes, he would giu't thee; from this rank offence So to offend him ſtill. This night's the time That I ſhould do what I abhorre to name, Or elſe thou dieſt to morrow. Clau.

Thou ſhalt not do't.

 Iſa. O, were it but my life, I'de throw it downe for your deliuerance As frankely as a pin. Clau.

Thankes deere Iſabell.

Iſa.

Be readie Claudio, for your death to morrow.

 Clau. Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the Law by th' noſe, When he would force it? Sure it is no ſinne, Or of the deadly ſeuen it is the leaſt. Iſa.

Which is the leaſt?

 Cla. If it were damnable, he being ſo wiſe, Why would he for the momentarie tricke Be perdurablie fin'de? Oh Iſabell. Iſa.

What ſaies my brother?

 Cla.

Death is a fearefull thing.

 Iſa.

And ſhamed life, a hatefull.

 Cla. I, but to die, and go we know not where, To lie in cold obſtruction, and to rot, This ſenſible warme motion, to become A kneaded clod; And the delighted ſpirit To bath in fierie floods, or to recide In thrilling Region of thicke-ribbed Ice, To be impriſon'd in the viewleſſe windes And blowne with reſtleſſe violence round about The pendant world: or to be worſe then worſt Of thoſe, that lawleſſe and incertaine thought, Imagine howling, 'tis too horrible. The wearieſt, and moſt loathed worldly life That Age, Ache, periury, and impriſonment Can lay on nature, is a Paradiſe To what we feare of death. Iſa.

Alas, alas.

 Cla. Sweet Siſter, let me liue. What ſinne you do, to ſaue a brothers life, Nature diſpenſes with the deede ſo farre, That it becomes a vertue. Iſa. Oh you beaſt, Oh faithleſſe Coward, oh diſhoneſt wretch, Wilt thou be made a man, out of my vice? Is't not a kinde of Inceſt, to take life From thine owne ſiſters ſhame? What ſhould I thinke, Heauen ſhield my Mother plaid my Father faire: For ſuch a warped ſlip of wilderneſſe Nere iſſu'd from his blood. Take my defiance, Die, periſh: Might but my bending downe Repreeue thee from thy fate, it ſhould proceede. Ile pray a thouſand praiers for thy death, No word to ſaue thee. Cla.

Nay heare me Iſabell.

Iſa. Oh fie, fie, fie: Thy ſinn's not accidentall, but a Trade; Mercy to thee would proue it ſelfe a Bawd, 'Tis beſt that thou dieſt quickly. Cla.

Oh heare me Iſabella.

Duk.

Vouchſafe a word, yong ſiſter, but one word.

 Iſa.

What is your Will.

 Duk.

Might you diſpenſe with your leyſure, I would by and by haue ſome ſpeech with you: the ſatiſfaction I would require, is likewiſe your owne benefit.

 Iſa.

I haue no ſuperfluous leyſure, my ſtay muſt be ſtolen out of other affaires: but I will attend you a while.

 Duke.

Son, I haue ouer-heard what hath paſt between you & your ſiſter. Angelo had neuer the purpoſe to corrupt her; onely he hath made an aſſay of her vertue, to practiſe his iudgement with the diſpoſition of natures. She (hauing the truth of honour in her) hath made him that gracious deniall, which he is moſt glad to receiue: I am Confeſſor to Angelo, and I know this to be true, therfore prepare your ſelfe to death: do not ſatisfie your reſolution with hopes that are fallible, to morrow you muſt die, goe to your knees, and make ready.

 Cla.

Let me ask my ſiſter pardon, I am ſo out of loue with life, that I will ſue to be rid of it.

 Duke.

Hold you there: farewell: Prouoſt, a word with you.

 Pro.

What's your will (father?)

 Duk.

That now you are come, you wil be gone: leaue me a while with the Maid, my minde promiſes with my habit, no loſſe ſhall touch her by my company.

 Pro.

In good time.

Exit. Duk.

The hand that hath made you faire, hath made you good: the goodnes that is cheape in beauty, makes beauty briefe in goodnes; but grace being the ſoule of your complexion, ſhall keepe the body of it euer faire: the aſſault that Angelo hath made to you, Fortune hath conuaid to my vnderſtanding; and but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I ſhould wonder at Angelo: how will you doe to content this Subſtitute, and to ſaue your Brother?

 Iſab.

I am now going to reſolue him: I had rather my brother die by the Law, then my ſonne ſhould be vnlawfullie borne. But (oh) how much is the good Duke deceiu'd in Angelo: if euer he returne, and I can ſpeake to him, I will open my lips in vaine, or diſcouer his gouernment.

 Duke.

That ſhall not be much amiſſe: yet, as the matter now ſtands, he will auoid your accuſation: he made triall of you onelie. Therefore faſten your eare on my aduiſings, to the loue I haue in doing good; a remedie preſents it ſelfe. I doe make my ſelfe beleeue that you may moſt vprighteouſly do a poor wronged Lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry Law; doe no ſtaine to your owne gracious perſon, and much pleaſe the abſent Duke, if peraduenture he ſhall euer returne to haue hearing of this buſineſſe.

 Iſab.

Let me heare you ſpeake farther; I haue ſpirit to do any thing that appeares not fowle in the truth of my ſpirit.

 Duke.

Vertue is bold, and goodnes neuer fearefull: Haue you not heard ſpeake of Mariana the ſiſter of Fredericke the great Souldier, who miſcarried at Sea?

 Iſa.

I haue heard of the Lady, and good words went with her name.

 Duke.

Shee ſhould this Angelo haue married: was affianced to her oath, and the nuptiall appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the ſolemnitie, her brother Fredericke was wrackt at Sea, hauing in that periſhed veſſell, the dowry of his ſiſter: but marke how heauily this befell to the poore Gentlewoman, there ſhe loſt a noble and renowned brother, in his loue toward her, euer moſt kinde and naturall: with him the portion and ſinew of her fortune, her marriage dowry: with both, her combynate-husband, this well-ſeeming Angelo.

Iſab.

Can this be ſo? did Angelo ſo leaue her?

 Duke.

Left her in her teares, & dried not one of them with his comfort: ſwallowed his vowes whole, pretending in her, diſcoueries of diſhonor: in few, beſtow'd her on her owne lamentation, which ſhe yet weares for his ſake: and he, a marble to her teares, is waſhed with them, but relents not.

 Iſab.

What a merit were it in death to take this poore maid from the world? what corruption in this life, that it will let this man liue? But how out of this can ſhee auaile?

 Duke.

It is a rupture that you may eaſily heale: and the cure of it not onely ſaues your brother, but keepes you from diſhonor in doing it.

 Iſab.

Shew me how (good Father.)

 Duk.

This fore-named Maid hath yet in her the continuance of her firſt affection: his vniuſt vnkindeneſſe (that in all reaſon ſhould haue quenched her loue) hath (like an impediment in the Current) made it more violent and vnruly: Goe you to Angelo, anſwere his requiring with a plauſible obedience, agree with his demands to the point: onely referre your ſelfe to this aduantage; firſt, that your ſtay with him may not be long: that the time may haue all ſhadow, and ſilence in it: and the place anſwere to conuenience: this being granted in courſe, and now followes all: wee ſhall aduiſe this wronged maid to ſteed vp your appointment, goe in your place: if the encounter acknowledge it ſelfe heereafter, it may compell him to her recompence; and heere, by this is your brother ſaued, your honor vntainted, the poore Mariana aduantaged, and the corrupt Deputy ſcaled. The Maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt: if you thinke well to carry this as you may, the doublenes of the benefit defends the deceit from reproofe. What thinke you of it?

 Iſab.

The image of it giues me content already, and I truſt it will grow to a moſt proſperous perfection.

 Duk.

It lies much in your holding vp: haſte you ſpeedily to Angelo, if for this night he intreat you to his bed, giue him promiſe of ſatisfaction: I will preſently to S. Lukes, there at the moated-Grange recides this deiected Mariana; at that place call vpon me, and diſpatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

 Iſab.

I thank you for this comfort: fare you well good father.

Exit. Enter Elbow, Clowne, Officers. Elb.

Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needes buy and ſell men and women like beaſts, we ſhall haue all the world drinke browne & white baſtard.

 Duk.

Oh heauens, what ſtuffe is heere.

 Clow.

Twas neuer merry world ſince of two vſuries the merrieſt was put downe, and the worſer allow'd by order of Law; a fur'd gowne to keepe him warme; and furd with Foxe and Lamb-skins too, to ſignifie, that craft being richer then Innocency, ſtands for the facing.

 Elb.

Come your way ſir: bleſſe you good Father Frier.

 Duk.

And you good Brother Father; what offence hath this man made you, Sir?

 Elb.

Marry Sir, he hath offended the Law; and Sir, we take him to be a Theefe too Sir: for wee haue found vpon him Sir, a ſtrange Pick-lock, which we haue ſent to the Deputie.

 Duke. Fie, ſirrah, a Bawd, a wicked bawd, The euill that thou cauſeſt to be done, That is thy meanes to liue. Do thou but thinke What 'tis to cram a maw, or cloath a backe From ſuch a filthie vice: ſay to thy ſelfe, From their abhominable and beaſtly touches I drinke, I eate away my ſelfe, and liue: Canſt thou beleeue thy liuing is a life, So ſtinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. Clo. Indeed, it do's ſtinke in ſome ſort, Sir: But yet Sir I would proue. Duke. Nay, if the diuell haue giuen thee proofs for ſin Thou wilt proue his. Take him to priſon Officer: Correction, and Inſtruction muſt both worke Ere this rude beaſt will profit. Elb.

He muſt before the Deputy Sir, he ha's giuen him warning: the Deputy cannot abide a Whore-maſter: if he be a Whore-monger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

 Duke. That we were all, as ſome would ſeeme to bee From our faults, as faults from ſeeming free. Enter Lucio. Elb.

His necke will come to your waſt, a Cord ſir.

 Clo.

I ſpy comfort, I cry baile: Here's a Gentleman, and a friend of mine.

 Luc.

How now noble Pompey? What, at the wheels of Caeſar? Art thou led in triumph? What is there none of Pigmalions Images newly made woman to bee had now, for putting the hand in the pocket, and extracting clutch'd? What reply? Ha? What ſaiſt thou to this Tune, Matter, and Method? Is't not drown'd i' th laſt raine? Ha? What ſaiſt thou Trot? Is the world as it was Man? Which is the vvay? Is it ſad, and few words? Or how? The tricke of it?

 Duke.

Still thus, and thus: ſtill vvorſe?

 Luc.

How doth my deere Morſell, thy Miſtris? Procures ſhe ſtill? Ha?

 Clo.

Troth ſir, ſhee hath eaten vp all her beefe, and ſhe is her ſelfe in the tub.

 Luc.

Why 'tis good: It is the right of it: it muſt be ſo. Euer your freſh Whore; and your pouder'd Baud, an vnſhun'd conſequence, it muſt be ſo. Art going to priſon Pompey?

 Clo.

Yes faith ſir.

 Luc.

Why 'tis not amiſſe Pompey: farewell: goe ſay I ſent thee thether: for debt Pompey? Or how?

 Elb.

For being a baud; for being a baud.

 Luc.

Well, then impriſon him: If impriſonment be the due of a baud, why 'tis his right▪ Baud is he doubtleſſe, and of antiquity too. Baud borne. Farwell good Pompey: Commend me to the priſon Pompey, you will turne good husband now Pompey, you vvill keepe the houſe.

 Clo.

I hope Sir, your good Worſhip wil be my baile?

 Luc.

No indeed vvil I not Pompey, it is not the wear: I will pray (Pompey) to encreaſe your bondage if you take it not patiently: Why, your mettle is the more: Adieu truſtie Pompey. Bleſſe you Friar.

 Duke.

And you.

 Luc.

Do's Bridge • paint ſtill, Pompey? Ha?

 Elb.

Come your waies ſir, come.

 Clo.

You will not baile me then Sir?

 Luc.

Then Pompey, nor now: what newes abroad Frier? What newes?

 Elb.

Come your waies ſir, come.

 Luc. Goe to kennell (Pompey) goe: What newes Frier of the Duke? Duke.

I know none: can you tell me of any?

 Luc.

Some ſay he is with the Emperor of Ruſſia: other ſome, he is in Rome: but where is he thinke you?

 Duke.

I know not where: but whereſoeuer, I wiſh him well.

 Luc.

It was a mad fantaſticall tricke of him to ſteale from the State, and vſurpe the beggerie hee was neuer borne to: Lord Angelo Dukes it well in his abſence: he puts tranſgreſſion too't.

 Duke.

He do's well in't.

 Luc.

A little more lenitie to Lecherie would doe no harme in him: Something too crabbed that way, Frier.

Duk.

It is too general a vice, and ſeueritie muſt cure it.

 Luc.

Yes in good ſooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is vvell allied, but it is impoſſible to extirpe it quite, Frier, till eating and drinking be put downe. They ſay this Angelo vvas not made by Man and Woman, after this downe-right vvay of Creation: is it true, thinke you?

 Duke.

How ſhould he be made then?

 Luc.

Some report, a Sea-maid ſpawn'd him. Some, that he vvas begot betweene two Stock-fiſhes. But it is certaine, that when he makes water, his Vrine is congeal'd ice, that I know to bee true: and he is a motion generatiue, that's infallible.

 Duke.

You are pleaſant ſir, and ſpeake apace.

 Luc.

Why, what a ruthleſſe thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a Cod-peece, to take away the life of a man? Would the Duke that is abſent haue done this? Ere he vvould haue hang'd a man for the getting a hundred Baſtards, he vvould haue paide for the Nurſing a thouſand. He had ſome feeling of the ſport; hee knew the ſeruice, and that inſtructed him to mercie.

 Duke.

I neuer heard the abſent Duke much detected for Women, he was not enclin'd that vvay.

 Luc.

Oh Sir, you are deceiu'd.

 Duke.

'Tis not poſſible.

 Luc.

Who, not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty: and his vſe was, to put a ducket in her Clack-diſh; the Duke had Crochets in him. Hee would be drunke too, that let me informe you.

 Duke.

You do him wrong, ſurely.

 Luc.

Sir, I vvas an inward of his: a ſhie fellow vvas the Duke, and I beleeue I know the cauſe of his vvithdrawing.

 Duke.

What (I prethee) might be the cauſe?

 Luc.

No, pardon: 'Tis a ſecret muſt bee looke within the teeth and the lippes: but this I can let you vnderſtand, the greater file of the ſubiect held the Duke to be vviſe.

 Duke.

Wiſe? Why no queſtion but he was.

 Luc.

A very ſuperficiall, ignorant, vnweighing fellow

 Duke.

Either this is Enuie in you, Folly, or miſtaking: The very ſtreame of his life, and the buſineſſe he hath helmed, muſt vppon a warranted neede, giue him a better proclamation. Let him be but teſtimonied in his owne bringings forth, and hee ſhall appeare to the enuious, a Scholler, a Stateſman, and a Soldier: therefore you ſpeake vnskilfully: or, if your knowledge bee more, it is much darkned in your malice.

 Luc.

Sir, I know him, and I loue him.

 Duke.

Loue talkes with better knowledge, & knowledge with deare loue.

 Luc.

Come Sir, I know what I know.

 Duke.

I can hardly beleeue that, ſince you know not what you ſpeake. But if euer the Duke returne (as our praiers are he may) let mee deſire you to make your anſwer before him: if it bee honeſt you haue ſpoke, you haue courage to maintaine it; I am bound to call vppon you, and I pray you your name?

 Luc.

Sir my name is Lucio, wel known to the Duke.

 Duke.

He ſhall know you better Sir, if I may liue to report you.

 Luc.

I feare you not.

 Duke.

O, you hope the Duke will returne no more: or you imagine me to vnhurtfull an oppoſite: but indeed I can doe you little harme: You'll for-ſweare this againe?

 Luc.

Ile be hang'd firſt: Thou art deceiu'd in mee Friar. But no more of this: Canſt thou tell if Claudio die to morrow, or no?

 Duke.

Why ſhould he die Sir?

 Luc.

Why? For filling a bottle with a Tunne-diſh: I would the Duke we talke of were return'd againe: this vngenitur'd Agent will vn-people the Prouince with Continencie. Sparrowes muſt not build in his houſeeeues, becauſe they are lecherous: The Duke yet would haue darke deeds darkelie anſwered, hee would neuer bring them to light: would hee were return'd. Marrie this Claudio is condemned for vntruſſing. Farwell good Friar, I prethee pray for me: The Duke (I ſay to thee againe) would eate Mutton on Fridaies. He's now paſt it, yet (and I ſay to thee) hee would mouth with a beggar, though ſhe ſmelt browne-bread and Garlicke: ſay that I ſaid ſo: Farewell.

Exit. Duke. No might, nor greatneſſe in mortality Can cenſure ſcape: Back-wounding calumnie The whiteſt vertue ſtrikes. What King ſo ſtrong, Can tie the gall vp in the ſlanderous tong? But who comes heere? Enter Eſcalus, Prouoſt, and Bawd. Eſc.

Go, away with her to priſon.

 Bawd.

Good my Lord be good to mee, your Honor is accounted a mercifull man: good my Lord.

 Eſc.

Double, and trebble admonition, and ſtill forfeite in the ſame kinde? This would make mercy ſweare and play the Tirant.

 Pro.

A Bawd of eleuen yeares continuance, may it pleaſe your Honor.

 Bawd.

My Lord, this is one Lucio's information againſt me, Miſtris Kate Keepe-downe was with childe by him in the Dukes time, he promis'd her marriage: his Childe is a yeere and a quarter olde come Philip and Iacob: I haue kept it my ſelfe; and ſee how hee goes about to abuſe me.

 Eſc.

That fellow is a fellow of much Licenſe: Let him be call'd before vs. Away with her to priſon: Goe too, no more words. Prouoſt, my Brother Angelo will not be alter'd, Claudio muſt die to morrow: Let him be furniſh'd with Diuines, and haue all charitable preparation. If my brother wrought by my pitie, it ſhould not be ſo with him.

 Pro.

So pleaſe you, this Friar hath beene with him, and aduis'd him for th' entertainment of death.

 Eſc.

Good'euen, good Father.

 Duke.

Bliſſe, and goodneſſe on you.

 Eſc.

Of whence are you?

 Duke. Not of this Countrie, though my chance is now To vſe it for my time: I am a brother Of gracious Order, late come from the Sea, In ſpeciall buſineſſe from his Holineſſe. Eſc.

What newes abroad i' th World?

 Duke.

None, but that there is ſo great a Feauor on goodneſſe, that the diſſolution of it muſt cure it. Noueltie is onely in requeſt, and as it is as dangerous to be aged in any kinde of courſe, as it is vertuous to be conſtant in any vndertaking. There is ſcarſe truth enough aliue to make Societies ſecure, but Securitie enough to make Fellowſhips accurſt: Much vpon this riddle runs the wiſedome of the world: This newes is old enough, yet it is euerie daies newes. I pray you Sir, of what diſpoſition was the Duke?

 Eſc. One, that aboue all other ſtrifes, Contended eſpecially to know himſelfe. Duke.

What pleaſure was he giuen to?

 Eſc.

Rather reioycing to ſee another merry, then merrrie at anie thing which profeſt to make him reioice. A Gentleman of all temperance. But leaue wee him to his euents, with a praier they may proue proſperous, & let me deſire to know, how you finde Claudio prepar'd? I am made to vnderſtand, that you haue lent him viſitation.

 Duke.

He profeſſes to haue receiued no ſiniſter meaſure from his Iudge, but moſt willingly humbles himſelfe to the determination of Iuſtice: yet had he framed to himſelfe (by the inſtruction of his frailty) manie deceyuing promiſes of life, which I (by my good leiſure) haue diſcredited to him, and now is he reſolu'd to die.

 Eſc.

You haue paid the heauens your Function, and the priſoner the verie debt of your Calling. I haue labour'd for the poore Gentleman, to the extremeſt ſhore of my modeſtie, but my brother-Iuſtice haue I found ſo ſeuere, that he hath forc'd me to tell him, hee is indeede Iuſtice.

 Duke. If his owne life, Anſwere the ſtraitneſſe of his proceeding, It ſhall become him well: wherein if he chance to faile he hath ſentenc'd himſelfe. Eſc.

I am going to viſit the priſoner, Fare you well.

 Duke. Peace be with you. He who the ſword of Heauen will beare, Should be as holy, as ſeueare: Patterne in himſelfe to know, Grace to ſtand, and Vertue go: More, nor leſſe to others paying, Then by ſelfe-offences weighing. Shame to him, whoſe cruell ſtriking, Kils for faults of his owne liking: Twice trebble ſhame on Angelo, To vveede my vice, and let his grow. Oh, what may Man within him hide, Though Angel on the outward ſide? How may likeneſſe made in crimes, Making practiſe on the Times, To draw with ydle Spiders ſtrings Moſt ponderous and ſubſtantiall things? Craft againſt vice, I muſt applie. With Angelo to night ſhall lye His old betroathed (but deſpiſed:) So diſguiſe ſhall by th' diſguiſed Pay with falſhood, falfe exacting, And performe an olde contracting. Exit.
Actus Quartus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Mariana, and Boy ſinging. Song. Take, oh take thoſe lips away, that ſo ſweetly were for ſworne, And thoſe eyes: the breake of day lights that doe miſlead the Morne; But my kiſſes bring againe, bring againe, Seales of loue, but ſeal'd in vaine, ſeal'd in vaine. Enter Duke. Mar. Breake off thy ſong, and haſte thee quick away, Here comes a man of comfort, whoſe aduice Hath often ſtill'd my brawling diſcontent. I cry you mercie, Sir, and well could wiſh You had not found me here ſo muſicall. Let me excuſe me, and beleeue me ſo, My mirth it much diſpleaſ'd, but pleaſ'd my woe. Duk. 'Tis good; though Muſick oft hath ſuch a charme To make bad, good; and good prouoake to harme.

I pray you tell me, hath any body enquir'd for mee here to day; much vpon this time haue I promiſ'd here to meete.

 Mar.

You haue not bin enquir'd after: I haue ſat here all day.

 Enter Iſabell. Duk.

I doe conſtantly beleeue you: the time is come euen now. I ſhall craue your forbearance a little, may be I will call vpon you anone for ſome aduantage to your ſelfe.

 Mar.

I am alwayes bound to you.

Exit. Duk. Very well met, and well come: What is the newes from this good Deputie? Iſab. He hath a Garden circummur'd with Bricke, Whoſe weſterne ſide is with a Vineyard back't; And to that Vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger Key: This other doth command a little doore, Which from the Vineyard to the Garden leades, There haue I made my promiſe, vpon the Heauy midle of the night, to call vpon him. Duk.

But ſhall you on your knowledge find this way?

 Iſab. I haue t'ane a due, and wary note vpon't, With whiſpering, and moſt guiltie diligence, In action all of precept, he did ſhow me The way twice ore. Duk. Are there no other tokens Betweene you 'greed, concerning her obſeruance? Iſab. No: none but onely a repaire ith' darke, And that I haue poſſeſt him, my moſt ſtay Can be but briefe: for I haue made him know, I haue a Seruant comes with me along That ſtaies vpon me; whoſe perſwaſion is, I come about my Brother. Duk. 'Tis well borne vp. I haue not yet made knowne to Mariana Enter Mariana. A word of this: what hoa, within; come forth, I pray you be acquainted with this Maid, She comes to doe you good. Iſab.

I doe deſire the like.

 Duk.

Do you perſwade your ſelfe that I reſpect you?

 Mar.

Good Frier, I know you do, and haue found it.

 Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand Who hath a ſtorie readie for your eare: I ſhall attend your leiſure, but make haſte The vaporous night approaches. Mar.

Wilt pleaſe you walke aſide.

Exit. Duke. Oh Place, and greatnes: millions of falſe eies Are ſtucke vpon thee: volumes of report Run with theſe falſe, and moſt contrarious Queſt Vpon thy doings: thouſand eſcapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dreame, And racke thee in their fancies. Welcome, how agreed? Enter Mariana and Iſabella. Iſab. Shee'll take the enterprize vpon her father, If you aduiſe it. Duke. It is not my conſent, But my entreaty too. Iſa. Little haue you to ſay When you depart from him, but ſoft and low, Remember now my brother. Mar.

Feare me not.

 Duk. Nor gentle daughter, feare you not at all: He is your husband on a pre-contract: To bring you thus together 'tis no ſinne, Sith that the Iuſtice of your title to him Doth flouriſh the deceit. Come, let vs goe, Our Corne's to reape, for yet our Tithes to ſow. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Prouoſt and Clowne. Pro.

Come hither ſirha; can you cut off a mans head?

 Clo. If the man be a Bachelor Sir, I can: But iſ he be a married man, he's his wiues head, And I can neuer cut off a womans head. Pro.

Come ſir, leaue me your ſnatches, and yeeld mee a direct anſwere. To morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine: heere is in our priſon a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper, if you will take it on you to aſſiſt him, it ſhall redeeme you from your Gyues: if not, you ſhall haue your full time of impriſonment, and your deliuerance with an vnpittied whipping; for you haue beene a notorious bawd.

 Clo.

Sir, I haue beene an vnlawfull bawd, time out of minde, but yet I will bee content to be a lawfull hang-man: I would bee glad to receiue ſome inſtruction from my fellow partner.

 Pro.

What hoa, Abhorſon: where's Abhorſon there?

 Enter Abhorſon. Abh.

Doe you call ſir?

 Pro.

Sirha, here's a fellow will helpe you to morrow in your execution: if you thinke it meet, compound with him by the yeere, and let him abide here with you, if not, vſe him for the preſent, and diſmiſſe him, hee cannot plead his eſtimation with you: he hath beene a Bawd.

 Abh.

A Bawd Sir? fie vpon him, he will diſcredit our myſterie.

 Pro.

Goe too Sir, you waigh equallie: a feather will turne the Scale.

Exit. Clo.

Pray ſir, by your good fauor: for ſurely ſir, a good fauor you haue, but that you haue a hanging look: Doe you call ſir, your occupation a Myſterie?

 Abh.

I Sir, a Miſterie.

 Clo.

Painting Sir, I haue heard ſay, is a Miſterie; and your Whores ſir, being members of my occupation, vſing painting, do proue my Occupation, a Miſterie: but what Miſterie there ſhould be in hanging, if I ſhould be hang'd, I cannot imagine.

 Abh.

Sir, it is a Miſterie.

 Clo.

Proofe.

 Abh.

Euerie true mans apparrell fits your Theefe.

 Clo.

If it be too little for your theefe, your true man thinkes it bigge enough. If it bee too bigge for your Theefe, your Theefe thinkes it little enough: So euerie true mans apparrell fits your Theefe.

 Enter Prouoſt. Pro.

Are you agreed?

 Clo.

Sir, I will ſerue him: For I do finde your Hang-man is a more penitent Trade then your Bawd: he doth oftner aske forgiueneſſe.

 Pro.

You ſirrah, prouide your blocke and your Axe to morrow, foure a clocke.

 Abh.

Come on (Bawd) I will inſtruct thee in my Trade: follow.

 Clo.

I do deſire to learne ſir: and I hope, if you haue occaſion to vſe me for your owne turne, you ſhall finde me y' are. For truly ſir, for your kindneſſe, I owe you a good turne.

Exit Pro. Call hether Barnardine and Claudio: Th' one has my pitie; not a iot the other, Being a Murtherer, though he were my brother. Enter Claudio. Looke, here's the Warrant Claudio, for thy death, 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to morrow Thou muſt be made immortall. Where's Barnardine? Cla. As faſt lock'd vp in ſleepe, as guiltleſſe labour, When it lies ſtarkely in the Trauellers bones, He will not wake. Pro. Who can do good on him? Well, go, prepare your ſelfe. But harke, what noiſe? Heauen giue your ſpirits comfort: by, and by, I hope it is ſome pardon, or repreeue For the moſt gentle Claudio. Welcome Father. Enter Duke. Duke. The beſt, and wholſomſt ſpirits of the night, Inuellop you, good Prouoſt: who call'd heere of late? Pro.

None ſince the Curphew rung.

 Duke.

Not Iſabell?

 Pro.

No.

 Duke.

They will then er't be long.

 Pro.

What comfort is for Claudio?

 Duke.

There's ſome in hope.

 Pro.

It is a bitter Deputie.

 Duke. Not ſo, not ſo: his life is paralel'd Euen with the ſtroke and line of his great Iuſtice: He doth with holie abſtinence ſubdue That in himſelfe, which he ſpurres on his powre To qualifie in others: were he meal'd with that Which he corrects, then were he tirrannous, But this being ſo, he's iuſt. Now are they come. This is a gentle Prouoſt, ſildome when The ſteeled Gaoler is the friend of men: How now? what noiſe? That ſpirit's poſſeſt with haſt, That wounds th' vnſiſting Poſterne with theſe ſtrokes. Pro. There he muſt ſtay vntil the Officer Ariſe to let him in: he is call'd vp. Duke. Haue you no countermand for Claudio yet? But he muſt die to morrow? Pro.

None Sir, none.

 Duke. As heere the dawning Prouoſt, as it is, You ſhall heare more ere Morning. Pro. Happely You ſomething know: yet I beleeue there comes No countermand: no ſuch example haue we: Beſides, vpon the verie ſiege of Iuſtice, Lord Angelo hath to the publike eare Profeſt the contrarie. Enter a Meſſenger. Duke.

This is his Lords man.

 Pro.

And heere comes Claudio's pardon.

 Meſſ. My Lord hath ſent you this note, And by mee this further charge; That you ſwerue not from the ſmalleſt Article of it, Neither in time, matter, or other circumſtance. Good morrow: for as I take it, it is almoſt day. Pro.

I ſhall obey him.

 Duke. This is his Pardon purchas'd by ſuch ſin, For which the Pardoner himſelfe is in: Hence hath offence his quicke celeritie, When it is borne in high Authority. When Vice makes Mercie; Mercie's ſo extended, That for the faults loue, is th' offender friended. Now Sir, what newes? Pro. I told you: Lord Angelo (be-like) thinking me remiſſe In mine Office, awakens mee With this vnwonted putting on, methinks ſtrangely: For he hath not vs'd it before. Duk.

Pray you let's heare.

The Letter.

Whatſoeuer you may heare to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by foure of the clocke, and in the afternoone Bernardine: For my better ſatisfaction, let mee haue Claudios head ſent me by fiue. Let this be duely performed with a thought that more depends on it, then we muſt yet deliuer. Thus faile not to doe your Office, as you will anſwere it at your perill.

What ſay you to this Sir?

 Duke.

What is that Barnardine, who is to be executed in th' afternoone?

 Pro. A Bohemian borne: But here nurſt vp & bred, One that is a priſoner nine yeeres old. Duke.

How came it, that the abſent Duke had not either deliuer'd him to his libertie, or executed him? I haue heard it was euer his manner to do ſo.

 Pro.

His friends ſtill wrought Repreeues for him: And indeed his fact till now in the gouernment of Lord Angelo, came not to an vndoubtfull proofe.

 Duke.

It is now apparant?

 Pro.

Moſt manifeſt, and not denied by himſelfe.

 Duke. Hath he borne himſelfe penitently in priſon? How ſeemes he to be touch'd? Pro.

A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully, but as a drunken ſleepe, careleſſe, wreakleſſe, and feareleſſe of what's paſt, preſent, or to come: inſenſible of mortality, and deſperately mortall.

 Duke.

He wants aduice.

 Pro.

He wil heare none: he hath euermore had the liberty of the priſon: giue him leaue to eſcape hence, hee would not. Drunke many times a day, if not many daies entirely drunke. We haue verie oft awak'd him, as if to carrie him to execution, and ſhew'd him a ſeeming warrant for it, it hath not moued him at all.

 Duke.

More of him anon: There is written in your brow Prouoſt, honeſty and conſtancie; if I reade it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me: but in the boldnes of my cunning, I will lay my ſelfe in hazard: Claudio, whom heere you haue warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the Law, then Angelo who hath ſentenc'd him. To make you vnderſtand this in a manifeſted effect, I craue but foure daies reſpit: for the which, you are to do me both a preſent, and a dangerous courteſie.

 Pro.

Pray Sir, in what?

 Duke.

In the delaying death.

 Pro.

Alacke, how may I do it? Hauing the houre limited, and an expreſſe command, vnder penaltie, to deliuer his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my caſe as Claudio's, to croſſe this in the ſmalleſt.

 Duke. By the vow of mine Order, I warrant you, If my inſtructions may be your guide, Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, And his head borne to Angelo. Pro. Angelo hath ſeene them both, And will diſcouer the fauour. Duke.

Oh, death's a great diſguiſer, and you may adde to it; Shaue the head, and tie the beard, and ſay it was the deſire of the penitent to be ſo bar'de before his death: you know the courſe is common. If any thing fall to you vpon this, more then thankes and good fortune, by the Saint whom I profeſſe, I will plead againſt it with my life.

 Pro.

Pardon me, good Father, it is againſt my oath.

 Duke.

Were you ſworne to the Duke, or to the Deputie?

 Pro.

To him, and to his Subſtitutes.

 Duke.

You will thinke you haue made no offence, if the Duke auouch the iuſtice of your dealing?

 Pro.

But what likelihood is in that?

 Duke.

Not a reſemblance, but a certainty; yet ſince I ſee you fearfull, that neither my coate, integrity, nor perſwaſion, can with eaſe attempt you, I wil go further then I meant, to plucke all feares out of you. Looke you Sir, heere is the hand and Seale of the Duke: you know the Charracter I doubt not, and the Signet is not ſtrange to you?

 Pro.

I know them both.

 Duke.

The Contents of this, is the returne of the Duke; you ſhall anon ouer-reade it at your pleaſure: where you ſhall finde within theſe two daies, he wil be heere. This is a thing that Angelo knowes not, for hee this very day receiues letters of ſtrange tenor, perchance of the Dukes death, perchance entering into ſome Monaſterie, but by chance nothing of what is writ. Looke, th' vnfolding Starre calles vp the Shepheard; put not your ſelfe into amazement, how theſe things ſhould be; all difficulties are but eaſie vvhen they are knowne. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardines head: I will giue him a preſent ſhrift, and aduiſe him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this ſhall abſolutely reſolue you: Come away, it is almoſt cleere dawne.

Exit.
Scena Tertia. Enter Clowne. Clo.

I am as well acquainted heere, as I was in our houſe of profeſſion: one would thinke it vvere Miſtris Ouer-dons owne houſe, for heere be manie of her olde Cuſtomers. Firſt, here's yong Mr Raſh, hee's in for a commoditie of browne paper, and olde Ginger, nine ſcore and ſeuenteene pounds, of which hee made fiue Markes readie money: marrie then, Ginger was not much in requeſt, for the olde Women vvere all dead. Then is there heere one Mr Caper, at the ſuite of Maſter Three-Pile the Mercer, for ſome foure ſuites of Peach-colour'd Satten, which now peaches him a beggar. Then haue vve heere, yong Dizie, and yong Mr Deepe-vow, and Mr Copperſpurre, and Mr Starue-Lackey the Rapier and dagger man, and yong Drop-heire that kild luſtie Pudding, and Mr Forthlight the Tilter, and braue Mr Shootie the great Traueller, and wilde Halfe-Canne that ſtabb'd Pots, and I thinke fortie more, all great doers in our Trade, and are now for the Lords ſake.

 Enter Abhorſon. Abh.

Sirrah, bring Barnardine hether.

 Clo.

Mr Barnardine, you muſt riſe and be hang'd, Mr Barnardine.

Abh.

What hoa Barnardine.

Barnardine within. Bar.

A pox o' your throats: who makes that noyſe there? What are you?

 Clo. Your friends Sir, the Hangman: You muſt be ſo good Sir to riſe, and be put to death. Bar.

Away you Rogue, away, I am ſleepie.

 Abh. Tell him he muſt awake, And that quickly too. Clo:

Pray Maſter Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and ſleepe afterwards.

 Ab.

Go in to him, and fetch him out.

 Clo.

He is comming Sir, he is comming: I heare his Straw ruſſle.

 Enter Barnardine. Abh.

Is the Axe vpon the blocke, ſirrah?

 Clo.

Verie readie Sir.

 Bar. How now Abhorſon? What's the newes vvith you? Abh.

Truly Sir, I would deſire you to clap into your prayers: for looke you, the Warrants come.

 Bar. You Rogue, I haue bin drinking all night, I am not fitted for't. Clo.

Oh, the better Sir: for he that drinkes all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may ſleepe the ſounder all the next day.

 Enter Duke. Abh.

Looke you Sir, heere comes your ghoſtly Father: do we ieſt now thinke you?

 Duke.

Sir, induced by my charitie, and hearing how haſtily you are to depart, I am come to aduiſe you, Comfort you, and pray with you.

 Bar.

Friar, not I: I haue bin drinking hard all night, and I will haue more time to prepare mee, or they ſhall beat out my braines with billets: I will not conſent to die this day, that's certaine.

 Duke. Oh ſir, you muſt: and therefore I beſeech you Looke forward on the iournie you ſhall go. Bar.

I ſweare I will not die to day for anie mans perſwaſion.

 Duke.

But heare you:

 Bar.

Not a word: if you haue anie thing to ſay to me, come to my Ward: for thence will not I to day.

 Exit Enter Prouoſt. Duke. Vnfit to liue, or die: oh grauell heart. After him (Fellowes) bring him to the blocke. Pro.

Now Sir, how do you finde the priſoner?

 Duke. A creature vnpre-par'd, vnmeet for death, And to tranſport him in the minde he is, Were damnable. Pro. Heere in the priſon, Father, There died this morning of a cruell Feauor, One Ragozine, a moſt notorious Pirate, A man of Claudio's yeares: his beard, and head Iuſt of his colour. What if we do omit This Reprobate, til he were wel enclin'd, And ſatisfie the Deputie with the viſage Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? Duke. Oh, 'tis an accident that heauen prouides: Diſpatch it preſently, the houre drawes on Prefixt by Angelo: See this be done, And ſent according to command, whiles I Perſwade this rude wretch willingly to die. Pro. This ſhall be done (good Father) preſently: But Barnardine muſt die this afternoone, And how ſhall we continue Claudio, To ſaue me from the danger that might come, If he were knowne aliue? Duke. Let this be done, Put them in ſecret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio, Ere twice the Sun hath made his iournall greeting To yond generation, you ſhal finde Your ſafetie manifeſted. Pro.

I am your free dependant.

Exit. Duke. Quicke, diſpatch, and ſend the head to Angelo Now wil I write Letters to Angelo. (The Prouoſt he ſhal beare them) whoſe contents Shal witneſſe to him I am neere at home: And that by great Iniunctions I am bound To enter publikely: him Ile deſire To meet me at the conſecrated Fount, A League below, the Citie: and from thence, By cold gradation, and weale-ballanc'd forme. We ſhal proceed with Angelo. Enter Prouoſt. Pro.

Heere is the head, Ile carrie it my ſelfe.

 Duke. Conuenient is it: Make a ſwift returne, For I would commune with you of ſuch things, That want no eare but yours. Pro.

Ile make all ſpeede.

Exit Iſabell within. Iſa.

Peace hoa, be heere.

 Duke. The tongue of Iſabell. She's come to know, If yet her brothers pardon be come hither: But I will keepe her ignorant of her good, To make her heauenly comforts of diſpaire, When it is leaſt expected. Enter Iſabella. Iſa.

Hoa, by your leaue.

 Duke.

Good morning to you, faire, and gracious daughter.

 Iſa. The better giuen me by ſo holy a man, Hath yet the Deputie ſent my brothers pardon? Duke. He hath releaſd him, Iſabell, from the world, His head is off, and ſent to Angelo. Iſa.

Nay, but it is not ſo.

 Duke. It is no other, Shew your wiſedome daughter in your cloſe patience. Iſa.

Oh, I wil to him, and plucke out his eies.

 Duk.

You ſhal not be admitted to his ſight.

 Iſa. Vnhappie Claudio, wretched Iſabell, Iniurious world, moſt damned Angelo. Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a lot, Forbeare it therefore, giue your cauſe to heauen, Marke what I ſay, which you ſhal finde By euery ſillable a faithful veritie. The Duke comes home to morrow: nay, drie your eyes, One of our Couent, and his Confeſſor Giues me this inſtance: Already he hath carried Notice to Eſcalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meete him at the gates, There to giue vp their powre: If you can pace your wiſdome, In that good path that I would wiſh it go, And you ſhal haue your boſome on this wretch, Grace of the Duke, reuenges to your heart, And general Honor. Iſa.

I am directed by you.

 Duk. This Letter then to Friar Peter giue, 'Tis that he ſent me of the Dukes returne: Say, by this token, I deſire his companie At Mariana's houſe to night. Her cauſe, and yours Ile perfect him withall, and he ſhal bring you Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo Accuſe him home and home. For my poore ſelfe, I am combined by a ſacred Vow, And ſhall be abſent. Wend you with this Letter: Command theſe fretting waters from your eies With a light heart; truſt not my holie Order If I peruert your courſe: whoſe heere? Enter Lucio. Luc. Good 'euen; Frier, where's the Prouoſt? Duke.

Not within Sir.

 Luc.

Oh prettie Iſabella, I am pale at mine heart, to ſee thine eyes ſo red: thou muſt be patient; I am faine to dine and ſup with water and bran: I dare not for my head fill my belly. One fruitful Meale would ſet mee too't: but they ſay the Duke will be heere to Morrow. By my troth Iſabell I lou'd thy brother, if the olde fantaſtical Duke of darke corners had bene at home, he had liued.

 Duke.

Sir, the Duke is marueilous little beholding to your reports, but the beſt is, he liues not in them.

 Luc.

Friar, thou knoweſt not the Duke ſo wel as I do: he's a better woodman then thou tak'ſt him for.

 Duke.

Well: you'l anſwer this one day. Fare ye well.

 Luc. Nay tarrie, Ile go along with thee, I can tel thee pretty tales of the Duke. Duke.

You haue told me too many of him already ſir if they be true: if not true, none were enough.

 Lucio.

I was once before him for getting a Wench with childe.

 Duke.

Did you ſuch a thing?

 Luc. Yes marrie did I; but I was faine to forſwear it, They would elſe haue married me to the rotten Medler. Duke.

Sir your company is fairer then honeſt, reſt you well.

 Lucio.

By my troth Ile go with thee to the lanes end: if baudy talke offend you, we'el haue very litle of it: nay Friar, I am a kind of Burre, I ſhal ſticke.

Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Angelo & Eſcal • . Eſc.

Euery Letter he hath writ, hath diſuouch'd other.

 An.

In moſt vneuen and diſtracted manner, his actions ſhow much like to madneſſe, pray heauen his wiſedome bee not tainted: and why meet him at the gates and reliuer our authorities there?

 Eſc.

I gheſſe not.

 Ang.

And why ſhould wee proclaime it in an howre before his entring, that if any craue redreſſe of iniuſtice, they ſhould exhibit their petitions in the ſtreet?

 Eſc.

He ſhowes his reaſon for that: to haue a diſpatch of Complaints, and to deliuer vs from deuices heereafter, which ſhall then haue no power to ſtand againſt vs.

 Ang.

Well: I beſeech you let it bee proclaim'd betimes i' th' morne, Ile call you at your houſe: giue notice to ſuch men of ſort and ſuite as are to meete him.

 Eſc.

I ſhall ſir: fare you well.

Exit. Ang. Good night. This deede vnſhapes me quite, makes me vnpregnant And dull to all proceedings. A deflowred maid, And by an eminent body, that enforc'd The Law againſt it? But that her tender ſhame Will not proclaime againſt her maiden loſſe, How might ſhe tongue me? yet reaſon dares her no, For my Authority beares of a credent bulke, That no particular ſcandall once can touch But it confounds the breather. He ſhould haue liu'd, Saue that his riotous youth with dangerous ſense Might in the times to come haue ta'ne reuenge By ſo receiuing a diſhonor'd life With ranſome of ſuch ſhame: would yet he had liued. Alack, when once our grace we haue forgot, Nothing goes right, we would, and we would not. Exit.
Scena Quinta. Enter Duke and Frier Peter. Duke. Theſe Letters at fit time deliuer me, The Prouoſt knowes our purpoſe and our plot, The matter being a foote, keepe your inſtruction And hold you euer to our ſpeciall drift, Though ſometimes you doe blench from this to that As cauſe doth miniſter: Goe call at Flauia's houſe, And tell him where I ſtay: giue the like notice To Valencius, Rowland, and to Craſſus, And bid them bring the Trumpets to the gate: But ſend me Flauius firſt. Peter.

It ſhall be ſpeeded well.

 Enter Varrius. Duke. I thank thee Varrius, thou haſt made good haſt, Come, we will walke▪ There's other of our friends Will greet vs heere anon: my gentle Ʋarrius. Exeunt.
Scena Sexta. Enter Iſabella and Mariana. Iſa. To ſpeak ſo in directly I am loath, I would ſay the truth; but to accuſe him ſo That is your part, yee I • m aduis'd to doe it, He ſaies, to vaile full purpoſe. Mar.

Be rul'd by him.

 Iſab. Beſides he tells me, that if peraduenture He ſpeake againſt me on the aduerſe ſide, I ſhould not thinke it ſtrange, for 'tis a phyſicke That's bitter, to ſweet end. Enter Peter. Mar.

I would Frier Peter

Iſab.

Oh peace, the Frier is come.

 Peter. Come I haue found you out a ſtand moſt fit, Where you may haue ſuch vantage on the Duke He ſhall not paſſe you: Twice haue the Trumpets ſounded. The generous, and graueſt Citizens Haue hent the gates, and very neere vpon The Duke is entring: Therefore hence away. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Duke, Ʋarrius, Lords, Angelo, Eſculus, Lucio, Citizens at ſeuerall doores. Duk. My very worthy Coſen, fairely met, Our old, and faithfull friend, we are glad to ſee you. Ang. Eſc.

Happy returne be to your royall grace.

 Duk. Many and harty thankings to you both: We haue made enquiry of you, and we heare Such goodneſſe of your Iuſtice, that our ſoule Cannot but yeeld you forth to publique thankes Forerunning more requitall. Ang.

You make my bonds ſtill greater.

 Duk. Oh your deſert ſpeaks loud, & I ſhould wrong it To locke it in the wards of couert boſome When it deſerues with characters of braſſe A forted reſidence 'gainſt the tooth of time, And razure of obliuion: Giue we your hand And let the Subiect ſee, to make them know That outward curteſies would faine proclaime Fauours that keepe within: Come Eſcalus, You muſt walke by vs, on our other hand: And good ſupporters are you. Enter Peter and Iſabella. Peter. Now is your time Speake loud, and kneele before him. Iſab. Iuſtice, O royall Duke, vaile your regard Vpon a wrong'd (I would faine haue ſaid a Maid) Oh worthy Prince, diſhonor not your eye By throwing it on any other obiect, Till you haue heard me, in my true complaint, And giuen me Iuſtice, Iuſtice, Iuſtice, Iuſtice. Duk. Relate your wrongs; In what, by whom? be briefe: Here is Lord Angelo ſhall giue you Iuſtice, Reueale your ſelfe to him. Iſab. Oh worthy Duke, You bid me ſeeke redemption of the diuell, Heare me your ſelfe: for that which I muſt ſpeake Muſt either puniſh me, not being beleeu'd, Or wring redreſſe from you: Heare me: oh heare me, heere. Ang. My Lord, her wits I feare me are not firme: She hath bin a ſuitor to me, for her Brother Cut off by courſe of Iuſtice. Iſab.

By courſe of Iuſtice.

 Ang.

And ſhe will ſpeake moſt bitterly, and ſtrange.

 Iſab. Moſt ſtrange: but yet moſt truely wil I ſpeake, That Angelo's forſworne, is it not ſtrange? That Angelo's a murtherer, is't not ſtrange? That Angelo is an adulterous thiefe, An hypocrite, a virgin violator, Is it not ſtrange? and ſtrange? Duke.

Nay it is ten times ſtrange?

 Iſa. It is not truer he is Angelo, Then this is all as true, as it is ſtrange; Nay, it is ten times true, for truth is truth To th' end of reckning. Duke. Away with her: poore ſoule She ſpeakes this, in th' infirmity of ſence. Iſa. Oh Prince, I coniure thee, as thou beleeu'ſt There is another comfort, then this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion That I am touch'd with madneſſe: make not impoſſible That which but ſeemes vnlike, 'tis not impoſſible But one, the wickedſt caitiffe on the ground May ſeeme as ſhie, as graue, as iuſt, as abſolute: As Angelo, euen ſo may Angelo In all his dreſſings, caracts, titles, formes, Be an arch-villaine: Beleeue it, royall Prince If he be leſſe, he's nothing, but he's more, Had I more name for badneſſe. Duke. By mine honeſty If ſhe be mad, as I beleeue no other, Her madneſſe hath the oddeſt frame of ſenſe, Such a dependancy of thing, on thing, As ere I heard in madneſſe. Iſab. Oh gracious Duke Harpe not on that; nor do not baniſh reaſon For inequality, but let your reaſon ſerue To make the truth appeare, where it ſeemes hid, And hide the falſe ſeemes true. Duk. Many that are not mad Haue ſure more lacke of reaſon: What would you ſay? Iſab. I am the Siſter of one Claudio, Condemnd vpon the Act of Fornication To looſe his head, condemn'd by Angelo, I, (in probation of a Siſterhood) Was ſent to by my Brother; one Lucio As then the Meſſenger. Luc. That's I, and't like your Grace: I came to her from Claudio, and deſir'd her, To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo, For her poore Brothers pardon. Iſab.

That's he indeede.

 Duk.

You were not bid to ſpeake.

 Luc. No, my good Lord, Nor wiſh'd to hold my peace. Duk. I wiſh you now then, Pray you take note of it: and when you haue A buſineſſe for your ſelfe: pray heauen you then Be perfect. Luc.

I warrant your honor.

 Duk.

The warrant's for your ſelfe: take heede to't.

 Iſab.

This Gentleman told ſomewhat of my Tale.

 Luc.

Right.

 Duk. It may be right, but you are i' the wrong To ſpeake before your time: proceed, Iſab. I went To this pernicious Caitiffe Deputie. Duk.

That's ſomewhat madly ſpoken.

 Iſab. Pardon it, The phraſe is to the matter. Duke.

Mended againe: the matter: proceed.

 Iſab. In briefe, to ſet the needleſſe proceſſe by: How I perſwaded, how I praid, and kneel'd, How he refeld me, and how I replide (For this was of much length) the vild concluſion I now begin with griefe, and ſhame to vtter. He would not, but by gift of my chaſte body To his concupiſcible intemperate luſt Releaſe my brother; and after much debatement, My ſiſterly remorſe, confutes mine honour, And I did yeeld to him: But the next morne betimes, His purpoſe ſurfetting, he ſends a warrant For my poore brothers head. Duke.

This is moſt likely.

 Iſab.

Oh that it were as like as it is true.

 Duk. By heauen (fond wretch) yu knowſt not what thou ſpeak'ſt, Or elſe thou art ſuborn'd againſt his honor In hatefull practiſe: firſt his Integritie Stands without blemiſh: next it imports no reaſon, That with ſuch vehemency he ſhould purſue Faults proper to himſelfe: if he had ſo offended He would haue waigh'd thy brother by himſelfe, And not haue cut him off: ſome one hath ſet you on: Confeſſe the truth, and ſay by whoſe aduice Thou cam'ſt heere to complaine. Iſab. And is this all? Then oh you bleſſed Miniſters aboue Keepe me in patience, and with ripened time Vnfold the euill, which is heere wrapt vp In countenance: heauen ſhield your Grace from woe, As I thus wrong'd, hence vnbeleeued goe. Duke. I know you'ld faine be gone: An Officer: To priſon with her: Shall we thus permit A blaſting and a ſcandalous breath to fall, On him ſo neere vs? This needs muſt be a practiſe; Who knew of your intent and comming hither? Iſa.

One that I would were heere, Frier Lodowick.

Duk. A ghoſtly Father, belike: Who knowes that Lodowicke? Luc. My Lord, I know him, 'tis a medling Fryer, I doe not like the man: had he been Lay my Lord, For certaine words he ſpake againſt your Grace In your retirment, I had ſwing'd him ſoundly. Duke. Words againſt mee? this 'a good Fryer belike And to ſet on this wretched woman here Againſt our Subſtitute: Let this Fryer be found. Luc. But yeſternight my Lord, ſhe and that Fryer I ſaw them at the priſon: a ſawcy Fryar, A very ſcuruy fellow. Peter. Bleſſed be your Royall Grace: I haue ſtood by my Lord, and I haue heard Your royall eare abus'd: firſt hath this woman Moſt wrongfully accus'd your Subſtitute, Who is as free from touch, or ſoyle with her As ſhe from one vngot. Duke. We did beleeue no leſſe. Know you that Frier Lodowick that ſhe ſpeakes of? Peter. I know him for a man diuine and holy, Not ſcuruy, nor a temporary medler As he's reported by this Gentleman: And on my truſt, a man that neuer yet Did (as he vouches) miſ-report your Grace. Luc.

My Lord, moſt villanouſly, beleeue it.

 Peter. Well: he in time may come to cleere himſelfe; But at this inſtant he is ſicke, my Lord: Of a ſtrange Feauor; vpon his meere requeſt Being come to knowledge, that there was complaint Intended 'gainſt Lord Angelo, came I hether To ſpeake as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true, and falſe: And what he with his oath And all probation will make vp full cleare When ſoeuer he's conuented: Firſt for this woman, To iuſtifie this worthy Noble man So vulgarly and perſonally accus'd, Her ſhall you heare diſproued to her eyes, Till ſhe her ſelfe confeſſe it. Duk. Good Frier, let's heare it: Doe you not ſmile at this, Lord Angelo? Oh heauen, the vanity of wretched fooles. Giue vs ſome ſeates, Come coſen Angelo, In this I'll be impartiall: be you Iudge Of your owne Cauſe: Is this the Witnes Frier? Enter Mariana. Firſt, let her ſhew your face, and after, ſpeake. Mar. Pardon my Lord, I will not ſhew my face Vntill my husband bid me. Duke.

What, are you married?

 Mar.

No my Lord.

 Duke.

Are you a Maid?

 Mar.

No my Lord.

 Duk.

A Widow then?

 Mar.

Neither, my Lord.

 Duk.

Why you are nothing then: neither Maid, Widow, nor Wife?

 Luc.

My Lord, ſhe may be a Puncke: for many of them, are neither Maid, Widow, nor Wife.

 Duk.

Silence that fellow: I would he had ſome cauſe to prattle for himſelfe.

 Luc.

Well my Lord.

 Mar. My Lord, I doe confeſſe I nere was married, And I confeſſe beſides, I am no Maid, I haue known my husband, yet my husband Knowes not, that euer he knew me. Luc.

He was drunk then, my Lord, it can be no better.

 Duk.

For the benefit of ſilence, would thou wert ſo to.

 Luc.

Well, my Lord.

 Duk.

This is no witneſſe for Lord Angelo.

Mar. Now I come to't, my Lord. Shee that accuſes him of Fornication, In ſelfe-ſame manner, doth accuſe my husband, And charges him, my Lord, with ſuch a time, When I'le depoſe I had him mine Armes With all th' effect of Loue. Ang.

Charges ſhe moe then me?

 Mar.

Not that I know.

 Duk.

No? you ſay your husband.

 Mar. Why iuſt, my Lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinkes he knowes, that he nere knew my body, But knows, he thinkes, that he knowes Iſabels. Ang.

This is a ſtrange abuſe: Let's ſee thy face.

 Mar. My husband bids me, now I will vnmaske. This is that face, thou cruell Angelo Which once thou ſworſt, was worth the looking on: This is the hand, which with a vowd contract Was faſt belockt in thine: This is the body That tooke away the match from Iſabell, And did ſupply thee at thy garden-houſe In her Imagin'd perſon. Duke.

Know you this woman?

 Luc.

Carnallie ſhe ſaies.

 Duk.

Sirha, no more.

 Luc.

Enoug my Lord.

 Ang. My Lord, I muſt confeſſe, I know this woman, And fiue yeres ſince there was ſome ſpeech of marriage Betwixt my ſelfe, and her: which was broke off, Partly for that her promis'd proportions Came ſhort of Compoſition: But in chiefe For that her reputation was diſ-valued In leuitie: Since which time of fiue yeres I neuer ſpake with her, ſaw her, nor heard from her Vpon my faith, and honor. Mar. Noble Prince, As there comes light from heauen, and words frō breath, As there is ſence in truth, and truth in vertue, I am affianced this mans wife, as ſtrongly As words could make vp vowes: And my good Lord, But Tueſday night laſt gon, in's garden houſe, He knew me as a wife. As this is true, Let me in ſafety raiſe me from my knees, Or elſe for euer be confixed here A Marble Monument. Ang. I did but ſmile till now, Now, good my Lord, giue me the ſcope of Iuſtice, My patience here is touch'd: I doe perceiue Theſe poore informall women, are no more But inſtruments of ſome more mightier member That ſets them on. Let me haue way, my Lord To finde this practiſe out. Duke. I, with my heart, And puniſh them to your height of pleaſure. Thou fooliſh Frier, and thou pernicious woman Compact with her that's gone: thinkſt thou, thy oathes, Though they would ſwear downe each particular Saint, Were teſtimonies againſt his worth, and credit That's ſeald in approbation? you, Lord Eſcalus Sit with my Cozen, lend him your kinde paines To finde out this abuſe, whence 'tis deriu'd. There is another Frier that ſet them on, Let him be ſent for. Peter. Would he were here, my Lord, for he indeed Hath ſet the women on to this Complaint; Your Prouoſt knowes the place where he abides, And he may fetch him. Duke. Goe, doe it inſtantly: And you, my noble and well-warranted Coſen Whom it concernes to heare this matter forth, Doe with your iniuries as ſeemes you beſt In any chaſtiſement; I for a while Will leaue you; but ſtir not you till you haue Well determin'd vpon theſe Slanderers. Exit. Eſc.

My Lord, wee'll doe it throughly: Signior Lucio, did not you ſay you knew that Frier Lodowick to be a diſhoneſt perſon?

 Luc.

Cucullus non facit Monachum, honeſt in nothing but in his Clothes, and one that hath ſpoke moſt villanous ſpeeches of the Duke.

 Eſc.

We ſhall intreat you to abide heere till he come, and inforce them againſt him: we ſhall finde this Frier a notable fellow.

 Luc.

As any in Vienna, on my word.

 Eſc.

Call that ſame Iſabell here once againe, I would ſpeake with her: pray you, my Lord, giue mee leaue to queſtion, you ſhall ſee how Ile handle her.

 Luc.

Not better then he, by her owne report.

 Eſc.

Say you?

 Luc.

Marry ſir, I thinke, if you handled her priuately She would ſooner confeſſe, perchance publikely ſhe'll be aſham'd.

 Enter Duke, Prouoſt, Iſabella. Eſc.

I will goe darkely to worke with her.

 Luc.

That's the way: for women are light at midnight.

 Eſc. Come on Miſtris, here's a Gentlewoman, Denies all that you haue ſaid. Luc. My Lord, here comes the raſcall I ſpoke of, Here, with the Prouoſt. Eſc.

In very good time: ſpeake not you to him, till we call vpon you.

 Luc.

Mum.

 Eſc.

Come Sir, did you ſet theſe women on to ſlander Lord Angelo? they haue confeſ'd you did.

 Duk.

'Tis falſe.

 Eſc.

How? Know you where you are?

 Duk. Reſpect to your great place; and let the diuell Be ſometime honour'd, for his burning throne. Where is the Duke? 'tis he ſhould heare me ſpeake. Eſc. The Duke's in vs: and we will heare you ſpeake, Looke you ſpeake iuſtly. Duk. Boldly, at leaſt. But oh poore ſoules, Come you to ſeeke the Lamb here of the Fox; Good night to your redreſſe: Is the Duke gone? Then is your cauſe gone too: The Duke's vniuſt, Thus to retort your manifeſt Appeale, And put your triall in the villaines mouth, Which here you come to accuſe. Luc.

This is the raſcall: this is he I ſpoke of.

 Eſc. Why thou vnreuerend, and vnhallowed Fryer: Is't not enough thou haſt ſuborn'd theſe women, To accuſe this worthy man? but in foule mouth, And in the witneſſe of his proper eare, To call him villaine; and then to glance from him, To th' Duke himſelfe, to taxe him with Iniuſtice? Take him hence; to th' racke with him: we'll towze you Ioynt by ioynt, but we will know his purpoſe: What? vniuſt? Duk. Be not ſo hot: the Duke dare No more ſtretch this finger of mine, then he Dare racke his owne: his Subiect am I not, Nor here Prouinciall: My buſineſſe in this State Made me a looker on here in Vienna, Where I haue ſeene corruption boyle and bubble, Till it ore-run the Stew: Lawes, for all faults, But faults ſo countenanc'd, that the ſtrong Statutes Stand like the forfeites in a Barbers ſhop, As much in mocke, as marke. Eſc. Slander to th' State: Away with him to priſon. Ang. What can you vouch againſt him Signior Lucio? Is this the man that you did tell vs of? Luc.

'Tis he, my Lord: come hither goodman bald-pate, doe you know me?

 Duk. I remember you Sir, by the ſound of your voice, I met you at the Priſon, in the abſence of the Duke. Luc.

Oh, did you ſo? and do you remember what you ſaid of the Duke.

Duk.

Moſt notedly Sir.

 Luc.

Do you ſo Sir: And was the Duke a fleſh-monger, a foole, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?

 Duk.

You muſt (Sir) change perſons with me, ere you make that my report: you indeede ſpoke ſo of him, and much more, much worſe.

 Luc.

Oh thou damnable fellow: did not I plucke thee by the noſe, for thy ſpeeches?

 Duk.

I proteſt, I loue the Duke, as I loue my ſelfe.

 Ang.

Harke how the villaine would cloſe now, after his treaſonable abuſes.

 Eſc.

Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withall: Away with him to priſon: Where is the Prouoſt? away with him to priſon: lay bolts enough vpon him: let him ſpeak no more: away with thoſe Giglets too▪ and with the other confederate companion.

 Duk.

Stay Sir, ſtay a while.

 Ang.

What, reſiſts he? helpe him Lucio.

Luc.

Come ſir, come ſir, come ſir: foh ſir, why you bald-pated lying raſcall: you muſt be hooded muſt you? ſhow your knaues viſage with a poxe to you: ſhow your ſheepe-biting face, and be hang'd an houre: will't not off?

 Duk. Thou art the firſt knaue, that ere mad'ſt a Duke. Firſt Prouoſt, let me bayle theſe gentle three: Sneake not away Sir, for the Fryer, and you, Muſt haue a word anon: lay hold on him. Luc.

This may proue worſe then hanging.

 Duk. What you haue ſpoke, I pardon: ſit you downe, We'll borrow place of him; Sir, by your leaue: Ha'ſt thou or word, or wit, or impudence, That yet can doe thee office? If thou ha'ſt Rely vpon it, till my tale be heard, And hold no longer out. Ang. Oh, my dread Lord, I ſhould be guiltier then my guiltineſſe, To thinke I can be vndiſcerneable, When I perceiue your grace, like powre diuine, Hath look'd vpon my paſſes. Then good Prince, No longer Seſſion hold vpon my ſhame, But let my Triall, be mine owne Confeſſion: Immediate ſentence then, and ſequent death, Is all the grace I beg. Duk. Come hither Mariana, Say: was't thou ere contracted to this woman? Ang.

I was my Lord.

 Duk. Goe take her hence, and marry her inſtantly. Doe you the office (Fryer) which conſummate, Returne him here againe: goe with him Prouoſt. Exit. Eſc. My Lord, I am more amaz'd at his diſhonor, Then at the ſtrangeneſſe of it. Duk. Come hither Iſabell, Your Frier is now your Prince: As I was then Aduertyſing, and holy to your buſineſſe, (Not changing heart with habit) I am ſtill, Atturnied at your ſeruice. Iſab. Oh giue me pardon That I, your vaſſaile, haue imploid, and pain'd Your vnknowne Soueraigntie. Duk. You are pardon'd Iſabell: And now, deere Maide, be you as free to vs. Your Brothers death I know ſits at your heart: And you may maruaile, why I obſcur'd my ſelfe, Labouring to ſaue his life: and would not rather Make raſh remonſtrance of my hidden powre, Then let him ſo be loſt: oh moſt kinde Maid, It was the ſwift celeritie of his death, Which I did thinke, with ſlower foot came on, That brain'd my purpoſe: but peace be with him, That life is better life paſt fearing death, Then that which liues to feare: make it your comfort, So happy is your Brother. Enter Angelo, Maria, Peter, Prouoſt. Iſab.

I doe my Lord.

 Duk. For this new-maried man, approaching here, Whoſe ſalt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well defended honor: you muſt pardon For Mariana's ſake: But as he adiudg'd your Brother, Being criminall, in double violation Of ſacred Chaſtitie, and of promiſe-breach, Thereon dependant for your Brothers life, The very mercy of the Law cries out Moſt audible, euen from his proper tongue. An Angelo for Claudio, death for death: Haſte ſtill paies haſte, and leaſure, anſwers leaſure; Like doth quit like, and Meaſure ſtill for Meaſure: Then Angelo, thy fault's thus manifeſted; Which though thou would'ſt deny, denies thee vantage. We doe condemne thee to the very Blocke Where Claudio ſtoop'd to death; and with like haſte. Away with him. Mar. Oh my moſt gracious Lord, I hope you will not mocke me with a husband? Duk. It is your husband mock't you with a husband, Conſenting to the ſafe-guard of your honor, I thought your marriage fit: elſe Imputation, For that he knew you▪ might reproach your life, And choake your good to come: For his Poſſeſſions, Although by confutation they are ours; We doe en-ſtate, and widow you with all, To buy you a better husband. Mar. Oh my deere Lord, I craue no other, nor no better man. Duke.

Neuer craue him, we are definitiue.

 Mar.

Gentle my Liege.

 Duke. You doe but looſe your labour. Away with him to death: Now Sir, to you. Mar. Oh my good Lord, ſweet Iſabell, take my part, Lend me your knees, and all my life to come, I'll lend you all my life to doe you ſeruice. Duke. Againſt all ſence you doe importune her, Should ſhe kneele downe, in mercie of this fact, Her Brothers ghoſt, his paued bed would breake, And take her hence in horror. Mar. Iſabell: Sweet Iſabel, doe yet but kneele by me, Hold vp your hands, ſay nothing: I'll ſpeake all. They ſay beſt men are moulded out of faults, And for the moſt, become much more the better For being a little bad: So may my husband. Oh Iſabel: will you not lend a knee? Duke.

He dies for Claudio's death.

 Iſab. Moſt bounteous Sir. Looke if it pleaſe you, on this man condemn'd, As if my Brother liu'd: I partly thinke, A due ſinceritie gouerned his deedes, Till he did looke on me: Since it is ſo, Let him not die: my Brother had but Iuſtice, In that he did the thing for which he dide. For Angelo, his Act did not ore-take his bad intent, And muſt be buried but as an intent That periſh'd by the way: thoughts are no ſubiects Intents, but meerely thoughts. Mar.

Meerely my Lord.

 Duk. Your ſuite's vnprofitable: ſtand vp I ſay: I haue bethought me of another fault. Prouoſt, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an vnuſuall howre? Pro.

It was commanded ſo.

 Duke.

Had you a ſpeciall warrant for the deed?

 Pro.

No my good Lord: it was by priuate meſſage.

 Duk. For which I doe diſcharge you of your office, Giue vp your keyes. Pro. Pardon me, noble Lord, I thought it was a fault, but knew it not, Yet did repent me after more aduice, For teſtimony whereof, one in the priſon That ſhould by priuate order elſe haue dide, I haue reſeru'd aliue. Duk.

What's he?

 Pro.

His name is Barnardine.

Duke. I would thou hadſt done ſo by Claudio: Goe fetch him hither, let me looke vpon him. Eſc. I am ſorry, one ſo learned, and ſo wiſe As you, Lord Angelo, haue ſtil appear'd, Should ſlip ſo groſſelie, both in the heat of bloud And lacke of temper'd iudgement afterward. Ang. I am ſorrie, that ſuch ſorrow I procure, And ſo deepe ſticks it in my penitent heart, That I craue death more willingly then mercy, 'Tis my deſeruing, and I doe entreat it. Enter Barnardine and Prouoſt, Claudio, Iulietta. Duke.

Which is that Barnardine?

 Pro.

This my Lord.

 Duke. There was a Friar told me of this man. Sirha, thou art ſaid to haue a ſtubborne ſoule That apprehends no further then this world, And ſquar'ſt thy life according: Thou'rt condemn'd, But for thoſe earthly faults, I quit them all, And pray thee take this mercie to prouide For better times to come: Frier aduiſe him, I leaue him to your hand. What muffeld fellow's that? Pro. This is another priſoner that I ſau'd, Who ſhould haue di'd when Claudio loſt his head, As like almoſt to Claudio, as himſelfe. Duke. If he be like your brother, for his ſake Is he pardon'd, and for your louelie ſake Giue me your hand, and ſay you will be mine, He is my brother too: But fitter time for that: By this Lord Angelo perceiues he's ſafe, Methinkes I ſee a quickning in his eye: Well Angelo, your euill quits you well. Looke that you loue your wife: her worth, worth yours I finde an apt remiſſion in my ſelfe: And yet heere's one in place I cannot pardon, You ſirha, that knew me for a foole, a Coward, One all of Luxurie, an aſſe, a mad man: Wherein haue I ſo deſeru'd of you That you extoll me thus? Luc.

Faith my Lord, I ſpoke it but according to the trick: if you will hang me for it you may: but I had rather it would pleaſe you, I might be whipt.

 Duke. Whipt firſt, ſir, and hang'd after. Proclaime it Prouoſt round about the Citie; If any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow (As I haue heard him ſweare himſelfe there's one whom he begot with childe) let her appeare, And he ſhall marry her: the nuptiall finiſh'd, Let him be whipt and hang'd. Luc.

I beſeech your Highneſſe doe not marry me to a Whore: your Highneſſe ſaid euen now I made you a Duke, good my Lord do not recompence me, in making me a Cuckold.

 Duke. Vpon mine honor thou ſhalt marrie her, Thy ſlanders I forgiue, and therewithall Remit thy other forfeits: take him to priſon, And ſee our pleaſure herein executed. Luc. Marrying a punke my Lord, is preſſing to death, Whipping and hanging. Duke. Slandering a Prince deſerues it. She Claudio that you wrong'd, looke you reſtore. Ioy to you Mariana, loue her Angelo: I haue confes'd her, and I know her vertue. Thanks good friend, Eſcalus, for thy much goodneſſe, There's more behinde that is more gratulate. Thanks Prouoſt for thy care, and ſecrecie, We ſhall imploy thee in a worthier place. Forgiue him Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's, Th' offence pardons it ſelfe. Deere Iſabell, I haue a motion much imports your good, Whereto if you'll a willing eare incline; What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. So bring vs to our Pallace, where wee'll ſhow What's yet behinde, that meete you all ſhould know.
The Scene Vienna. The names of all the Actors. Vincentio: the Duke. Angelo, the Deputie. Eſcalus, an ancient Lord. Claudio, a yong Gentleman. Lucio, a fantaſtique. 2. Other like Gentlemen. Prouoſt. Thomas. 2. Friers. Peter. 2. Friers. Elbow, a ſimple Conſtable. Froth, a fooliſh Gentleman. Clowne. Abhorſon, an Executioner. Barnardine, a diſſolute priſoner. Iſabella, ſiſter to Claudio. Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Iuliet, beloued of Claudio. Franciſca, a Nun. Miſtris Ouer-don, a Bawd.
FINIS.
The Comedie of Errors.
Actus primus,
Scena prima. Enter the Duke of Epheſus, with the Merchant of Siracuſa, Iaylor, and other attendants. Marchant. PRoceed Solinus to procure my fall, And by the doome of death end woes and all. Duke. Merchant of Siracuſa, plead no more. I am not partiall to infringe our Lawes; The enmity and diſcord which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your Duke, To Merchants our well-dealing Countrimen, Who wanting gilders to redeeme their liues, Haue ſeal'd his rigorous ſtatutes with their blouds, Excludes all pitty from our threatning lookes: For ſince the mortall and inteſtine iarres Twixt thy ſeditious Countrimen and vs, It hath in ſolemne Synodes beene decreed, Both by the Siracuſians and our ſelues, To admit no trafficke to our aduerſe townes: Nay more, if any borne at Epheſus Be ſeene at any Siracuſian Marts and Fayres: Againe, if any Siracuſian borne Come to the Bay of Epheſus, he dies: His goods confiſcate to the Dukes diſpoſe, Vnleſſe a thouſand markes be leuied To quit the penalty, and to ranſome him: Thy ſubſtance, valued at the higheſt rate, Cannot amount vnto a hundred Markes, Therefore by Law thou art condemn'd to die. Mer. Yet this my comfort, when your words are done, My woes end likewiſe with the euening Sonne. Duk. Well Siracuſian; ſay in briefe the cauſe Why thou departedſt from thy natiue home? And for what cauſe thou cam'ſt to Epheſus. Mer. A heauier taske could not haue beene impos'd, Then I to ſpeake my griefes vnſpeakeable: Yet that the world may witneſſe that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, Ile vtter what my ſorrow giues me leaue. In Syracuſa was I borne, and wedde Vnto a woman, happy but for me, And by me; had not our hap beene bad: With her I liu'd in ioy, our wealth increaſt By proſperous voyages I often made To Epidamium, till my factors death, And he great care of goods at randone left, Drew me from kinde embracements of my ſpouſe; From whom my abſence was not ſixe moneths olde, Before her ſelfe (almoſt at fainting vnder The pleaſing puniſhment that women beare) Had made prouiſion for her following me, And ſoone, and ſafe, arriued where I was: There had ſhe not beene long, but ſhe became A ioyfull mother of two goodly ſonnes: And, which was ſtrange, the one ſo like the other, As could not be diſtinguiſh'd but by names. That very howre, and in the ſelfe-ſame Inne, A meane woman was deliuered Of ſuch a burthen Male, twins both alike: Thoſe, for their parents were exceeding poore, I bought, and brought vp to attend my ſonnes. My wife, not meanely prowd of two ſuch boyes, Made daily motions for our home returne: Vnwilling I agreed, alas, too ſoone wee came aboord. A league from Epidamium had we ſaild Before the alwaies winde-obeying deepe Gaue any Tragicke Inſtance of our harme: But longer did we not retaine much hope; For what obſcured light the heauens did grant, Did but conuay vnto our fearefull mindes A doubtfull warrant of immediate death, Which though my ſelfe would gladly haue imbrac'd, Yet the inceſſant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what ſhe ſaw muſt come, And pitteous playnings of the prettie babes That mourn'd for faſhion, ignorant what to feare, Forſt me to ſeeke delayes for them and me, And this it was: (for other meanes was none) The Sailors ſought for ſafety by our boate, And left the ſhip then ſinking ripe to vs. My wife, more carefull for the latter borne, Had faſtned him vnto a ſmall ſpare Maſt, Such as ſea-faring men prouide for ſtormes: To him one of the other twins was bound, Whil'ſt I had beene like heedfull of the other. The children thus diſpos'd, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixt, Faſtned our ſelues at eyther end the maſt, And floating ſtraight, obedient to the ſtreame, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the ſonne gazing vpon the earth, Diſperſt thoſe vapours that offended vs, And by the benefit of his wiſhed light The ſeas waxt calme, and we diſcouered Two ſhippes from farre, making amaine to vs: Of Corinth that, of Epidarus this, But ere they came, oh let me ſay no more, Gather the ſequell by that went before. Duk. Nay forward old man, doe not breake off ſo, For we may pitty, though not pardon thee. Merch. Oh had the gods done ſo, I had not now Worthily tearm'd them mercileſſe to vs: For ere the ſhips could meet by twice fiue leagues, We were encountred by a mighty rocke, Which being violently borne vp, Our helpefull ſhip was ſplitted in the midſt; So that in this vniuſt diuorce of vs, Fortune had left to both of vs alike, What to delight in, what to ſorrow for, Her part, poore ſoule, ſeeming as burdened With leſſer waight, but not with leſſer woe, Was carried with more ſpeed before the winde, And in our ſight they three were taken vp By Fiſhermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length another ſhip had ſeiz'd on vs, And knowing whom it was their hap to ſaue, Gaue healthfull welcome to their ſhip-wrackt gueſts, And would haue reft the Fiſhers of their prey, Had not their backe beene very ſlow of ſaile; And therefore homeward did they bend their courſe. Thus haue you heard me ſeuer'd from my bliſſe, That by miſfortunes was my life prolong'd, To tell ſad ſtories of my owne miſhaps. Duke. And for the ſake of them thou ſorroweſt for, Doe me the fauour to dilate at full, What haue befalne of them and they till now. Merch. My yongeſt boy, and yet my eldeſt care, At eighteene yeeres became inquiſitiue After his brother; and importun'd me That his attendant, ſo his caſe was like, Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name, Might beare him company in the queſt of him: Whom whil'ſt I laboured of a loue to ſee, I hazarded the loſſe of whom I lou'd. Fiue Sommers haue I ſpent in fartheſt Greece, Roming cleane through the bounds of Aſia, And coaſting homeward, came to Epheſus: Hopeleſſe to finde, yet loth to leaue vnſought Or that, or any place that harbours men: But heere muſt end the ſtory of my life, And happy were I in my timelie death, Could all my trauells warrant me they liue. Duke. Hapleſſe Egeon whom the fates haue markt To beare the extremitie of dire miſhap: Now truſt me, were it not againſt our Lawes, Againſt my Crowne, my oath, my dignity, Which Princes would they may not diſanull, My ſoule ſhould ſue as aduocate for thee: But though thou art adiudged to the death, And paſſed ſentence may not be recal'd But to our honours great diſparagement: Yet will I fauour thee in what I can; Therefore Marchant, Ile limit thee this day To ſeeke thy helpe by beneficiall helpe, Try all the friends thou haſt in Epheſus, Beg thou, or borrow, to make vp the ſumme, And liue: if no, then thou art doom'd to die: Iaylor, take him to thy cuſtodie. Iaylor.

I will my Lord.

 Merch. Hopeleſſe and helpeleſſe doth Egean wend, But to procraſtinate his liueleſſe end. Exeunt. Enter Antipholis Erotes, a Marchant, and Dromio. Mer. Therefore giue out you are of Epidamium, Leſt that your goods too ſoone be confiſcate: This very day a Syracuſian Marchant Is apprehended for a riuall here, And not being able to buy out his life, According to the ſtatute of the towne, Dies ere the wearie ſunne ſet in the Weſt: There is your monie that I had to keepe. Ant. Goe beare it to the Centaure, where we hoſt, And ſtay there Dromio, till I come to thee; Within this houre it will be dinner time, Till that Ile view the manners of the towne, Peruſe the traders, gaze vpon the buildings, And then returne and ſleepe within mine Inne, For with long trauaile I am ſtiffe and wearie. Get thee away. Dro. Many a man would take you at your word, And goe indeede, hauing ſo good a meane. Exit Dromio. Ant. A truſtie villaine ſir, that very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholly, Lightens my humour with his merry ieſts: What will you walke with me about the towne, And then goe to my Inne and dine with me? E. Mar. I am inuited ſir to certaine Marchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit: I craue your pardon, ſoone at fiue a clocke, Pleaſe you, Ile meete with you vpon the Mart, And afterward conſort you till bed time: My preſent buſineſſe cals me from you now. Ant. Farewell till then: I will goe looſe my ſelfe, And wander vp and downe to view the Citie. E. Mar.

Sir, I commend you to your owne content.

 Exeunt. Ant. He that commends me to mine owne content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get: I to the world am like a drop of water, That in the Ocean ſeekes another drop, Who falling there to finde his fellow forth, (Vnſeene, inquiſitiue) confounds himſelfe. So I, to finde a Mother and a Brother, In queſt of them (vnhappie a) looſe my ſelfe. Enter Dromio of Epheſus. Here comes the almanacke of my true date: What now? How chance thou art return'd ſo ſoone. E. Dro. Return'd ſo ſoone, rather approacht too late: The Capon burnes, the Pig fals from the ſpit; The clocke hath ſtrucken twelue vpon the bell: My Miſtris made it one vpon my cheeke: She is ſo hot becauſe the meate is colde: The meate is colde, becauſe you come not home: You come not home, becauſe you haue no ſtomacke: You haue no ſtomacke, hauing broke your faſt: But we that know what 'tis to faſt and pray, Are penitent for your default to day. Ant. Stop in your winde ſir, tell me this I pray? Where haue you left the mony that I gaue you. E. Dro. Oh ſixe pence that I had a wenſday laſt, To pay the Sadler for my Miſtris crupper: The Sadler had it Sir, I kept it not. Ant. I am not in a ſportiue humor now: Tell me, and dally not, where is the monie? We being ſtrangers here, how dar'ſt thou truſt So great a charge from thine owne cuſtodie. E. Dro. I pray you ieſt ſir as you ſit at dinner: I from my Miſtris come to you in poſt: If I returne I ſhall be poſt indeede. For ſhe will ſcoure your fault vpon my pate: Me thinkes your maw, like mine, ſhould be your • ooke, And ſtrike you home without a meſſenger. Ant. Come Dromio, come, theſe • eſts are out of ſeaſon, Reſerue them till a merrier houre then this: Where is the gold I gaue in charge to thee? E. Dro.

To me ſir? why you gaue no gold to me?

 Ant. Come on ſir knaue, haue done your fooliſhnes, And tell me how thou ha • t diſpos'd thy charge▪ E. Dro. My charge was but to fetch you f • ō the Mart Home to your houſe, the Phoenix ſir, to dinner; My Miſtris and her ſiſter ſtaies for you. Ant. Now as I am a Chriſtian anſwer me, In what ſafe place you haue beſtow'd my monie; Or I ſhall breake that merrie ſconce of yours That ſtands on tricks, when I am vndiſpos'd: Where is the thouſand Markes thou hadſt of me? E. Dro. I haue ſome markes of yours vpon my pate: Some of my Miſtris markes vpon my ſhoulders: But not a thouſand markes betweene you both. If I ſhould pay your worſhip thoſe againe, Perchance you will not beare them patiently. Ant.

Thy Miſtris markes? what Miſtris ſlaue haſt thou?

 E. Dro. Your worſhips wife, my Miſtris at the Phoenix; She that doth faſt till you come home to dinner: And praies that you will hie you home to dinner. Ant. What wilt thou flout me thus vnto my face Being forbid? There take you that ſir knaue. E. Dro. What meane you ſir, for God ſake hold your hands: Nay, and you will not ſir, Ile take my heeles. Exeunt Dromio Ep. Ant. Vpon my life by ſome deuiſe or other, The villaine is ore-wrought of all my monie. They ſay this towne is full of coſenage: As nimble Iuglers that deceiue the eie: Darke working Sorcerers that change the minde: Soule-killing Witches, that deforme the bodie: Diſguiſed Cheaters, prating Mountebankes; And manie ſuch like-liberties of ſinne: If it proue ſo, I will be gone the ſooner: Ile to the Centaur to goe ſeeke this ſlaue, I greatly feare my monie is not ſafe. Exit.
Actus Secundus. Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholis Sereptus, with Luciana her Siſter. Adr. Neither my husband nor the ſlaue return'd, That in ſuch haſte I ſent to ſeeke his Maſter? Sure Luciana it is two a clocke. Luc. Perhaps ſome Merchant hath inuited him, And from the Mart he's ſomewhere gone to dinner: Good Siſter let vs dine, and neuer fret; A man is Maſter of his libertie: Time is their Maſter, and when they ſee time, They'll goe or come; if ſo, be patient Siſter. Adr.

Why ſhould their libertie then ours be more?

 Luc.

Becauſe their buſineſſe ſtill lies out adore.

 Adr.

Looke when I ſerue him ſo, he takes it thus.

 Luc.

Oh, know he is the bridle of your will.

 Adr.

There's none but aſſes will be bridled ſo.

 Luc. Why, headſtrong liberty is laſht wi • h woe: There's nothing ſituate vnder • ens eye, But hath his bound in earth, in • ea, in skie. The beaſts, the fiſhes, and the winged fowles Are their males ſubiects, and at • he • r controules: Man more diuine, the Maſter of all theſe, Lord of the wide world, and wilde watry ſeas, Indued with intellectual ſence and ſoules, Of more preheminence then fiſh and fowles, Are maſters to their females, and their Lords: Then let your will attend on their accords. Adri.

This ſeruitude makes you to keepe vnwed.

 Luci.

Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed.

 Adr.

But were you wedded, you wold bear ſome ſway

 Luc.

Ere I learned loue; Ile practiſe to obey.

 Adr.

How if your husband ſtart ſome other where?

 Luc.

Till he come home againe, I would for beare.

 Adr. Patience vnmou'd, no maruel though ſhe pauſe, They can be meeke, that haue no other cauſe: A wretched ſoule bruis'd with aduerſitie, We bid be quiet when we heare it crie. But were we burdned with like waight of paine, As much, or more, we ſhould our ſelues complaine: So thou that haſt no vnkinde mate to greeue thee, With vrging helpeleſſe patience would releeue me; But if thou liue to ſee like right bereft • , This foole-beg'd patience in thee will be left. Luci. Well, I will marry one day but to trie: Heere comes your man, now is your husband nie. Enter Dromio Eph. Adr.

Say, is your tardie maſter now at hand?

 E. Dro.

Nay, hee's at too hands with mee, and that my two eares can witneſſe.

 Adr.

Say, didſt thou ſpeake with him? knowſt thou his minde?

 E. Dro. I, I, he told his minde vpon mine eare, Beſhrew his hand, I ſcarce could vnderſtand it. Luc.

Spake hee ſo doubtfully, thou couldſt not feele his meaning.

 E. Dro.

Nay, hee ſtrooke ſo plainly, I could too well feele his blowes; and withall ſo doubtfully, that I could ſcarce vnderſtand them.

 Adri. But ſay, I prethee, is he comming home? It ſeemes he hath great care to pleaſe his wife. E. Dro.

Why Miſtreſſe, ſure my Maſter is horne mad.

 Adri.

Horne mad, thou villaine?

 E. Dro. I meane not Cuckold mad, But ſure he is ſtarke mad: When I deſir'd him to come home to dinner, He ask'd me for a hundred markes in gold: 'Tis dinner time▪ quoth I: my gold, quoth he: Your meat doth burne, quoth I: my gold quoth he: Will you come, quoth I: my gold, quoth he; Where is the thouſand markes I gaue thee villaine? The Pigge quoth I, is burn'd: my gold, quoth he: My miſtreſſe, ſir, quoth I: hang vp thy Miſtreſſe: I know not thy miſtreſſe, out on thy miſtreſſe. Luci.

Quoth who?

 E. Dr.

Quoth my Maſter, I know quoth he, no houſe, no wife, no miſtreſſe: ſo that my arrant due vnto my tongue, I thanke him, I bare home vpon my ſhoulders: for in concluſion, he did beat me there.

 Adri.

Go back againe, thou ſlaue, & fetch him home.

 Dro. Goe backe againe, and be new beaten home▪ For Gods ſake ſend ſome other meſſenger. Adri.

Backe ſlaue, or I will breake thy pate a-croſſe.

 Dro. And he will bleſſe yt croſſe with other beating▪ Betweene you, I ſhall haue a holy head. Adri.

Hence prating peſant, fetch thy Maſter home.

 Dro. Am I ſo round with you, as you with me, That like a foot-ball you doe ſpurne me thus: You ſpurne me hence, and he will ſpurne me hither, If I laſt in this ſeruice, you muſt caſe me in leather. Luci.

Fie how impatience lowreth in your face.

 Adri. His company muſt do his minions grace, Whil'ſt I at home ſtarue for a merrie looke: Hath homelie age th' alluring beauty tooke From my poore checke? then he hath waſted it. Are my diſcourſes dull? Barren my wit, If voluble and ſharpe diſcourſe be mar'd, Vnkindneſſe blunts it more then marble hard. Doe their gay veſtments his affections baite? That's not my fault, hee's maſter of my ſtate. What ruines are in me that can be found, By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground Of my defeatures. My decayed faire, A ſunnie looke of his, would ſoone repaire. But, too vnruly Deere, he breakes the pale, And feedes from home; poore I am but his ſtale. Luci.

Selfe-harming Iealouſie; fie beat it hence.

 Ad. Vnfeeling fools can with ſuch wrongs diſpence: I know his eye doth homage other-where, Or elſe, what lets it but he would be here? Siſter, you know he promis'd me a chaine, Would that alone, a loue he would detaine, So he would keepe faire quarter with his bed: I ſee the Iewell beſt enamaled Will looſe his beautie: yet the gold bides ſtill That others touch, and often touching will, Where gold and no man that hath a name, By falſhood and corruption doth it ſhame: Since that my beautie cannot pleaſe his eie, Ile weepe (what's left away) and weeping die. Luci.

How manie fond fooles ſerue mad Ielouſie?

 Exit. Enter Antipholis Errotis. Ant. The gold I gaue to Dromio is laid vp Safe at the Centaur, and the heedfull ſlaue Is wandred forth in care to ſeeke me out By computation and mine hoſts report. I could not ſpeake with Dromio, ſince at firſt I ſent him from the Mart? ſee here he comes. Enter Dromio Siracuſia. How now ſir, is your merrie humor alter'd? As you loue ſtroakes, ſo ieſt with me againe: You know no Centaur? you receiu'd no gold? Your Miſtreſſe ſent to haue me home to dinner? My houſe was at the Phoenix? Waſt thou mad, That thus ſo madlie thou did didſt anſwere me? S. Dro.

What anſwer ſir? when ſpake I ſuch a word?

 E. Ant.

Euen now, euen here, not halfe an howre ſince.

 S. Dro. I did not ſee you ſince you ſent me hence Home to the Centaur with the gold you gaue me. Ant. Villaine, thou didſt denie the golds receit, And toldſt me of a Miſtreſſe, and a dinner, For which I hope thou feltſt I was diſpleas'd. S. Dro. I am glad to ſee you in this merrie vaine, What meanes this ieſt, I pray you Maſter tell me? Ant. Yea, doſt thou ieere & flowt me in the teeth? Thinkſt yu I ieſt? hold, take thou that, & that. Beats Dro. S. Dr. Hold ſir, for Gods ſake, now your ieſt is earneſt, Vpon what bargaine do you giue it me? Antiph. Becauſe that I familiarlie ſometimes Doe vſe you for my foole, and chat with you, Your ſawcineſſe will ieſt vpon my loue, And make a Common of my ſerious howres, When the ſunne ſhines, let fooliſh gnats make ſport, But creepe in crannies, when he hides his beames: If you will ieſt with me, know my aſpect, And faſhion your demeanor to my lookes, Or I will beat this method in your ſconce. S. Dro.

Sconce call you it? ſo you would leaue battering, I had rather haue it a head, and you vſe theſe blows long, I muſt get a ſconce for my head, and Inſconce it to, or elſe I ſhall ſeek my wit in my ſhoulders, but I pray ſir, why am I beaten?

 Ant.

Doſt thou not know?

 S. Dro,

Nothing ſir, but that I am beaten.

 Ant.

Shall I tell you why?

 S. Dro.

I ſir, and wherefore; for they ſay, euery why hath a wherefore.

 Ant.

Why firſt for flowting me, and then wherefore, for vrging it the ſecond time to me.

 S. Dro.

Was there euer anie man thus beaten out of ſeaſon, when in the why and the wherefore, is neither rime nor reaſon. Well ſir, I thanke you.

 Ant.

Thanke me ſir, for what?

 S. Dro.

Marry ſir, for this ſomething that you gaue me for nothing.

 Ant.

Ile make you amends next, to giue you nothing for ſomething. But ſay ſir, is it dinner time?

 S. Dro.

No ſir, I thinke the meat wants that I haue.

 Ant.

In good time ſir: what's that?

 S. Dro.

Baſting.

 Ant.

Well ſir, then 'twill be drie.

 S. Dro.

If it be ſir, I pray you eat none of it.

 Ant.

Your reaſon?

 S. Dro.

Leſt it make you chollericke, and purchaſe me another drie baſting.

 Ant.

Well ſir, learne to ieſt in good time, there's a time for all things.

 S. Dro.

I durſt haue denied that before you vvere ſo chollericke.

 Anti.

By what rule ſir?

 S. Dro.

Marry ſir, by a rule as plaine as the plaine bald pate of Father time himſelfe.

 Ant.

Let's heare it.

 S. Dro.

There's no time for a man to recouer his haire that growes bald by nature.

 Ant.

May he not doe it by fine and recouerie?

 S. Dro.

Yes, to pay a fine for a perewig, and recouer the loſt haire of another man.

 Ant.

Why, is Time ſuch a niggard of haire, being (as it is) ſo plentifull an excrement?

 S. Dro.

Becauſe it is a bleſſing that hee beſtowes on beaſts, and what he hath ſcanted them in haire, hee hath giuen them in wit.

 Ant.

Why, but theres manie a man hath more haire then wit.

 S. Dro.

Not a man of thoſe but he hath the wit to loſe his haire.

 Ant.

Why thou didſt conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

 S. Dro.

The plainer dealer, the ſooner loſt; yet he looſeth it in a kinde of iollitie.

 An.

For what reaſon.

 S. Dro.

For two, and ſound ones to.

 An.

Nay not ſound I pray you.

 S. Dro.

Sure ones then.

 An.

Nay, not ſure in a thing falſing.

 S. Dro.

Certaine ones then.

 An.

Name them.

 S. Dro.

The one to ſaue the money that he ſpends in trying: the other, that at dinner they ſhould not drop in his porrage.

 An.

You would all this time haue prou'd, here is no time for all things.

 S. Dro.

Marry and did ſir: namely, in no time to recouer haire loſt by Nature.

 An.

But your reaſon was not ſubſtantiall, why there is no time to recouer.

 S. Dro.

Thus I mend it: Time himſelfe is bald, and therefore to the worlds end, will haue bald followers.

 An.

I knew 'twould be a bald concluſion: but ſoft, who wafts vs yonder.

 Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adri. I, I. Antipholus, looke ſtrange and frowne, Some other Miſtreſſe hath thy ſweet aſpects: I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. The time was once, when thou vn-vrg'd wouldſt vow, That neuer words were muſicke to thine eare, That neuer obiect pleaſing in thine eye, That neuer touch well welcome to thy hand, That neuer meat ſweet-fauour'd in thy taſte, Vnleſſe I ſpake, or look'd, or touch'd, or caru'd to thee. How comes it now, my Husband, oh how comes it, That thou art then eſtranged from thy ſelfe? Thy ſelfe I call it, being ſtrange to me: That vndiuidable Incorporate Am better then thy deere ſelfes better part. Ah doe not teare away thy ſelfe from me; For know my loue: as eaſie maiſt thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulfe, And take vnmingled thence that drop againe Without addition or diminiſhing, As take from me thy ſelfe, and not me too. How deerely would it touch thee to the quicke, Shouldſt thou but heare I were licencious? And that this body conſecrate to thee, By Ruffian Luſt ſhould be contaminate? Wouldſt thou not ſpit at me, and ſpurne at me, And hurle the name of husband in my face, And teare the ſtain'd skin of my Harlot brow, And from my falſe hand cut the wedding ring, And breake it with a deepe-diuorcing vow? I know thou canſt, and therefore ſee thou doe it. I am poſſeſt with an adulterate blot, My bloud is mingled with the crime of luſt: For if we two be one, and thou play falſe, I doe digeſt the poiſon of thy fleſh, Being ſtrumpeted by thy contagion▪ Keepe then faire league and truce with thy true bed, I liue diſtain'd, thou vndiſhonoured. Antip. Plead you to me faire dame? I know you not: In Epheſus I am but two houres old, As ſtrange vnto your towne, as to your talke, Who euery word by all my wit being ſcan'd, Wants wit in all, one word to vnderſtand. Luci. Fie brother, how the world is chang'd with you: When were you wont to vſe my ſiſter thus? She ſent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Ant.

By Dromio?

 Drom.

By me.

 Adr. By thee, and this thou didſt returne from him. That he did buffet thee, and in his blowes, Denied my houſe for his, me for his wife. Ant. Did you conuerſe ſir with this gentlewoman: What is the courſe and drift of your compact? S. Dro.

I ſir? I neuer ſaw her till this time.

 Ant. Villaine thou lieſt, for euen her verie words, Didſt thou deliuer to me on the Mart. S. Dro.

I neuer ſpake with her in all my life.

 Ant. How can ſhe thus then call vs by our names? Vnleſſe it be by inſpiration. Adri. How ill agrees it with your grauitie, To counterfeit thus groſely with your ſlaue, Abetting him to thwart me in my moode; Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come I will faſten on this ſleeue of thine: Thou art an Elme my husband, I a Vine: Whoſe weakneſſe married to thy ſtranger ſtate, Makes me with thy ſtrength to communicate: If ought poſſeſſe thee from me, it is droſſe, Vſurping Iuie, Brier, or idle Moſſe, Who all for want of pruning, with intruſion, Infect thy ſap, and liue on thy confuſion. Ant. To mee ſhee ſpeakes, ſhee moues mee for her theame; What, was I married to her in my dreame? Or ſleepe I now, and thinke I heare all this? What error driues our eies and eares amiſſe? Vntill I know this ſure vncertaintie, Ile entertaine the free'd fallacie. Luc.

Dromio, goe bid the ſeruants ſpred for dinner.

 S. Dro. Oh for my beads, I croſſe me for a ſinner. This is the Fairie land, oh ſpight of ſpights, We talke with Goblins, Owles and Sprights; If we obay them not, this will inſue: They'll ſucke our breath, or pinch vs blacke and blew. Luc. Why prat'ſt thou to thy ſelfe, and anſwer'ſt not? Dromio, thou Dromio, thou ſnaile, thou ſlug, thou ſot. S. Dro.

I am transformed Maſter, am I not?

 Ant.

I thinke thou art in minde, and ſo am I.

 S. Dro.

Nay Maſter, both in minde, and in my ſhape.

 Ant.

Thou haſt thine owne forme.

 S. Dro.

No, I am an Ape.

 Luc.

If thou art chang'd to ought, 'tis to an Aſſe.

 S. Dro. 'Tis true ſhe rides me, and I long for graſſe. 'Tis ſo, I am an Aſſe, elſe it could neuer be, But I ſhould know her as well as ſhe knowes me. Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a foole, To put the finger in the eie and weepe; Whil'ſt man and Maſter laughes my woes to ſcorne: Come ſir to dinner, Dromio keepe the gate: Husband Ile dine aboue with you to day, And ſhriue you of a thouſand idle prankes: Sirra, if any aske you for your Maſter, Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter: Come ſiſter, Dromio play the Porter well. Ant. Am I in earth, in heauen, or in hell? Sleeping or waking, mad or well aduiſde: Knowne vnto theſe, and to my ſelfe diſguiſde: Ile ſay as they ſay, and perſeuer ſo: And in this miſt at all aduentures go. S. Dro.

Maſter, ſhall I be Porter at the gate?

 Adr.

I, and let none enter, leaſt I breake your pate.

 Luc.

Come, come, Antipholus, we dine to late.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter Antipholus of Epheſus, his man Dromio, Angelo the Goldſmith, and Balthaſer the Merchant. E. Anti. Good ſignior Angelo you muſt excuſe vs all, My wife is ſhrewiſh when I keepe not howres; Say that I lingerd with you at your ſhop To ſee the making of her Carkanet, And that to morrow you will bring it home. But here's a villaine that would face me downe He met me on the Mart, and that I beat him, And charg'd him with a thouſand markes in gold, And that I did denie my wife and houſe; Thou drunkard thou, what didſt thou meane by this? E. Dro. Say what you wil ſir, but I know what I know, That you beat me at the Mart I haue your hand to ſhow; If ye skin were parchment, & ye blows you gaue were ink, Your owne hand-writing would tell you what I thinke. E. Ant.

I thinke thou art an aſſe.

 E. Dro. Marry ſo it doth appeare By the wrongs I ſuffer, and the blowes I beare, I ſhould kicke being kickt, and being at that paſſe, You would keepe from my heeles, and beware of an aſſe. E. An. Y' are ſad ſignior Balthazar, pray God our cheer May anſwer my good will, and your good welcom here. Bal.

I hold your dainties cheap ſir, & your welcom deer.

 E. An. Oh ſignior Balthazar, either at fleſh or fiſh, A table full of welcome, makes ſcarce one dainty diſh. Bal.

Good meat ſir is comon that euery churle affords.

 Anti.

And welcome more common, for thats nothing but words.

 Bal.

Small cheere and great welcome, makes a merrie feaſt.

 Anti. I, to a niggardly Hoſt, and more ſparing gueſt: But though my cates be meane, take them in good part, Better cheere may you haue, but not with better hart. But ſoft, my doore is lockt; goe bid them let vs in. E. Dro.

Maud, Briget, Marian, Ciſley, Gillian, Ginn.

S. Dro. Mome, Malthorſe, Capon, Coxcombe, Idiot, Patch, Either get thee from the dore, or ſit downe at the hatch: Doſt thou coniure for wenches, that yu calſt for ſuch ſtore, When one is one too many, goe get thee from the dore. E. Dro.

What patch is made our Porter? my Maſter ſtayes in the ſtreet.

 S. Dro.

Let him walke from whence he came, leſt hee catch cold on's feet.

 E. Ant.

Who talks within there? hoa, open the dore.

 S. Dro.

Right ſir, Ile tell you when, and you'll tell me wherefore.

 Ant.

Wherefore? for my dinner: I haue not din'd to day.

 S. Dro.

Nor to day here you muſt not come againe when you may.

 Anti.

What art thou that keep'ſt mee out from the howſe I owe?

 S. Dro.

The Porter for this time Sir, and my name is Dromio.

E. Dro. O villaine, thou haſt ſtolne both mine office and my name, The one nere got me credit, the other mickle blame: If thou hadſt beene Dromio to day in my place, Thou wouldſt haue chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an aſſe. Enter Luce. Luce.

What a coile is there Dromio? who are thoſe at the gate?

 E. Dro.

Let my Maſter in Luce.

Luce.

Faith no, hee comes too late, and ſo tell your Maſter.

 E. Dro. O Lord I muſt laugh, haue at you with a Prouerbe, Shall I ſet in my ſtaffe. Luce.

Haue at you with another, that's when? can you tell?

 S. Dro.

If thy name be called Luce, Luce thou haſt anſwer'd him well.

 Anti.

Doe you heare you minion, you'll let vs in I hope?

 Luce.

I thought to haue askt you.

 S. Dro.

And you ſaid no.

 E. Dro.

So come helpe, well ſtrooke, there was blow for blow.

 Anti.

Thou baggage let me in.

 Luce.

Can you tell for whoſe ſake?

 E. Drom.

Maſter, knocke the doore hard.

 Luce.

Let him knocke till it ake.

 Ant.

You'll crie for this minion, if I beat the doore downe.

 Luce.

What needs all that, and a paire of ſtocks in the towne?

 Enter Adriana. Adr.

Who is that at the doore yt keeps all this noiſe?

 S. Dro.

By my troth your towne is troubled with vnruly boies.

 Anti.

Are you there Wife? you might haue come before.

 Adri.

Your wife ſir knaue? go get you from the dore.

 E. Dro.

If you went in paine Maſter, this knaue wold goe ſore.

 Angelo.

Heere is neither cheere ſir, nor welcome, we would faine haue either.

 Baliz.

In debating which was beſt, wee ſhall part with neither.

 E. Dro.

They ſtand at the doore, Maſter, bid them welcome hither.

 Anti.

There is ſomething in the winde, that we cannot get in.

 E. Dro. You would ſay ſo Maſter, if your garments were thin. Your cake here is warme within: you ſtand here in the cold. It would make a man mad as a Bucke to be ſo bought and ſold. Ant.

Go fetch me ſomething, Ile break ope the gate.

 S. Dro.

Breake any breaking here, and Ile breake your knaues pate.

 E. Dro. A man may breake a word with your ſir, and words are but winde; I and breake it in your face, ſo he break it not behinde. S. Dro.

It ſeemes thou want'ſt breaking, out vpon thee hinde.

 E. Dro.

Here's too much out vpon thee, I pray thee let me in.

 S. Dro.

I, when fowles haue no feathers, and fiſh haue no ſin.

 Ant.

Well, Ile breake in: go borrow me a crow.

 E. Dro. A crow without feather, Maſter meane you ſo; For a fiſh without a finne, ther's a fowle without afether, If a crow help vs in ſirra, wee'll plucke a crow together. Ant.

Go, get thee gon, fetch me an iron Crow.

 Balth. Haue patience ſir, oh let it not be ſo, Heerein you warre againſt your reputation, And draw within the compaſſe of ſuſpect Th' vnuiolated honor of your wife. Once this your long experience of your wiſedome, Her ſober vertue, yeares, and modeſtie, Plead on your part ſome cauſe to you vnknowne; And doubt not ſir, but ſhe will well excuſe Why at this time the dores are made againſt you. Be rul'd by me, depart in patience, And let vs to the Tyger all to dinner, And about euening come your ſelfe alone, To know the reaſon of this ſtrange reſtraint: If by ſtrong hand you offer to breake in Now in the ſtirring paſſage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made of it; And that ſuppoſed by the common rowt Againſt your yet vngalled eſtimation, That may with foule intruſion enter in, And dwell vpon your graue when you are dead; For ſlander liues vpon ſucceſſion; For euer hows'd, where it gets poſſeſſion. Anti. You haue preuail'd, I will depart in quiet, And in deſpight of mirth meane to be merrie: I know a wench of excellent diſcourſe, Prettie and wittie; wilde, and yet too gentle; There will we dine: this woman that I meane My wife (but I proteſt without deſert) Hath oftentimes vpbraided me withall: To her will we to dinner, get you home And fetch the chaine, by this I know 'tis made, Bring it I pray you to the Porpentine, For there's the houſe: That chaine will I beſtow (Be it for nothing but to ſpight my wife) Vpon mine hoſteſſe there, good ſir make hafte▪ Since mine owne doores refuſe to entertaine me, Ile knocke elſe-where, to ſee if they'll diſdaine me. Ang.

Ile meet you at that place ſome houre hence.

 Anti.

Do ſo, this ieſt ſhall coſt me ſome expence.

 Exeunt. Enter Iuliana, with Antipholus of Siracuſia. Iulia. And may it be that you haue quite forgot A husbands office? ſhall Antipholus Euen in the ſpring of Loue, thy Loue-ſprings rot? Shall loue in buildings grow ſo ruinate? If you did wed my ſiſter for her wealth, Then for her wealths-ſake vſe her with more kindneſſe: Or if you like elſe-where doe it by ſtealth, Muffle your falſe loue with ſome ſhew of blindneſſe: Let not my ſiſter read it in your eye: Be not thy tongue thy owne ſhames Orator: Looke ſweet, ſpeake faire, become diſloyaltie: Apparell vice like vertues harbenger: Beare a faire preſence, though your heart be tainted, Teach ſinne the carriage of a holy Saint, Be ſecret falſe: what need ſhe be acquainted? What ſimple thiefe brags of his owne attaine? 'Tis double wrong to truant with your bed, And let her read it in thy lookes at boord: Shame hath a baſtard fame, well managed, Ill deeds is doubled with an euill word: Alas poore women, make vs not beleeue (Being compact of credit) that you loue vs, Though others haue the arme, ſhew vs the ſleeue: We in your motion turne, and you may moue vs. Then gentle brother get you in againe; Comfort my ſiſter, cheere her, call her wiſe; 'Tis holy ſport to be a little vaine, When the ſweet breath of flatterie conquers ſtrife. S. Anti. Sweete Miſtris, what your name is elſe I know not; Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine: Leſſe in your knowledge, and your grace you ſhow not, Then our earths wonder, more then earth diuine. Teach me deere creature how to thinke and ſpeake: Lay open to my earthie groſſe conceit: Smothred in errors, feeble, ſhallow, weake, The foulded meaning of your words deceit: Againſt my ſoules pure truth, why labour you, To make it wander in an vnknowne field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transforme me then, and to your powre Ile yeeld. But if that I am I, then well I know, Your weeping ſiſter is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage doe I owe: Farre more, farre more, to you doe I decline: Oh traine me not ſweet Mermaide with thy note, To drowne me in thy ſiſter floud of teares: Sing Siren for thy ſelfe, and I will dote: Spread ore the ſiluer waues thy golden haires; And as a bud Ile take thee, and there lie: And in that glorious ſuppoſition thinke, He gaines by death, that hath ſuch meanes to die: Let Loue, being light, be drowned if ſhe ſinke. Luc.

What are you mad, that you doe reaſon ſo?

 Ant.

Not mad, but mated, how I doe not know.

 Luc.

It is a fault that ſpringeth from your eie.

 Ant.

For gazing on your beames faire ſun being by.

 Luc.

Gaze when you ſhould, and that will cleere your ſight.

 Ant.

As good to winke ſweet loue, as looke on night.

 Luc.

Why call you me loue? Call my ſiſter ſo.

 Ant.

Thy ſiſters ſiſter.

 Luc.

That's my ſiſter.

 Ant. No: it is thy ſelfe, mine owne ſelfes better part: Mine eies cleere eie, my deere hearts deerer heart; My foode, my fortune, and my ſweet hopes aime; My ſole earths heauen, and my heauens claime. Luc.

All this my ſiſter is, or elſe ſhould be.

 Ant. Call thy ſelfe ſiſter ſweet, for I am thee: Thee will I loue, and with thee lead my life; Thou haſt no husband yet, nor I no wife: Giue me thy hand. Luc. Oh ſoft ſir, hold you ſtill: Ile fetch my ſiſter to get her good will. Exit. Enter Dromio, Siracuſia. Ant.

Why how now Dromio, where run'ſt thou ſo faſt?

 S. Dro.

Doe you know me ſir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I my ſelfe?

 Ant.

Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thy ſelfe.

 Dro.

I am an aſſe, I am a womans man, and beſides my ſelfe.

 Ant.

What womans man? and how beſides thy ſelfe?

 Dro. Marrie ſir, beſides my ſelfe, I am due to a woman: One that claimes me, one that haunts me, one that will haue me. Anti.

What claime laies ſhe to thee?

 Dro.

Marry ſir, ſuch claime as you would lay to your horſe, and ſhe would haue me as a beaſt, not that I beeing a beaſt ſhe would haue me, but that ſhe being a verie beaſtly creature layes claime to me.

 Anti.

What is ſhe?

 Dro.

A very reuerent body: I ſuch a one, as a man may not ſpeake of, without he ſay ſir reuerence, I haue but leane lucke in the match, and yet is ſhe a wondrous fat marriage.

 Anti.

How doſt thou meane a fat marriage?

 Dro.

Marry ſir, ſhe's the Kitchin wench, & al greaſe, and I know not what vſe to put her too, but to make a Lampe of her, and run from her by her owne light. I warrant, her ragges and the Tallow in them, will burne a Poland Winter: If ſhe liues till doomeſday, ſhe'l burne a weeke longer then the whole World.

 Anti.

What complexion is ſhe of?

 Dro.

Swart like my ſhoo, but her face nothing like ſo cleane kept: for why? ſhe ſweats a man may goe ouer-ſhooes in the grime of it.

 Anti.

That's a fault that water will mend.

 Dro.

No ſir, 'tis in graine, Noahs ſtood could not do it.

 Anti.

What's her name?

 Dro.

Nell Sir: but her name is three quarters, that's an Ell and three quarters, will not meaſure her from hip to hip.

 Anti.

Then ſhe beares ſome bredth?

 Dro.

No longer from head to foot, then from hippe to hippe: ſhe is ſphericall, like a globe: I could find out Countries in her.

 Anti.

In what part of her body ſtands Ireland?

 Dro.

Marry ſir in her buttockes, I found it out by the bogges.

 Ant.

Where Scotland?

 Dro.

I found it by the barrenneſſe, hard in the palme of the hand.

 Ant.

Where France?

 Dro.

In her forhead, arm'd and reuerted, making warre againſt her heire.

 Ant.

Where England?

 Dro.

I look'd for the chalkle Cliffes, but I could find no whiteneſſe in them. But I gueſſe, it ſtood in her chin by the ſalt theume that ranne betweene France, and it.

 Ant.

Where Spaine?

 Dro.

Faith I ſaw it not: but I felt it hot in her breth.

 Ant.

Where America, the Indies?

 Dro.

Oh ſir, vpon her noſe, all ore embelliſhed with Rubies, Carbuncles, Saphires, declining their rich Aſpect to the hot breath of Spaine, who ſent whole Armadoes of Carrects to be ballaſt at her noſe.

 Anti.

Where ſtood Belgia, the Netherlands?

 Dro.

Oh ſir, I did not looke ſo low. To conclude, this drudge or Diuiner layd claime to mee, call'd mee Dromio, ſwore I was aſſur'd to her, told me what priuie markes I had about mee, as the marke of my ſhoulder, the Mole in my necke, the great Wart on my left arme, that I amaz'd ranne from her as a witch. And I thinke, if my breſt had not beene made of faith, and my heart of ſteele, ſhe had transform'd me to a Curtull dog, & made me turne i' th wheele.

 Anti. Go hie thee preſently poſt to the rode, And if the winde blow any way from ſhore, I will not harbour in this Towne to night. If any Barke put forth, come to the Mart, Where I will walke till thou returne to me: If euerie one knowes vs, and we know none, 'Tis time I thinke to trudge, packe, and be gone. Dro. As from a Beare a man would run for life, So flie I from her that would be my wife. Exit Anti. There's none but Witches do inhabite heere, And therefore 'tis hie time that I were hence: She that doth call me husband, euen my ſoule Doth for a wife abhorre. But her faire ſiſter Poſſeſt with ſuch a gentle ſoueraigne grace, Of ſuch inchanting preſence and diſcourſe, Hath almoſt made me Traitor to my ſelfe: But leaſt my ſelfe be guilty to ſelfe wrong, Ile ſtop mine eares againſt the Mermaids ſong. Enter Angelo with the Chaime. Ang.

Mr Antipholus.

Anti.

I that's my name.

 Ang. I know it well ſir, loe here's the chaine, I thought to haue tane you at the Porpentine, The chaine vnfiniſh'd made me ſtay thus long. Anti.

What is your will that I ſhal do with this?

 Ang.

What pleaſe your ſelfe ſir: I haue made it for you.

 Anti.

Made it for me ſir, I beſpoke it not.

 Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twentie times you haue: Go home with it, and pleaſe your Wife withall, And ſoone at ſupper time Ile viſit you, And then receiue my money for the chaine. Anti. I pray you ſir receiue the money now, For feare you ne're ſee chaine, nor mony more. Ang.

You are a merry man ſir, fare you well.

Exit. Ant. What I ſhould thinke of this, I cannot tell: But this I thinke, there's no man is ſo vaine, That would refuſe ſo faire an offer'd Chaine. I ſee a man heere needs not liue by ſhifts, When in the ſtreets he meetes ſuch Golden gifts: Ile to the Mart, and there for Dromio ſtay, If any ſhip put out, then ſtraight away. Exit.
Actus Quartus.
Scoena Prima. Enter a Merchant, Goldſmith, and an Officer. Mar. You know ſince Pentecoſt the ſum is due, And ſince I haue not much importun'd you, Nor now I had not, but that I am bound To Perſia, and want Gilders for my voyage: Therefore make preſent ſatisfaction, Or Ile attach you by this Officer. Gold. Euen iuſt the ſum that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by Antipholus, And in the inſtant that I met with you, He had of me a Chaine, at fiue a clocke I ſhall receiue the money for the ſame: Pleaſeth you walke with me downe to his houſe, I will diſcharge my bond, and thanke you too. Enter Antipholus Epheſ. Dromio from the Courtizans. Offi.

That labour may you ſaue: See where he comes.

 Ant. While I go to the Goldſmiths houſe, go thou And buy a ropes end, that will I beſtow Among my wife, and their confederates, For locking me out of my doores by day: But ſoft I ſee the Goldſmith; get thee gone, Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dro.

I buy a thouſand pound a yeare, I buy a rope.

 Exit Dromio Eph. Am. A man is well holpe vp that truſts to you, I promiſed your preſence, and the Chaine, But neither Chaine nor Goldſmith came to me: Belike you thought our loue would laſt too long If it were chain'd together: and therefore came not. Gold. Sauing your merrie humor: here's the note How much your Chaine weighs to the vtmoſt charect, The fineneſſe of the Gold, and chargefull faſhion, Which doth amount to three odde Duckets more Then I ſtand debted to this Gentleman, I pray you ſee him preſently diſcharg'd, For he is bound to Sea, and ſtayes but for it. Anti. I am not furniſh'd with the preſent monie: Beſides I haue ſome buſineſſe in the towne, Good Signior take the ſtranger to my houſe, And with you take the Chaine, and bid my wife Disburſe the ſumme, on the receit thereof, Perchance I will be there as ſoone as you. Gold.

Then you will bring the Chaine to her your ſelfe.

 Anti.

No beare it with you, leaſt I come not time enough.

 Gold.

Well ſir, I will? Haue you the Chaine about you?

 Ant. And if I haue not ſir, I hope you haue: Or elſe you may returne without your money. Gold. Nay come I pray you ſir, giue me the Chaine: Both winde and tide ſtayes for this Gentleman, And I too blame haue held him heere too long. Anti. Good Lord, you vſe this dalliance to excuſe Your breach of promiſe to the Porpentine, I ſhould haue chid you for not bringing it, But like a ſhrew you firſt begin to brawle. Mar.

The houre ſteales on, I pray you ſir diſpatch.

 Gold.

You heare how he importunes me, the Chaine.

 Ant.

Why giue it to my wife, and fetch your mony.

 Gold. Come, come, you know I gaue it you euen now. Either ſend the Chaine, or ſend me by ſome token. Ant. Fie, now you run this humor out of breath, Come where's the Chaine, I pray you let me ſee it. Mar. My buſineſſe cannot brooke this dalliance, Good ſir ſay, whe'r you'l anſwer me, or no: If not, Ile leaue him to the Officer. Ant.

I anſwer you? What ſhould I anſwer you.

 Gold.

The monie that you owe me for the Chaine.

 Ant.

I owe you none, till I receiue the Chaine.

 Gold.

You know I gaue it you halfe an houre ſince.

 Ant.

You gaue me none, you wrong mee much to ſay ſo.

 Gold. You wrong me more ſir in denying it. Conſider how it ſtands vpon my credit. Mar.

Well Officer, arreſt him army ſuite.

 Offi.

I do, and charge you in the Dukes name to obey me.

 Gold. This touches me in reputation. Either conſent to pay this ſum for me, Or I attach you by this Officer. Ant. Conſent to pay thee that I never had: Arreſt me fooliſh fellow if thou dar'ſt. Gold. Heere is thy fee, arreſt him Officer. I would not ſpare my brother in this caſe, If he ſhould ſcorne me ſo apparantly. Off • i • .

I do arreſt you ſir, you heare the ſuite.

 Ant. I do obey thee, till I giue thee baile. But ſirrah, you ſhall buy this ſport as deere, As all the mettall in your ſhop will anſwer. Gold. Sir, ſir, I ſhall haue Law in Epheſus, To your notorious ſhame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio Sira. from the Bay. Dro. Maſter, there's a Barke of Epidamium, That ſtaies but till her Owner comes aboord, And then ſir ſhe beares away. Our fraughtage ſir, I haue conuei'd aboord, and I haue bought The Oyle, the Balſamum, and Aqua-vitae. The ſhip is in her trim, the merrie winde Blowes faire from land: they ſtay for nought at all, But for their Owner, Maſter, and your ſelfe. An. How now? a Madman? Why thou peeuiſh ſheep What ſhip of Epidamium ſtaies for me. S. Dro.

A ſhip you ſent me too, to hier waftage.

 Ant. Thou drunken ſlaue, I ſent thee for a rope, And told thee to what purpoſe, and what end. S. Dro. You ſent me for a ropes end as ſoone, You ſent me to the Bay ſir, for a Barke. Ant. I will debate this matter at more leiſure And teach your eares to liſt me with more heede: To Adriana Villaine hie thee ſtraight: Giue her this key, and tell her in the Deske That's couer'd o're with Turkiſh Tapiſtrie, There is a purſe of Duckets, let her ſend it: Tell her, I am arreſted in the ſtreete, And that ſhall baile me: hie thee ſlaue, be gone, On Officer to priſon, till it come. Exeunt S. Dromio. To Adriana, that is where we din'd, Where Dowſabell did claime me for her husband, She is too bigge I hope for me to compaſſe, Thither I muſt, although againſt my will: For ſeruants muſt their Maſters mindes fulfill. Exit Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ah Luciana, did he tempt thee ſo? Might'ſt thou perceiue auſteerely in his eie, That he did plead in earneſt, yea or no: Look'd he or red or pale, or ſad or merrily? What obſeruation mad'ſt thou in this caſe? Oh, his hearts Meteors tilting in his face. Luc.

Firſt he deni'de you had in him no right.

 Adr.

He meant he did me none: the more my ſpight

 Luc.

Then ſwore he that he was a ſtranger heere.

 Adr.

And true he ſwore, though yet forſworne hee were.

 Luc.

Then pleaded I for you.

 Adr.

And what ſaid he?

 Luc.

That loue I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me.

 Adr.

With what perſwaſion did he tempt thy loue?

 Luc. With words, that in an honeſt ſuit might moue. Firſt, he did praiſe my beautie, then my ſpeech. Adr.

Did'ſt ſpeake him faire?

 Luc.

Haue patience I beſeech.

 Adr. I cannot, nor I will not hold me ſtill, My tongue, though not my heart, ſhall have his will. He is deformed, crooked, old, and ſere, Ill-fac'd, worſe bodied, ſhapeleſſe euery where: Vicious, vngentle, fooliſh, blunt, vnkinde, Stigmaticall in making worſe in minde. Luc. Who would be iealous then of ſuch a one? No euill loſt is wail'd, when it is gone. Adr. Ah but I thinke him better then I ſay: And yet would herein others eies were worſe: Farre from her neſt the Lapwing cries away: My heart praies for him, though my tongue doe curſe. Enter S. Dromio. Dro.

Here goe: the deske, the purſe, ſweet now make haſte.

 Luc.

How haſt thou loſt thy breath?

 S. Dro.

By running faſt.

 Adr.

Where is thy Maſter Dromio? Is he well?

 S. Dro. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worſe then hell: A diuell in an euerlaſting garment hath him; On whoſe hard heart is button'd vp with ſteele: A Feind, a Fairie, pittileſſe and ruffe: A Wolfe, nay worſe, a fellow all in buffe▪ A back friend, a ſhoulder-clapper, one that countermāds The paſſages of allies, creekes, and narrow lands: A hound that runs Counter, and yet draws drifoot well, One that before the Iudgmēt carries poore ſoules to hel. Adr.

Why man, what is the matter?

 S. Dro.

I doe not know the matter, hee is reſted on the caſe.

 Adr.

What is he arreſted? tell me at whoſe ſuite?

 S. Dro.

I know not at whoſe ſuite he is areſted well; but is in a ſuite of buffe which reſted him, that can I tell, will you ſend him Miſtris redemption, the monie in his deske.

 Adr. Go fetch it Siſter: this I wonder at. Exit Luciana. Thus he vnknowne to me ſhould be in debt: Tell me, was he areſted on a band? S. Dro. Not on a band, but on a ſtronger thing: A chaine, a chaine, doe you not here it ring. Adria.

What, the chaine?

 S. Dro. No, no, the bell, 'tis time that I were gone: It was two ere I left him, and now the clocke ſtrikes one. Adr.

The houres come backe, that did I neuer here.

 S. Dro.

Oh yes, if any houre meete a Serieant, a turnes backe for verie feare.

 Adri.

As if time were in debt: how fondly do'ſt thou reaſon?

 S. Dro. Time is a verie bankerout, and owes more then he's worth to ſeaſon. Nay, he's a theefe too: haue you not heard men ſay, That time comes ſtealing on by night and day? If I be in debt and theft, and a Serieant in the way, Hath he not reaſon to turne backe an houre in a day? Enter Luciana. Adr. Go Dromio, there's the monie, beare it ſtraight, And bring thy Maſter home imediately. Come ſiſter, I am preſt downe with conceit: Conceit, my comfort and my iniurie. Exit. Enter Antipholus Siracuſia. There's not a man I meete but doth ſalute me As if I were their well acquainted friend, And euerie one doth call me by my name: Some tender monie to me, ſome inuite me; Some other giue me thankes for kindneſſes; Some offer me Commodities to buy. Euen now a' tailor cal'd me in his ſhop, And ſhow'd me Silkes that he had bought for me, And therewithall tooke meaſure of my body. Sure theſe are but imaginarie wiles, And lapland Sorcerers inhabite here. Enter Dromio Sir. S. Dro.

Maſter, here's the gold you ſent me for: what haue you got the picture of old Adam new apparel'd?

 Ant.

What gold is this? What Adam do'ſt thou meane?

 S. Dro.

Not that Adam that kept the Paradiſe: but that Adam that keepes the priſon; hee that goes in the calues-skin, that was kil'd for the Prodigall: hee that came behinde you ſir, like an euill angel, and bid you forſake your libertie.

 Ant.

I vnderſtand thee not.

 S. Dro.

No? why 'tis a plaine caſe: he that went like a Baſe-Viole in a caſe of leather; the man ſir, that when gentlemen are tired giues them a ſob, and reſts them: he ſir, that takes pittie on decaied men, and giues them ſuites of durance: he that ſets vp his reſt to doe more exploits with his Mace, then a Moris Pike.

 Ant.

What thou mean'ſt an officer?

 S. Dro.

I ſir, the Serieant of the Band: he that brings any man to anſwer it that breakes his Band: one that thinkes a man alwaies going to bed, and ſaies, God giue you good reſt.

 Ant. Well ſir, there reſt in your foolerie: Is there any ſhips puts forth to night? may we be gone? S. Dro.

Why ſir, I brought you word an houre ſince, that the Barke Expedition put forth to night, and then were you hindred by the Serieant to tarry for the Hoy Delay: Here are the angels that you ſent for to deliuer you.

 Ant. The fellow is diſtract, and ſo am I, And here we wander in illuſions: Some bleſſed power deliuer vs from hence. Enter a Curtizan. Cur. Well met, well met, Maſter Antipholous: I ſee ſir you haue found the Gold-ſmith now: Is that the chaine you promis'd me to day. Ant.

Sathan auoide, I charge thee tempt me not.

 S. Dro.

Maſter, is this Miſtris Sathan?

 Ant.

It is the diuell.

 S. Dro.

Nay, ſhe is worſe, ſhe is the diuels dam: And here ſhe comes in the habit of a light wench, and thereof comes, that the wenches ſay God dam me, That's as much to ſay, God make me a light wench: It is written▪ they appeare to men like angels of light, light is an effect of fire, and fire will burne: ergo, light wenches will burne, come not neere her.

 Cur. Your man and you are maruailous merrie ſir. Will you goe with me, wee'll mend our dinner here? S. Dro.

Maſter, if do expect ſpoon-meate, or beſpeake a long ſpoone.

 Ant.

Why Dromio?

 S. Dro.

Marrie he muſt haue a long ſpoone that muſt eate with the diuell.

 Ant. Auoid then fiend, what tel'ſt thou me of ſupping? Thou art, as you are all a ſorcereſſe: I coniure thee to leaue me, and be gon. Cur. Giue me the ring of mine you had at dinner, Or for my Diamond the Chaine you promis'd, And Ile be gone ſir, and not trouble you. S. Dro.

Some diuels aske but the parings of ones naile, a ruſh, a haire, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut, a cherrieſtone: but ſhe more couetous, wold haue a chaine: Maſter be wiſe, and if you giue it her, the diuell will ſhake her Chaine, and fright vs with it.

 Cur. I pray you ſir my Ring, or elſe the Chaine, I hope you do not meane to cheate me ſo? Ant.

Auant thou witch: Come Dromio let vs go.

 S. Dro.

Flie pride ſaies the Pea-cocke, Miſtris that you know.

Exit. Cur. Now out of doubt Antipholus is mad, Elſe would he neuer ſo demeane himſelfe, A Ring he hath of mine worth fortie Duckets, And for the ſame he promis'd me a Chaine, Both one and other he denies me now: The reaſon that I gather he is mad, Beſides this preſent inſtance of his rage, Is a mad tale he told to day at dinner, Of his owne doores being ſhut againſt his entrance. Belike his wife acquainted with his fits, On purpoſe ſhut the doores againſt his way: My way is now to hie home to his houſe, And tell his wife, that being Lunaticke, He ruſh'd into my houſe, and tooke perforce My Ring away. This courſe I fitteſt chooſe, For fortie Duckets is too much to looſe. Enter Antipholus Epheſ. with a Iailor. An. Feare me not man, I will not breake away, Ile giue thee ere I leaue thee ſo much money To warrant thee as I am reſted for. My wife is in a wayward moode to day, And will not lightly truſt the Meſſenger, That I ſhould be attach'd in Epheſus, I tell you 'twill ſound harſhly in her eares. Enter Dromio Eph. with a ropes end. Heere comes my Man, I thinke he brings the monie. How now ſir? Haue you that I ſent you for? E. Dro.

Here's that I warrant you will pay them all.

 Anti.

But where's the Money?

 E. Dro.

Why ſir, I gaue the Monie for the Rope.

 Ant.

Fiue hundred Duckets villaine for a rope?

 E. Dro.

Ile ſerue you ſir fiue hundred at the rate.

 Ant.

To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?

 S. Dro.

To a ropes end ſir, and to that end am I return'd.

 Ant.

And to that end ſir, I will welcome you.

 Offi.

Good ſir be patient.

 E. Dro.

Nay 'tis for me to be patient, I am in aduerſitie.

 Offi.

Good now hold thy tongue.

 E. Dro.

Nay, rather perſwade him to hold his hands.

 Anti.

Thou whoreſon ſenſeleſſe Villaine.

 E. Dro.

I would I were ſenſeleſſe ſir, that I might not feele your blowes.

 Anti.

Thou art ſenſible in nothing but blowes, and ſo is an Aſſe.

 E. Dro.

I am an Aſſe indeede, you may prooue it by my long eares. I haue ſerued him from the houre of my Natiuitie to this inſtant, and haue nothing at his hands for my ſeruice but blowes. When I am cold, he heates me with beating: when I am warme, he cooles me with beating: I am wak'd with it when I ſleepe, rais'd with it when I ſit, driuen out of doores with it when I goe from home, welcom'd home with it when I returne, nay I beare it on my ſhoulders, as a begger woont her brat: and I thinke when he hath lam'd me, I ſhall begge with it from doore to doore.

 Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtizan, and a Schoolemaſter, call'd Pinch. Ant.

Come goe along, my wife is comming yonder.

 E. Dro.

Miſtris reſpice finem, reſpect your end, or rather the propheſie like the Parrat, beware the ropes end.

 Anti.

Wilt thou ſtill talke?

Beats Dro. Curt.

How ſay you now? Is not your husband mad?

 Adri. His inciuility confirmes no leſſe: Good Doctor Pinch, you are a Coniurer, Eſtabliſh him in his true ſence againe, And I will pleaſe you what you will demand. Luc.

Alas how fiery, and how ſharpe he lookes.

 Cur.

Marke, how he trembles in his extaſie.

 Pinch.

Giue me your hand, and let mee feele your pulſe.

 Ant.

There is my hand, and let it feele your eare.

 Pinch. I charge thee Sathan, hous'd within this man, To yeeld poſſeſſion to my holie praiers, And to thy ſtate of darkneſſe hie thee ſtraight, I coniure thee by all the Saints in heauen. Anti.

Peace doting wizard, peace; I am not mad.

 Adr.

Oh that thou wer't not, poore diſtreſſed ſoule.

 Anti. You Minion you, are theſe your Cuſtomers? Did this Companion with the ſaffron face Reuell and feaſt it at my houſe to day, Whil'ſt vpon me the guiltie doores were ſhut, And I denied to enter in my houſe. Adr. O husband, God doth know you din'd at home Where would you had remain'd vntill this time, Free from theſe ſlanders, and this open ſhame. Anti.

Din'd at home? Thou Villaine, what ſayeſt thou?

 Dro.

Sir ſooth to ſay, you did not dine at home.

 Anti.

Were not my doores lockt vp, and I ſhut out?

 Dro.

Perdie, your doores were lockt, and you ſhut out.

 Anti.

And did not ſhe her ſelfe reuile me there?

 Dro.

Sans Fable, ſhe her ſelfe reuil'd you there.

 Anti.

Did not her Kitchen maide raile, taunt, and ſcorne me?

 Dro.

Certis ſhe did, the kitchin veſtall ſcorn'd you.

 Ant.

And did not I in rage depart from thence?

 Dro. In veritie you did, my bones beares witneſſe, That ſince haue felt the vigor of his rage. Adr.

Is't good to ſooth him in theſe crontraries?

 Pinch. It is no ſhame, the fellow finds his vaine, And yeelding to him, humors well his frenſie. Ant.

Thou haſt ſubborn'd the Goldſmith to arreſt mee.

 Adr. Alas, I ſent you Monie to redeeme you, By Dromio heere, who came in haſt for it. Dro. Monie by me? Heart and good will you might, But ſurely Maſter not a ragge of Monie. Ant.

Wentſt not thou to her for a purſe of Duckets.

 Adri.

He came to me, and I deliuer'd it.

 Luci.

And I am witneſſe with her that ſhe did:

 Dro. God and the Rope-maker beare me witneſſe, That I was ſent for nothing but a rope. Pinch. Miſtris, both Man and Maſter is poſſeſt, I know it by their pale and deadly lookes, They muſt be bound and laide in ſome darke roome. Ant. Say wherefore didſt thou locke me forth to day, And why doſt thou denie the bagge of gold? Adr.

I did not gentle husband locke thee forth.

 Dro. And gentle Mr I receiu'd no gold: But I confeſſe ſir, that we were lock'd out. Adr.

Diſſembling Villain, thou ſpeak'ſt falſe in both

 Ant. Diſſembling harlot, thou art falſe in all, And art confederate with a damned packe, To make a loathſome abiect ſcorne of me: But with theſe nailes, Ile plucke out theſe falſe eyes, That would behold in me this ſhamefull ſport. Enter three or foure, and offer to binde him: Hee ſtriues. Adr.

Oh binde him, binde him, let him not come neere me.

 Pinch.

More company, the fiend is ſtrong within him

 Luc.

Aye me poore man, how pale and wan he looks.

 Ant. What will you murther me, thou Iailor thou? I am thy priſoner, wilt thou ſuffer them to make a reſcue? Offi.

Maſters let him go: he is my priſoner, and you ſhall not haue him.

 Pinch.

Go binde this man, for he is franticke too.

 Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peeuiſh Officer? Haſt thou delight to ſee a wretched man Do outrage and diſpleaſure to himſelfe? Offi. He is my priſoner, if I let him go, The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. Adr. I will diſcharge thee ere I go from thee, Beare me forthwith vnto his Creditor, And knowing how the debt growes I will pay it. Good Maſter Doctor ſee him ſafe conuey'd Home to my houſe, oh moſt vnhappy day. Ant.

Oh moſt vnhappie ſtrumpet.

 Dro.

Maſter, I am heere entred in bond for you.

 Ant.

Out on thee Villaine, wherefore doſt thou mad mee?

 Dro.

Will you be bound for nothing, be mad good Maſter, cry the diuell.

 Luc.

God helpe poore ſoules, how idlely doe they talke.

 Adr. Go beare him hence, ſiſter go you with me: Say now, whoſe ſuite is he arreſted at? Exeunt. Manet Offic. Adri. Luci. Courtizan Off.

One Angelo a Goldſmith, do you know him?

 Adr.

I know the man: what is the ſumme he owes?

 Off.

Two hundred Duckets.

 Adr.

Say, how growes it due.

 Off.

Due for a Chaine your husband had of him.

 Adr.

He did beſpeake a Chain for me, but had it not.

 Cur. When as your husband all in rage to day. Came to my houſe, and tooke away my Ring, The Ring I ſaw vpon his finger now, Straight after did I meete him with a Chaine. Adr. It may be ſo, but I did neuer ſee it. Come Iailor, bring me where the Goldſmith is, I long to know the truth heereof at large. Enter Antipholus Siracuſia with his Rapier drawne, and Dromio Sirac. Luc.

God for thy mercy, they are looſe againe.

 Adr. And come with naked ſwords, Let's call more helpe to haue them bound againe. Runne all out. Off.

Away, they'l kill vs.

 Exeunt omnes, as faſt as may be, frighted. S. Ant.

I ſee theſe Witches are affraid of ſwords.

 S. Dro.

She that would be your wife, now ran from you.

 Ant. Come to the Centaur, fetch our ſtuffe from thence: I long that we were ſafe and ſound aboord. Dro.

Faith ſtay heere this night, they will ſurely do vs no harme: you ſaw they ſpeake vs faire, giue vs gold: me thinkes they are ſuch a gentle Nation, that but for the Mountaine of mad fleſh that claimes mariage of me, I could finde in my heart to ſtay heere ſtill, and turne Witch.

 Ant. I will not ſtay to night for all the Towne, Therefore away, to get our ſtuffe aboord. Exeunt
Actus Quintus.
Scoena Prima. Enter the Merchant and the Goldſmith. Gold. I am ſorry Sir that I haue hindred you, But I proteſt he had the Chaine of me, Though moſt diſhoneſtly he doth denie it. Mar.

How is the man eſteem'd heere in the Citie?

 Gold. Of very reuerent reputation ſir, Of credit infinite, highly belou'd, Second to none that liues heere in the Citie: His word might beare my wealth at any t • me. Mar.

Speake ſoftly, yonder as I thinke he walkes.

 Enter Antipholus and Dromio againe. Gold. 'Tis ſo: and that ſelfe chaine about his necke, Which he forſwore moſt monſtrouſly to haue. Good ſir draw neere to me, Ile ſpeake to him: Signior Antipholus, I wonder much That you would put me to this ſhame and trouble, And not without ſome ſcandall to your ſelfe, With circumſtance and oaths, ſo to denie This Chaine, which now you weare ſo openly. Beſide the charge, the ſhame, impriſonment, You haue done wrong to this my honeſt friend, Who but for ſtaying on our Controuerſie, Had hoiſted ſaile, and put to ſea to day: This Chaine you had of me, can you deny it? Ant.

I thinke I had, I neuer did deny it.

 Mar.

Yes that you did ſir, and forſwore it too.

 Ant.

Who heard me to denie it or forſweare it?

 Mar. Theſe eares of mine thou knowſt did hear thee: Fie on thee wretch, 'tis pitty that thou liu'ſt To walke where any honeſt men reſort. Ant. Thou art a Villaine to impeach me thus, Ile proue mine honor, and mine honeſtie Againſt thee preſently, if thou dar'ſt ſtand: Mar.

I dare and do defie thee for a villaine.

 They draw. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, & others. Adr. Hold, hurt him not for God ſake, he is mad, Some get within him, take his ſword away: Binde Dromio too, and beare them to my houſe. S. Dro. Runne maſter run, for Gods ſake take a houſe, This is ſome Priorie, in, or we are ſpoyl'd. Exeunt to the Priorie. Enter Ladie Abbeſſe. Ab.

Be quiet people, wherefore throng you hither?

 Adr. To fetch my poore diſtracted husband hence, Let vs come in, that we may binde him faſt, And beare him home for his recouerie. Gold.

I knew he vvas not in his perfect wits.

 Mar.

I am ſorry now that I did draw on him.

 Ab.

How long hath this poſſeſſion held the man.

 Adr. This weeke he hath beene heauie, ſower ſad, And much different from the man he was: But till this afternoone his paſſion Ne're brake into extremity of rage. Ab. Hath he not loſt much wealth by wrack of ſea, Buried ſome deere friend, hath not elſe his eye Stray'd his affection in vnlawfull loue, A ſinne preuailing much in youthfull men, Who giue their eies the liberty of gazing. Which of theſe ſorrowes is he ſubiect too? Adr. To none of theſe, except it be the laſt, Namely, ſome loue that drew him oft from home. Ab.

You ſhould for that haue reprehended him.

 Adr.

Why ſo I did.

 Ab.

I but not rough enough.

 Adr.

As roughly as my modeſtie would let me.

 Ab.

Haply in priuate.

 Adr.

And in aſſemblies too.

 Ab.

I, but not enough.

 Adr. It was the copie of our Conference. In bed he ſlept not for my vrging it, At boord he fed not for my vrging it: Alone, it was the ſubiect of my Theame: In company I often glanced it: Still did I tell him, it was vilde and bad. Ab. And thereof came it, that the man was mad. The venome clamors of a iealous woman, Poiſons more deadly then a mad dogges tooth. It ſeemes his ſleepes were hindred by thy railing, And thereof comes it that his head is light. Thou ſaiſt his meate was ſawc'd with thy vpbraidings, Vnquiet meales make ill digeſtions, Thereof the raging fire of feauer bred, And what's a Feauer, but a fit of madneſſe? Thou ſayeſt his ſports were hindred by thy bralles. Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth enſue But moodie and dull melancholly, Kinſman to grim and comfortleſſe diſpaire, And at her heeles a huge infectious troope Of pale diſtemperatures, and foes to life? In food, in ſport, and life-preſeruing reſt To be diſturb'd, would mad or man, or beaſt: The conſequence is then, thy iealous fits Hath ſcar'd thy husband from the vſe of wits. Luc. She neuer reprehended him but mildely, When he demean'd himſelfe, rough, rude, and wildly, Why beare you theſe rebukes, and anſwer not? Adri. She did betray me to my owne reproofe, Good people enter, and lay hold on him. Ab.

No, not a creature enters in my houſe.

 Ad.

Then let your ſeruants bring my husband forth

 Ab. Neither: he tooke this place for ſanctuary, And it ſhall priuiledge him from your hands, Till I haue brought him to his wits againe, Or looſe my labour in aſſaying it. Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurſe, Diet his ſickneſſe, for it is my Office, And will haue no atturney but my ſelfe, And therefore let me haue him home with me. Ab. Be patient, for I will not let him ſtirre, Till I haue vs'd the approoued meanes I haue, With wholſome ſirrups, drugges, and holy prayers To make of him a formall man againe: It is a branch and parcell of mine oath, A charitable dutie of my order, Therefore depart, and leaue him heere with me. Adr. I will not hence, and leaue my husband heere: And ill it doth beſeeme your holineſſe To ſeparate the husband and the wife. Ab.

Be quiet and depart, thou ſhalt not haue him.

 Luc.

Complaine vnto the Duke of this indignity.

 Adr. Come go, I will fall proſtrate at his feete, And neuer riſe vntill my teares and prayers Haue won his grace to come in perſon hither, And take perforce my husband from the Abbeſſe. Mar. By this I thinke the Diall points at fiue: Anon I' me ſure the Duke himſelfe in perſon Comes this way to the melancholly vale; The place of depth, and ſorrie execution, Behinde the ditches of the Abbey heere. Gold.

Vpon what cauſe?

 Mar. To ſee a reuerent Siracuſian Merchant, Who put vnluckily into this Bay Againſt the Lawes and Statutes of this Towne, Beheaded publikely for his offence. Gold.

See where they come, we wil behold his death.

 Luc.

Kneele to the Duke before he paſſe the Abbey.

 Enter the Duke of Epheſus, and the Merchant of Siracuſe bare head, with the Headſman, & other Officers. Duke. Yet once againe proclaime it publikely, If any friend will pay the ſumme for him, He ſhall not die, ſo much we tender him. Adr.

Iuſtice moſt ſacred Duke againſt the Abbeſſe.

 Duke. She is a vertuous and a reuerend Lady, It cannot be that ſhe hath done thee wrong. Adr. May it pleaſe your Grace, Antipholus my husbād, Who I made Lord of me, and all I had, At your important Letters this ill day, A moſt outragious fit of madneſſe tooke him: That deſp'rately he hurried through the ſtreete, With him his bondman, all as mad as he, Doing diſpleaſure to the Citizens, By ruſhing in their houſes: bearing thence Rings, Iewels, any thing his rage did like. Once did I get him bound, and ſent him home, Whil'ſt to take order for the wrongs I went, That heere and there his furie had committed, Anon I wot not, by what ſtrong eſcape He broke from thoſe that had the guard of him, And with his mad attendant and himſelfe, Each one with irefull paſſion, with drawne ſwords Met vs againe, and madly bent on vs Chac'd vs away: till raiſing of more aide We came againe to binde them: then they fled Into this Abbey, whether we purſu'd them, And heere the Abbeſſe ſhuts the gates on vs, And will not ſuffer vs to fetch him out, Nor ſend him forth, that we may beare him hence. Therefore moſt gracious Duke with thy command, Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for helpe. Duke. Long ſince thy husband ſeru'd me in my wars And I to thee ingag'd a Princes word, When thou didſt make him Maſter of thy bed, To do him all the grace and good I could. Go ſome of you, knocke at the Abbey gate, And bid the Lady Abbeſſe come to me: I will determine this before I ſtirre. Enter a Meſſenger. Oh Miſtris, Miſtris, ſhift and ſaue your ſelfe, My Maſter and his man are both broke looſe, Beaten the Maids a-row, and bound the Doctor, Whoſe beard they haue ſindg'd off with brands of fire, And euer as it blaz'd, they threw on him Great pailes of puddled myre to quench the haire; My Mr preaches patience to him, and the while His man with Cizers nickes him like a foole: And ſure (vnleſſe you ſend ſome preſent helpe) Betweene them they will kill the Coniurer. Adr. Peace foole, thy Maſter and his man are here, And that is falſe thou doſt report to vs. Meſſ. Miſtris, vpon my life I tel you true, I haue not breath'd almoſt ſince I did ſee it. He cries for you, and vowes if he can take you, To ſcorch your face, and to disfigure you: Cry within. Harke, harke, I heare him Miſtris: flie, be gone. Duke.

Come ſtand by me, feare nothing: guard with Halberds.

 Adr. Ay me, it is my husband: witneſſe you, That he is borne about inuiſible, Euen now we hous'd him in the Abbey heere. And now he's there, paſt thought of humane reaſon. Enter Antipholus, and E. Dromio of Epheſus. E. Ant. Iuſtice moſt gracious Duke, oh grant me iuſtice, Euen for the ſeruice that long ſince I did thee, When I be • rid thee in the warres, and tooke Deepe ſcarres to ſaue thy life; euen for the blood That then I loſt for thee, now grant me iuſtice. Mar. Fat.

Vnleſſe the feare of death doth make me dore, I ſee my ſonne Antipholus and Dromio.

E. Ant. Iuſtice (ſweet Prince) againſt yt Woman there: She whom thou gau'ſt to me to be my wife; That hath abuſed and diſhonored me, Euen in the ſtrength and height of iniurie: Beyond imagination is the wrong That ſhe this day hath ſhameleſſe throwne on me. Duke.

Diſcouer how, and thou ſhalt finde me iuſt.

 E. Ant. This day (great Duke) ſhe ſhut the doores vpon me, While ſhe with Harlots feaſted in my houſe. Duke.

A greeuous fault: ſay woman, didſt thou ſo?

 Adr. No my good Lord. My ſelfe, he, and my ſiſter, To day did dine together: ſo befall my ſoule, As this is falſe he burthens me withall. Luc. Nere may I looke on day, nor ſleepe on night, But ſhe tels to your Highneſſe ſimple truth. Gold. O periur'd woman! They are both forſworne, In this the Madman iuſtly chargeth them. E. Ant. My Liege, I am aduiſed what I ſay, Neither diſturbed with the effect of Wine, Nor headie-raſh prouoak'd with raging ire, Albeit my wrongs might make one wiſer mad. This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner; That Goldſmith there, were he not pack'd with her, Could witneſſe it: for he was with me then, Who parted with me to go fetch a Chaine, Promiſing to bring it to the Porpentine, Where Balthaſar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not comming thither, I went to ſeeke him. In the ſtreet I met him, And in his companie that Gentleman. There did this periur'd Goldſmith ſweare me downe, That I this day of him receiu'd the Chaine, Which God he knowes, I ſaw not. For the which, He did arreſt me with an Officer. I did obey, and ſent my Peſant home For certaine Duckets: he with none return'd. Then fairely I beſpoke the Officer To go in perſon with me to my houſe. By 'th 'way, we met my wife, her ſiſter, and a rabble more Of vilde Confederates: Along with them They brought one Pinch, a hungry leane-fac'd Villaine; A meere Anatomie, a Mountebanke, A thred-bare Iugler, and a Fortune-teller, A needy-hollow-ey'd-ſharpe-looking-wretch; A liuing dead man. This pernicious ſlaue, Forſooth tooke on him as a Coniurer: And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulſe, And with no-face (as 'twere) out-facing me, Cries out, I was poſſeſt. Then altogether They fell vpon me, bound me, bore me thence, And in a darke and dankiſh vault at home There left me and my man, both bound together, Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in ſunder, I gain'd my freedome; and immediately Ran hether to your Grace, whom I beſeech To giue me ample ſatisfaction For theſe deepe ſhames, and great indignities. Gold. My Lord, in truth, thus far I witnes with him: That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out. Duke.

But had he ſuch a Chaine of thee, or no?

 Gold. He had my Lord, and when he ran in heere, Theſe people ſaw the Chaine about his necke. Mar. Beſides, I will be ſworne theſe eares of mine, Heard you confeſſe you had the Chaine of him, After you firſt forſwore it on the Mart, And thereupon I drew my ſword on you: And then you fled into this Abbey heere, From whence I thinke you are come by Miracle. E. Ant. I neuer came within theſe Abbey wals, Nor euer didſt thou draw thy ſword on me: I neuer ſaw the Chaine, ſo helpe me heauen: And this is falſe you burthen me withall. Duke. Why what an intricate impeach is this? I thinke you all haue drunke of Circes cup: If heere you hous'd him, heere he would haue bin. If he were mad, he would not pleade ſo coldly: You ſay he din'd at home, the Goldſmith heere Denies that ſaying▪ Sirra, what ſay you? E. Dro.

Sir he din'de with her there, at the Porpentine.

 Cur.

He did, and from my finger ſnacht that Ring.

 E. Anti.

Tis true (my Liege) this Ring I had of her.

 Duke.

Saw'ſt thou him enter at the Abbey heere?

 Curt.

As ſure (my Liege) as I do ſee your Grace.

 Duke. Why this is ſtraunge: Go call the Abbeſſe hither. I thinke you are all mated, or ſtarke mad. Exit one to the Abbeſſe. Fa. Moſt mighty Duke, vouchſafe me ſpeak a word: Haply I ſee a friend will ſaue my life, And pay the ſum that may deliuer me. Duke.

Speake freely Siracuſian what thou wilt.

 Fath. Is not your name ſir call'd Antipholus? And is not that your bondman Dromio? E. Dro. Within this houre I was his bondman ſir, But he I thanke him gnaw'd in two my cords, Now am I Dromio, and his man, vnbound. Fath.

I am ſure you both of you remember me.

 Dro. Our ſelues we do remember ſir by you: For lately we were bound as you are now. You are not Pinches patient, are you ſir? Father.

Why looke you ſtrange on me? you know me well.

 E. Ant.

I neuer ſaw you in my life till now.

 Fa. Oh! griefe hath chang'd me ſince you ſaw me laſt, And carefull houres with times deformed hand, Haue written ſtrange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, doſt thou not know my voice? Ant.

Neither.

 Fat.

Dromio, nor thou?

 Dro.

No truſt me ſir, nor I.

 Fa.

I am ſure thou doſt?

 E. Dromio.

I ſir, but I am ſure I do not, and whatſoeuer a man denies, you are now bound to beleeue him.

 Fath. Not know my voice, oh times e • tremity Haſt thou ſo crack'd and ſplitted my poore tongue In ſeuen ſhort yeares, that heere my onely ſonne Knowes not my feeble key of vntun'd cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In ſap-conſuming Winters drizled ſnow, And all the Conduits of my blood froze vp: Yet hath my night of life ſome memorie: My waſting lampes ſome fading glimmer left; My dull deafe eares a little vſe to heare: All theſe old witneſſes, I cannot erre. Tell me, thou art my ſonne Antipholus. Ant.

I neuer ſaw my Father in my life.

 Fa. But ſeuen yeares ſince, in Siracuſa boy Thou know'ſt we parted, but perhaps my ſonne, Thou ſham'ſt to acknowledge me in miſerie. Ant. The Duke, and all that know me in the City, Can witneſſe with me that it is not ſo. I ne're ſaw Siracuſa in my life. Duke. I tell thee Siracuſian, twentie yeares Haue I bin Patron to Antipholus, During which time, he ne're ſaw Siracuſa: I ſee thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter the Abbeſſe with Antipholus Siracuſa, and Dromio Sir. Abbeſſe.

Moſt mightie Duke, behold a man much wrong'd.

 All gather to ſee them. Adr.

I ſee two husbands, or mine eyes deceiue me.

 Duke. One of theſe men is genius to the other: And ſo of theſe, which is the naturall man, And which the ſpirit? Who deciphers them? S. Dromio.

I Sir am Dromio, command him away.

 E. Dro.

I Sir am Dromio, pray let me ſtay.

 S. Ant.

Egeon art thou not? or elſe his ghoſt.

 S. Drom.

Oh my olde Maſter, who hath bound him heere?

 Abb. Who euer bound him, I will loſe his bonds, And gaine a husband by his libertie: Speake olde Egeon, if thou bee'ſt the man That hadſt a wife once call'd Aemilia, That bore thee at a burthen two faire ſonnes? Oh if thou bee'ſt the ſame Egeon, ſpeake: And ſpeake vnto the ſame Aemilia. Duke. Why heere begins his Morning ſtorie right: Theſe two Antipholus, theſe two ſo like, And theſe two Dromio's, one in ſemblance: Beſides her vrging of her wracke at ſea, Theſe are the parents to theſe children, Which accidentally are met together. Fa. If I dreame not, thou art Aemilia, If thou art ſhe, tell me, where is that ſonne That floated with thee on the fatall rafte. Abb. By men of Epidamium, he, and I, And the twin Dromio, all were taken vp; But by and by, rude Fiſhermen of Corinth By force tooke Dromio, and my ſonne from them, And me they left with thoſe of Epidamium. What then became of them, I cannot tell: I, to this fortune that you ſee mee in. Duke.

Antipholus thou cam'ſt from Corinth firſt.

 S. Ant.

No ſir, not I, I came from Siracuſe.

Duke.

Stay, ſtand apart, I know not which is which.

 E. Ant.

I came from Corinth my moſt gracious Lord

 E. Dro.

And I with him.

 E. Ant. Brought to this Town by that moſt famous Warriour, Duke Menaphon, your moſt renowned Vnckle. Adr.

Which of you two did dine with me to day?

 S. Ant.

I, gentle Miſtris.

 Adr.

And are not you my husband?

 E. Ant.

No, I ſay nay to that.

 S. Ant. And ſo do I, yet did ſhe call me ſo: And this faire Gentlewoman her ſiſter heere Did call me brother. What I told you then, I hope I ſhall haue leiſure to make good, If this be not a dreame I ſee and heare. Goldſmith.

That is the Chaine ſir, which you had of mee.

 S. Ant.

I thinke it be ſir, I denie it not.

 E. Ant.

And you ſir for this Chaine arreſted me.

 Gold.

I thinke I did ſir, I deny it not.

 Adr. I ſent you monie ſir to be your baile By Dromio, but I thinke he brought it not. E. Dro.

No, none by me.

 S. Ant. This purſe of Duckets I receiu'd from you, And Dromio my man did bring them me: I ſee we ſtill did meete each others man, And I was tane for him, and he for me, And thereupon theſe errors are aroſe. E. Ant.

Theſe Duckets pawne I for my father heere.

 Duke.

It ſhall not neede, thy father hath his life.

 Cur.

Sir I muſt haue that Diamond from you.

 E. Ant.

There take it, and much thanks for my good cheere.

 Abb. Renowned Duke, vouchſafe to take the paines To go with vs into the Abbey heere, And heare at large diſcourſed all our fortunes, And all that are aſſembled in this place: That by this ſimpathized one daies error Haue ſuffer'd wrong. Goe, keepe vs companie, And we ſhall make full ſatisfaction. Thirtie three yeares haue I but gone in trauaile Of you my ſonnes, and till this preſent houre My heauie burthen are deliuered: The Duke my husband, and my children both, And you the Kalenders of their Natiuity, Go to a Goſſips feaſt, and go with mee, After ſo long greefe ſuch Natiuitie. Duke.

With all my heart, Ile Goſſip at this feaſt.

 Exeunt omnes. Manet the two Dromio's and two Brothers. S. Dro.

Maſt▪ ſhall I fetch your ſtuffe from ſhipbord?

 E. An.

Dromio, what ſtuffe of mine haſt thou imbarkt

 S. Dro.

Your goods that lay at hoſt ſir in the Centaur.

 S. Ant. He ſpeakes to me, I am your maſter Dromio. Come go with vs, wee'l looke to that anon, Embrace thy brother there, reioyce with him. Exit S. Dro. There is a fat friend at your maſters houſe, That kitchin'd me for you to day at dinner: She now ſhall be my ſiſter, not my wife. E.D. Me thinks you are my glaſſe, & not my brother: I ſee by you, I am a ſweet-fac'd youth, Will you walke in to ſee their goſſipping? S. Dro.

Not I ſir, you are my elder.

 E. Dro.

That's a queſtion, how ſhall we trie it.

 S. Dro.

Wee'l draw Cuts for the Signior, till then, lead thou firſt.

 E. Dro. Nay then thus: We came into the world like brother and brother: And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. Exeunt.
FINIS.
Much adoe about Nothing.
Actus primus,
Scena prima. Enter Leonato Gouernour of Meſſina, Innogen his wife, Hero his daughter, and Beatrice his Neece, with a meſſenger. Leonato.

I Learne in this Letter, that Don Peter of Arragon, comes this night to Meſſina.

Meſſ.

He is very neere by this: he was not three Leagues off when I left him.

 Leon.

How many Gentlemen haue you loſt in this action?

 Meſſ.

But few of any ſort, and none of name.

 Leon.

A victorie is twice it ſelfe, when the atchieuer brings home full numbers: I finde heere, that Don Peter hath beſtowed much honor on a yong Florentine, called Claudio.

Meſſ.

Much deſeru'd on his part, and equally remembred by Don Pedro, he hath borne himſelfe beyond the promiſe of his age, doing in the figure of a Lambe, the feats of a Lion, he hath indeede better bettred expectation, then you muſt expect of me to tell you how.

 Leo.

He hath an Vnckle heere in Meſſina, wil be very much glad of it.

 Meſſ.

I haue alreadie deliuered him letters, and there appeares much ioy in him, euen ſo much, that ioy could not ſhew it ſelfe modeſt enough, without a badg of bitterneſſe.

 Leo.

Did he breake out into teares?

 Meſſ.

In great meaſure.

 Leo.

A kinde ouerflow of kindneſſe, there are no faces truer, then thoſe that are ſo waſh'd, how much better is it to weepe at ioy, then to ioy at weeping?

 Bea.

I pray you, is Signior Mountant • return'd from the warres, or no?

 Meſſ.

I know none of that name, Lady, there was none ſuch in the armie of any ſort.

 Leon.

What is he that you aske for Neece?

 Hero.

My couſin meanes Signior Benedick of Padua

Meſſ.

O he's return'd, and as pleaſant as euer he was.

 Beat.

He ſet vp his bils here in Meſſina, & challeng'd Cupid at the Flight: and my Vnckles foole reading the Challenge, ſubſcrib'd for Cupid, and challeng'd him at the Burbolt. I pray you, how many hath hee kil'd and eaten in theſe warres? But how many hath he kil'd? for indeed, I promis'd to eate all of his killing.

 Leon.

'Faith Neece, you taxe Signior Benedicke too much, but hee'l be meet with you, I doubt it not.

 Meſſ.

He hath done good ſeruice Lady in theſe wars.

 Beat.

You had muſty victuall, and he hath holpe to ease it: he's a very valiant Trencher-man, hee hath an excellent ſtomacke.

 Meſſ.

And a good ſouldier too Lady.

 Beat.

And a good ſouldier to a Lady. But what is he to a Lord?

 Meſſ.

A Lord to a Lord, a man to a man, ſtuft with all honourable vertues.

 Beat.

It is ſo indeed, he is no leſſe then a ſtuft man: but for the ſtuffing well, we are all mortall.

 Leon.

You muſt not (ſir) miſtake my Neece, there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick, & her: they neuer meet, but there's a skirmiſh of wit between them.

 Bea.

Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our laſt conflict, foure of his fiue wits went halting off, and now is the whole man gouern'd with one: ſo that if hee haue wit enough to keepe himſelfe warme, let him beare it for a difference betweene himſelfe and his horſe: For it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be knowne a reaſonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath euery month a new ſworne brother.

 Meſſ.

I'st poſſible?

 Beat.

Very eaſily poſſible: he weares his faith but as the faſhion of his hat, it euer changes with ye next block.

 Meſſ.

I ſee (Lady) the Gentleman is not in your bookes.

 Bea.

No, and he were, I would burne my ſtudy. But I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young ſquarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the diuell?

 Meſſ.

He is moſt in the company of the right noble Claudio.

Beat.

O Lord, he will hang vpon him like a diſeaſe: he is ſooner caught then the peſtilence, and the taker runs preſently mad. God helpe the noble Claudio, if hee haue caught the Benedict, it will coſt him a thouſand pound ere he be cur'd.

 Meſſ.

I will hold friends with you Lady.

 Bea.

Do good friend.

 Leo.

You'l ne're run mad Neece.

 Bea.

No, not till a hot Ianuary.

 Meſſ.

Don Pedro is approach'd.

 Enter don Pedro, Claudio, Benedicke, Balthaſar, and Iohn the baſtard. Pedro.

Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the faſhion of the world is to auoid coſt, and you encounter it.

 Leon.

Neuer came trouble to my houſe in the likenes of your Grace: for trouble being gone, comfort ſhould remaine: but when you depart from me, ſorrow abides, and happineſſe takes his leaue.

 Pedro.

You embrace your charge too willingly: I thinke this is your daughter.

 Leonato.

Her mother hath many times told me ſo.

 Bened.

Were you in doubt that you askt her?

 Leonato.

Signior Benedicke, no, for then were you a childe.

 Pedro.

You haue it full Benedicke, we may gheſſe by this, what you are, being a man, truely the Lady fathers her ſelfe: be happie Lady, for you are like an honorable father.

 Ben.

If Signior Leonato be her father, ſhe would not haue his head on her ſhoulders for al Meſſina, as like him as ſhe is.

 Beat.

I wonder that you will ſtill be talking, ſignior Benedicke▪ no body markes you.

 Ben.

What my deere Ladie Diſdaine! are you yet liuing?

 Beat.

Is it poſſible Diſdaine ſhould die, while ſhee hath ſuch meete foode to feede it, as Signior Benedicke? Curteſie it ſelfe muſt conuert to Diſdaine, if you come in her preſence.

 Bene.

Then is curteſie a turne-coate, but it is certaine I am loued of all Ladies, onely you excepted: and I would I could finde in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truely I loue none.

 Beat.

A deere happineſſe to women, they would elſe haue beene troubled with a pernitious Su • er, I thanke God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that, I had rather heare my Dog barke at a Crow, than a man ſweare he loues me.

 Bene.

God keepe your Ladiſhip ſtill in that minde, ſo ſome Gentleman or other ſhall ſcape a predeſtinate ſcratcht face.

 Beat.

Scratching could not make it worſe, and 'twere ſuch a face as yours were.

 Bene.

Well, you are a rare Parrat teacher.

 Beat.

A bird of my tongue, is better than a beaſt of your.

 Ben.

I would my horſe had the ſpeed of your tongue, and ſo good a continuer, but keepe your way a Gods name, I haue done.

 Beat.

You alwaies end with a Iades tricke, I know you of old.

 Pedro.

This is the ſumme of all: Leonato, ſignior Claudio, and ſignior Benedicke; my deere friend Leonato, hath inuited you all, I tell him we ſhall ſtay here, at the leaſt a moneth, and he heartily praies ſome occaſion may detaine vs longer: I dare ſweare hee is no hypocrite, but praies from his heart.

 Leon.

If you ſweare, my Lord, you ſhall not be forſworne, let mee bid you welcome, my Lord, being reconciled to the Prince your brother: I owe you all duetie.

 Iohn.

I thanke you, I am not of many words, but I thanke you.

 Leon.

Pleaſe it your grace leade on?

 Pedro.

Your hand Leonato, we will goe together.

 Exeunt. Manet Benedicke and Claudio. Clau.

Benedicke, didſt thou note the daughter of ſignior Leonato?

 Bene.

I noted her not, but I lookt on her.

 Clau.

Is ſhe not a modeſt yong Ladie?

 Bene.

Doe you queſtion me as an honeſt man ſhould doe, for my ſimple true iudgement? or would you haue me ſpeake after my cuſtome, as being a profeſſed tyrant to their ſexe?

 Clau.

No, I pray thee ſpeake in ſober iudgement.

 Bene:

Why yfaith me thinks ſhee's too low for a hie praiſe, too browne for a faire praiſe, and too little for a great praiſe, onely this commendation I can affoord her, that were ſhee other then ſhe is, ſhe were vnhandſome, and being no other, but as ſhe is, I doe not like her.

 Clau.

Thou think'ſt I am in ſport, I pray thee tell me truely how thou lik'ſt her.

 Bene.

Would you buie her, that you enquier after her?

 Clau.

Can the world buie ſuch a iewell?

 Ben.

Yea, and a caſe to put it into, but ſpeake you this with a ſad brow? Or doe you play the flowting iacke, to tell vs Cupid is a good Hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare Carpenter: Come, in what key ſhall a man take you to goe in the ſong?

 Clau.

In mine eie, ſhe is the ſweeteſt Ladie that euer I lookt on.

 Bene.

I can ſee yet without ſpectacles, and I ſee no ſuch matter: there's her coſin, and ſhe were not poſſeſt with a furie, exceedes her as much in beautie, as the firſt of Maie doth the laſt of December: but I hope you haue no intent to turne husband, haue you?

 Clau.

I would ſcarce truſt my ſelfe, though I had ſworne the contrarie, if Hero would be my wife.

 Bene.

Iſt come to this? in faith hath not the world one man but he will weare his cap with ſuſpition? ſhall I neuer ſee a batcheller of three ſcore againe? goe to yfaith, and thou wilt needes thruſt thy necke into a yoke, weare the print of it, and ſigh away ſundaies: looke, don Pedro is returned to ſeeke you.

 Enter don Pedro, Iohn the baſtard. Pedr.

What ſecret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonatoes?

 Bened.

I would your Grace would conſtraine mee to tell.

 Pedro.

I charge thee on thy allegeance.

 Ben.

You heare, Count Claudio, I can be ſecret as a dumbe man, I would haue you thinke ſo (but on my allegiance, marke you this, on my allegiance) hee is in loue, With who? now that is your Graces part: marke how ſhort his anſwere is, with Hero, Leonatoes ſhort daughter.

 Clau.

If this were ſo, ſo were it vttred.

 Bened.

Like the old tale, my Lord, it is not ſo, nor 'twas not ſo: but indeede, God forbid it ſhould be ſo.

 Clau.

If my paſſion change not ſhortly, God forbid it ſhould be otherwiſe.

 Pedro.

Amen, if you loue her, for the Ladie is verie well worthie.

 Clau.

You ſpeake this to fetch me in, my Lord.

 Pedr.

By my troth I ſpeake my thought.

 Clau.

And in faith, my Lord, I ſpoke mine.

 Bened.

And by my two faiths and troths, my Lord, I ſpeake mine.

 Clau.

That I loue her, I feele.

 Pedr.

That ſhe is worthie, I know.

 Bened.

That I neither feele how ſhee ſhould be loued, nor know how ſhee ſhould be worthie, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me, I will die in it at the ſtake.

 Pedr.

Thou waſt euer an obſtinate heretique in the deſpight of Beautie.

 Clau.

And neuer could maintaine his part, but in the force of his will.

 Ben.

That a woman conceiued me, I thanke her: that ſhe brought mee vp, I likewiſe giue her moſt humble thankes: but that I will haue a • echare winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an inuiſible baldricke, all women ſhall pardon me: becauſe I will not do them the wrong to miſtruſt any, I will doe my ſelfe the right to truſt none: and the fine is, (for the which I may goe the finer) I will liue a Batchellor.

 Pedro.

I ſhall ſee thee ere I die, looke pale with loue.

 Bene.

With anger, with ſickneſſe, or with hunger, my Lord, not with loue: proue that euer I looſe more blood with loue, then I will get againe with drinking, picke out mine eyes with a Ballet-makers penne, and hang me vp at the doore of a brothel-houſe for the ſigne of blinde Cupid.

 Pedro.

Well, if euer thou dooſt fall from this faith, thou wilt proue a notable argument.

 Bene.

If I do, hang me in a bottle like a Cat, & ſhoot at me, and he that hit's me, let him be clapt on the ſhoulder, and cal'd Adam.

Pedro.

Well, as time ſhall trie: In time the ſauage Bull doth beare the yoake.

 Bene.

The ſauage bull may, but if euer the ſenſible Benedicke beare it, plucke off the bulles hornes, and ſet them in my forehead, and let me be vildely painted, and in ſuch great Letters as they write, heere is good horſe to hire: let them ſignifie vnder my ſigne, here you may ſee Benedicke the married man.

 Clau.

If this ſhould euer happen, thou wouldſt bee horne mad.

 Pedro.

Nay, if Cupid haue not ſpent all his Quiuer in Venice, thou wilt quake for this ſhortly.

 Bene.

I looke for an earthquake too then.

 Pedro.

Well, you will temporize with the houres, in the meane time, good Signior Benedicke, repaire to Leonatoes, commend me to him, and tell him I will not faile him at ſupper, for indeede he hath made great preparation.

 Bene.

I haue almoſt matter enough in me for ſuch an Embaſſage, and ſo I commit you.

 Clau.

To the tuition of God. From my houſe, if I had it.

 Pedro.

The ſixt of Iuly. Your louing friend, Benedick.

Bene.

Nay mocke not, mocke not; the body of your diſcourſe is ſometime guarded with fragments, and the guardes are but ſlightly baſted on neither, ere you flout old ends any further, examine your conſcience, and ſo I leaue you.

Exit. Clau.

My Liege, your Highneſſe now may doe mee good.

 Pedro. My loue is thine to teach, teach it but how, And thou ſhalt ſee how apt it is to learne Any hard Leſſon that may do thee good. Clau.

Hath Leonato any ſonne my Lord?

 Pedro. No childe but Hero, ſhe's his onely heire. Doſt thou affect her Claudio? Clau. O my Lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look'd vpon her with a ſouldiers eie, That lik'd, but had a rougher taske in hand, Than to driue liking to the name of loue: But now I am return'd, and that warre-thoughts Haue left their places vacant: in their roomes, Come thronging ſoft and delicate deſires, All prompting mee how faire yong Hero is, Saying I lik'd her ere I went to warres. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a louer preſently, And tire the hearer with a booke of words: If thou doſt loue faire Hero, cheriſh it, And I will breake with her: waſt not to this end, That thou beganſt to twiſt ſo fine a ſtory? Clau. How ſweetly doe you miniſter to loue, That know loues griefe by his complexion! But leſt my liking might too ſodaine ſeeme, I would haue ſalu'd it with a longer treatiſe. Ped. What need ye bridge much broder then the flood? The faireſt graunt is the neceſſitie: Looke what will ſerue, is fit: 'tis once, thou loueſt, And I will fit thee with the remedie, I know we ſhall haue reuelling to night, I will aſſume thy part in ſome diſguiſe, And tell faire Hero I am Claudio, And in her boſome Ile vnclaſpe my heart, And take her hearing priſoner with the force And ſtrong incounter of my amorous tale: Then after, to her father will I breake, And the concluſion is, ſhee ſhall be thine, In practiſe let vs put it preſently. Exeunt. Enter Leonato and an old man, brother to Leonato. Leo.

How now brother, where is my coſen your ſon: hath he prouided this muſicke?

 Old.

He is very buſie about it, but brother, I can tell you newes that you yet dreamt not of.

 Lo.

Are they good?

 Old.

As the euents ſtamps them, but they haue • good couer: they▪ ſhew well outward, the Prince and Count Claudio walking in a thick pleached alley in my orchard, were thus ouer-heard by a man of mine: the Prince diſcouered to Claudio that hee loued my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance, and if hee found her accordant, hee meant to take the preſent time by the top, and inſtantly breake with you of it.

 Leo.

Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?

 Old.

A good ſharpe fellow, I will ſend for him, and queſtion him your ſelfe.

 Leo.

No, no; wee will hold it as a dreame, till it appeare it ſelfe: but I will acquaint my daughter withall, that ſhe may be the better prepared for an anſwer, if peraduenture this bee true: goe you and tell her of it: cooſins, you know what you haue to doe, O I crie you mercie friend, goe you with mee and I will vſe your skill, good coſin haue a care this buſie time.

Exeunt. Enter Sir Iohn the Baſtard, and Conrade his companion. Con.

What the good yeere my Lord, why are you thus out of meaſure ſad?

 Ioh.

There is no meaſure in the occaſion that breeds, therefore the ſadneſſe is without limit.

 Con.

You ſhould heare reaſon.

 Iohn.

And when I haue heard it, what bleſſing bringeth it?

 Con.

If not a preſent remedy, yet a patient ſufferance.

 Ioh.

I wonder that thou (being as thou ſaiſt thou art, borne vnder Saturne) goeſt about to apply a morall medicine, to a mortifying miſchiefe: I cannot hide what I am: I muſt bee ſad when I haue cauſe, and ſmile at no mans ieſts, eat when I haue ſtomacke, and wait for no mans leiſure: ſleepe when I am drowſie, and tend on no mans buſineſſe, laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humor.

 Con.

Yea, but you muſt not make the ful ſhow of this, till you may doe it without controllment, you haue of late ſtood out againſt your brother, and hee hath tane you newly into his grace, where it is impoſſible you ſhould take root, but by the faire weather that you make your ſelfe, it is needful that you frame the ſeaſon for your owne harueſt.

 Iohn.

I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a roſe in his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be diſdain'd of all, then to faſhion a carriage to rob loue from any: in this (though I cannot be ſaid to be a flattering honeſt man) it muſt not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine, I am truſted with a muſſell, and enfranchiſde with a clog, therefore I haue decreed, not to ſing in my cage: if I had my mouth, I would bite: if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the meane time, let me be that I am, and ſeeke not to alter me.

 Con.

Can you make no vſe of your diſcontent?

 Iohn. I will make all vſe of it, for I vſe it onely. Who comes here? what newes Borachio? Enter Borachio. Bor.

I came yonder from a great ſupper, the Prince your brother is royally entertained by Leonato, and I can giue you intelligence of an intended marriage.

 Iohn.

Will it ſerue for any Modell to build miſchiefe on? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himſelfe to vnquietneſſe?

 Bor.

Mary it is your brothers right hand.

 Iohn.

Who, the moſt exquiſite Claudio?

 Bor.

Euen he.

 Iohn.

A proper ſquier, and who, and who, which way lookes he?

 Bor.

Mary on Hero, the daughter and Heire of Leonato.

Iohn.

A very forward March-chicke, how came you to this?

 Bor.

Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was ſmoaking a muſty roome, comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand in ſad conference: I whipt behind the Arras, and there heard it agreed vpon, that the Prince ſhould wooe Hero for himſelfe, and hauing obtain'd her, giue her to Count Claudio.

Iohn.

Come, come, let vs thither, this may proue food to my diſpleaſure, that young ſtart-vp hath all the glorie of my ouerthrow: if I can croſſe him any way, I bleſſe my ſelfe euery way, you are both ſure, and will aſſiſt mee?

 Conr.

To the death my Lord.

 Iohn.

Let vs to the great ſupper, their cheere is the greater that I am ſubdued, would the Cooke were of my minde: ſhall we goe proue whats to be done?

 Bor.

Wee'll wait vpon your Lordſhip.

 Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Enter Leonato, his brother, his wife, Hero his daughter, and Beatrice his neece, and a kinſman. Leonato.

Was not Count Iohn here at ſupper?

 Brother.

I ſaw him not.

 Beatrice.

How tartly that Gentleman lookes, I neuer can ſee him, but I am heart-burn'd an howre after.

 Hero.

He is of a very melancholy diſpoſition.

 Beatrice.

Hee were an excellent man that were made iuſt in the mid-way betweene him and Benedicke, the one is too like an image and ſaies nothing, and the other too like my Ladies eldeſt ſonne, euermore tatling.

 Leon.

Then halfe ſignior Benedicks tongue in Count Iohns mouth, and halfe Count Iohns melancholy in Signior Benedicks face.

 Beat.

With a good legge, and a good foot vnckle, and money enough in his purſe, ſuch a man would winne any woman in the world, if he could get her good will.

 Leon.

By my troth Neece, thou wilt neuer get thee a husband, if thou be ſo ſhrewd of thy tongue.

 Brother.

Infaith ſhee's too curſt.

 Beat.

Too curſt is more then curſt, I ſhall leſſen Gods ſending that way: for it is ſaid, God ſends a curſt Cow ſhort hornes, but to a Cow too curſt he ſends none.

 Leon.

So, by being too curſt, God will ſend you no hornes.

 Beat.

Iuſt, if he ſend me no husband, for the which bleſſing, I am at him vpon my knees euery morning and euening: Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face, I had rather lie in the woollen.

 Leonato.

You may light vpon a husband that hath no beard.

 Batrice.

What ſhould I doe with him? dreſſe him in my apparell, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? he that hath a beard, is more then a youth: and he that hath no beard, is leſſe then a man: and hee that is more then a youth, is not for mee: and he that is leſſe then a man, I am not for him: therefore I will euen take ſixepence in earneſt of the Berrord, and leade his Apes into hell.

 Leon.

Well then, goe you into hell.

 Beat.

No, but to the gate, and there will the Deuill meete mee like an old Cuckold with hornes on his head, and ſay, get you to heauen Beatrice, get you to heauen, heere's no place for you maids, ſo deliuer I vp my Apes, and away to S. Peter: for the heauens, hee ſhewes mee where the Batchellers ſit, and there liue wee as merry as the day is long.

 Brother.

Well neece, I truſt you will be rul'd by your father.

 Beatrice.

Yes faith, it is my coſens dutie to make curtſie, and ſay, as it pleaſe you: but yet for all that coſin, let him be a handſome fellow, or elſe make an other curſie, and ſay, father, as it pleaſe me.

 Leonato.

Well neece, I hope to ſee you one day ſitted with a husband.

 Beatrice.

Not till God make men of ſome other mettall then earth, would it not grieue a woman to be ouer-maſtred with a peece of valiant duſt? to make account of her life to a clod of waiward marle? no vnckle, ile none: Adams ſonnes are my brethren, and truly I hold it a ſinne to match in my kinred.

 Leon.

Daughter, remember what I told you, if the Prince doe ſolicit you in that kinde, you know your anſwere.

 Beatrice.

The fault will be in the muſicke coſin, if you be not woed in good time: if the Prince bee too important, tell him there is meaſure in euery thing, & ſo dance out the anſwere, for heare me Hero, wooing, wedding, & repenting, is as a Scotch ijgge, a meaſure, and a cinque-pace: the firſt ſuite is hot and haſty like a Scotch ijgge (and full as fantaſticall) the wedding manerly modeſt, (as a meaſure) full of ſtate & aunchentry, and then comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faſter and faſter, till he ſinkes into his graue.

 Leonata.

Coſin you apprehend paſſing ſhrewdly.

 Beatrice.

I haue a good eye vnckle, I can ſee a Church by daylight.

 Leon.

The reuellers are entring brother, make good roome.

 Enter Prince, Pedro, Claudio, and Benedicke, and Balthaſar, or dumbe Iohn, Maskers with a drum. Pedro.

Lady, will you walke about with your friend?

 Hero.

So you walke ſoftly, and looke ſweetly, and ſay nothing, I am yours for the walke, and eſpecially when I walke away.

 Pedro.

With me in your company.

 Hero.

I may ſay ſo when I pleaſe.

 Pedro.

And when pleaſe you to ſay ſo?

 Hero.

When I like your fauour, for God defend the Lute ſhould be like the caſe.

 Pedro.

My viſor is Philemons roofe, within the houſe is Loue.

 Hero.

Why then your viſor ſhould be thatcht.

 Pedro.

Speake low if you ſpeake Loue.

 Bene.

Well, I would you did like me.

 Mar.

So would not I for your owne ſake, for I haue manie ill qualities.

 Bene.

Which is one?

 Mar.

I ſay my prayers alowd.

 Ben.

I loue you the better, the hearers may cry Amen.

 Mar.

God match me with a good dauncer.

 Balt.

Amen.

 Mar.

And God keepe him out of my ſight when the daunce is done: anſwer Clarke.

 Balt.

No more words the Clarke is anſwered.

 Vrſula.

I know you well enough, you are Signior Anthonio.

Anth.

At a word, I am not.

 Vrſula.

I know you by the wagling of your head.

 Anth.

To tell you true, I counterfet him.

 Vrſu.

You could neuer doe him ſo ill well, vnleſſe you were the very man: here's his dry hand vp & down, you are he, you are he.

 Anth.

At a word I am not.

 Ʋrſula.

Come, come, doe you thinke I doe not know you by your excellent wit? can vertue hide it ſelfe? goe to, mumme, you are he, graces will appeare, and there's an end.

 Beat.

Will you not tell me who told you ſo?

 Bene.

No, you ſhall pardon me.

 Beat.

Nor will you not tell me who you are?

 Bened.

Not now.

 Beat.

That I was diſdainfull, and that I had my good wit out of the hundred merry tales: well, this was Signior Benedicke that ſaid ſo.

 Bene.

What's he?

 Beat.

I am ſure you know him well enough.

 Bene.

Not I, beleeue me.

 Beat.

Did he neuer make you laugh?

 Bene.

I pray you what is he?

 Beat.

Why he is the Princes ieaſter, a very dull foole, onely his gift is, in deuiſing impoſsible ſlanders, none but Libertines delight in him, and the commendation is not in his witte, but in his villanie, for hee both pleaſeth men and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him: I am ſure he is in the Fleet, I would he had boorded me.

 Bene.

When I know the Gentleman, Ile tell him what you ſay.

 Beat.

Do, do, hee'l but breake a compariſon or two on me, which peraduenture (not markt, or not laugh'd at) ſtrikes him into melancholly, and then there's a Partridge wing ſaued, for the foole will eate no ſupper that night. We muſt follow the Leaders.

 Ben.

In euery good thing.

 Bea.

Nay, if they leade to any ill, I will leaue them at the next turning.

Exeunt. Muſicke for the dance. Iohn.

Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawne her father to breake with him about it: the Ladies follow her, and but one viſor remaines.

 Borachio.

And that is Claudio, I know him by his bearing.

 Iohn.

Are not you ſignior Benedicke?

 Clau.

You know me well, I am hee.

 Iohn.

Signior, you are verie neere my Brother in his loue, he is enamor'd on Hero, I pray you diſſwade him from her, ſhe is no equall for his birth: you may do the part of an honeſt man in it.

 Claudio.

How know you he loues her?

 Iohn.

I heard him ſweare his affection,

 Bor.

So did I too, and he ſwore he would marrie her to night.

 Iohn.

Come, let vs to the banquet.

Ex. manet Clau. Clau. Thus anſwere I in name of Benedicke, But heare theſe ill newes with the eares of Claudio: 'Tis certaine ſo, the Prince woes for himſelfe: Friendſhip is conſtant in all other things, Saue in the Office and affaires of loue: Therefore all hearts in loue vſe their owne tongues. Let euerie eye negotiate for it ſelfe, And truſt no Agent: for beautie is a witch, Againſt whoſe charmes, faith melteth into blood: This is an accident of hourely proofe, Which I miſtruſted not. Farewell therefore Hero. Enter Benedicke. Ben.

Count Claudio.

Clau.

Yea, the ſame.

 Ben.

Come, will you go with me?

 Clau.

Whither?

 Ben.

Euen to the next Willow, about your own buſineſſe, Count. What faſhion will you weare the Garland off? About your necke, like an Vſurers chaine? Or vnder your arme, like a Lieutenants ſcarfe? You muſt weare it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.

Clau:

I wiſh him ioy of her.

 Ben.

Why that's ſpoken like an honeſt Drouier, ſo they ſel Bullockes: but did you thinke the Prince wold haue ſerued you thus?

 Clau.

I pray you leaue me.

 Ben.

Ho now you ſtrike like the blindman, 'twas the boy that ſtole your meate, and you'l beat the poſt.

 Clau.

If it will not be, Ile leaue you.

Exit. Ben.

Alas poore hurt fowle, now will he creepe into ſedges: But that my Ladie Beatrice ſhould know me, & not know me: the Princes foole! Hah? It may be I goe vnder that title, becauſe I am merrie: yea but ſo I am apt to do my ſelfe wrong: I am not ſo reputed, it is the baſe (though bitter) diſpoſition of Beatrice, that putt's the world into her perſon, and ſo giues me out: well, Ile be reuenged as I may.

 Enter the Prince. Pedro.

Now Signior, where's the Count, did you ſee him?

 Bene.

Troth my Lord, I haue played the part of Lady Fame, I found him heere as melancholy as a Lodge in a Warren, I told him, and I thinke, told him true, that your grace had got the will of this young Lady, and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forſaken, or to binde him a rod, as being worthy to be whipt.

 Pedro.

To be whipt, what's his fault?

 Bene.

The ſlat tranſgreſſion of a Schoole-boy, who being ouer-ioyed with finding a birds neſt, ſhewes it his companion, and he ſteales it.

 Pedro.

Wilt thou make a truſt, a tranſgreſſion? the tranſgreſſion is in the ſtealer.

 Ben.

Yet it had not beene amiſſe the rod had beene made, and the garland too, for the garland he might haue worne himſelfe, and the rod hee might haue beſtowed on you, who (as I take it) haue ſtolne his birds neſt.

 Pedro.

I will but teach them to ſing, and reſtore them to the owner.

 Bene.

If their ſinging anſwer your ſaying▪ by my faith you ſay honeſtly.

 Pedro.

The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrell to you, the Gentleman that daunſt with her, told her ſhee is much wrong'd by you.

 Bene.

O ſhe miſuſde me paſt the indurance of a block: an oake but with one greene leafe on it, would haue anſwered her: my very viſor began to aſſume life, and ſcold with her: ſhee told mee, not thinking I had beene my ſelfe, that I was the Princes Ieſter, and that I was duller then a great thaw, hu • ling ieſt vpon ieſt, with ſuch impoſſible conueiance vpon me, that I ſtood like a man at a marke, with a whole army ſhooting at me: ſhee ſpeakes poynyards, and euery word ſtabbes: if her breath were as terrible as terminations, there were no liuing neere her, ſhe would infect to the north ſtarre: I would not marry her, though ſhe were indowed with all that Adam had left him before he tranſgreſt, ſhe would haue made Hercules haue turnd ſpit, yea, and haue cleft his club to make the fire too: come, talke not of her, you ſhall finde her the infernall Ate in good apparell. I would to God ſome ſcholler would coniure her, for certainely while ſhe is heere, a man may liue as quiet in hell, as in a ſanctuary, and people ſinne vpon purpoſe, becauſe they would goe thither, ſo indeed all diſquiet, horror, and perturbation followes her.

 Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero. Pedro.

Looke heere ſhe comes.

 Bene.

Will your Grace command mee any ſeruice to the worlds end? I will goe on the ſlighteſt arrand now to the Antypodes that you can deuiſe to ſend me on: I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furtheſt inch of Aſia: bring you the length of Preſter Iohns foot: fetch you a hayre off the great Chams beard: doe you any embaſſage to the Pigmies, rather then hould three words conference, with this Harpy: you haue no employment for me?

 Pedro.

None, but to deſire your good company.

 Bene.

O God ſir, heeres a diſh I loue not, I cannot indure this Lady tongue.

Exit. Pedr.

Come Lady, come, you haue loſt the heart of Signior Benedicke.

Beatr.

Indeed my Lord, hee lent it me a while, and I gaue him vſe for it, a double heart for a ſingle one, marry once before he wonne it of mee, with falſe dice, therefore your Grace may well ſay I haue loſt it.

 Pedro.

You haue put him downe Lady, you haue put him downe.

 Beat.

So I would not he ſhould do me, my Lord, leſt I ſhould prooue the mother of fooles: I haue brought Count Claudio, whom you ſent me to ſeeke.

 Pedro.

Why how now Count, wherfore are you ſad?

 Claud.

Not ſad my Lord.

 Pedro.

How then? ſicke?

 Claud.

Neither, my Lord.

 Beat.

The Count is neither ſad, nor ſicke, nor merry, nor well: but ciuill Count, ciuill as an Orange, and ſomething of a iealous complexion.

 Pedro.

Ifaith Lady, I thinke your blazon to be true, though Ile be ſworne, if hee be ſo, his conceit is falſe: heere Claudio, I haue wooed in thy name, and faire Hero is won, I haue broke with her father, and his good will obtained, name the day of marriage, and God giue thee ioy.

 Leona.

Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, & all grace ſay, Amen to it.

 Beatr.

Speake Count, tis your Qu.

 Claud.

Silence is the perfecteſt Herault of ioy, I were but little happy if I could ſay, how much? Lady, as you are mine, I am yours, I giue away my ſelfe for you, and doat vpon the exchange.

 Beat.

Speake coſin, or (if you cannot) ſtop his mouth with a kiſſe, and let not him ſpeake neither.

 Pedro.

Infaith Lady you haue a merry heart.

 Beatr.

Yea my Lord I thanke it, poore foole it keepes on the windy ſide of Care, my cooſin tells him in his eare that he is in my heart.

 Clau.

And ſo ſhe doth cooſin.

 Beat.

Good Lord for alliance: thus goes euery one to the world but I, and I am ſun-burn'd, I may ſit in a corner and cry, heigh ho for a husband.

 Pedro.

Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

 Beat.

I would rather haue one of your fathers getting: hath your Grace ne're a brother like you? your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

 Prince.

Will you haue me? Lady.

 Beat.

No, my Lord, vnleſſe I might haue another for working-daies, your Grace is too coſtly to weare euerie day: but I beſeech your Grace pardon mee, I was borne to ſpeake all mirth, and no matter.

 Prince.

Your ſilence moſt offends me, and to be merry, beſt becomes you, for out of queſtion, you were born in a merry howre.

 Beatr.

No ſure my Lord, my Mother cried, but then there was a ſtarre daunſt, and vnder that was I borne: coſins God giue you ioy.

 Leonato.

Neece, will you looke to thoſe rhings I told you of?

 Beat.

I cry you mercy Vncle, by your Graces pardon.

 Exit Beatrice. Prince.

By my troth a pleaſant ſpirited Lady.

 Leon.

There's little of the melancholy element in her my Lord, ſhe is neuer ſad, but when ſhe ſleepes, and not euer ſad then: for I haue heard my daughter ſay, ſhe hath often dreamt of vnhappineſſe, and wakt her ſelfe with laughing.

 Pedro.

Shee cannot indure to heare tell of a husband.

 Leonato.

O, by no meanes, ſhe mocks all her wooers out of ſuite.

 Prince.

She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

Leonato.

O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a weeke married, they would talke themſelues madde.

 Prince.

Counte Claudio, when meane you to goe to Church?

 Clau.

To morrow my Lord, Time goes on crutches, till Loue haue all his rites.

 Leonata.

Not till monday, my deare ſonne, which is hence a iuſt ſeuen night, and a time too briefe too, to haue all things anſwer minde.

 Prince.

Come, you ſhake the head at ſo long a breathing, but I warrant thee Claudio, the time ſhall not goe dully by vs, I will in the interim, vndertake one of Hercules labors, which is, to bring Signior Benedicke and the Lady Beatrice into a mountaine of affection, th' one with th' other, I would faine haue it a match, and I doubt not but to faſhion it, if you three will but miniſter ſuch aſſiſtance as I ſhall giue you direction.

 Leonata.

My Lord, I am for you, though it coſt mee ten nights watchings.

 Claud.

And I my Lord.

 Prin.

And you to gentle Hero?

 Hero.

I will doe any modeſt office, my Lord, to helpe my coſin to a good husband.

 Prin.

And Benedick is not the vnhopefulleſt husband that I know: thus farre can I praiſe him, hee is of a noble ſtraine, of approued valour, and confirm'd honeſty, I will teach you how to humour your coſin, that ſhee ſhall fall in loue with Benedicke, and I, with your two helpes, will ſo practiſe on Benedicke, that in deſpight of his quicke wit, and his queaſie ſtomacke, hee ſhall fall in loue with Beatrice: if wee can doe this, Cupid is no longer an Archer, his glory ſhall be ours, for wee are the onely loue-gods, goe in with me, and I will tell you my drift.

Exit. Enter Iohn and Borachio. Ioh.

It is ſo, the Count Claudio ſhal marry the daughter of Leonato.

Bora.

Yea my Lord, but I can croſſe it.

 Iohn.

Any barre, any croſſe, any impediment, will be medicinable to me, I am ſicke in diſpleaſure to him, and whatſoeuer comes athwart his affection, ranges euenly with mine, how canſt thou croſſe this marriage?

 Bor.

Not honeſtly my Lord, but ſo couertly, that no diſhoneſty ſhall appeare in me.

 Iohn.

Shew me breefely how.

 Bor.

I thinke I told your Lordſhip a yeere ſince, how much I am in the fauour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.

Iohn.

I remember.

 Bor.

I can at any vnſeaſonable inſtant of the night, appoint her to look out at her Ladies chamber window.

 Iohn.

What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

 Bor.

The poyſon of that lies in you to temper, goe you to the Prince your brother, ſpare not to tell him, that hee hath wronged his Honor in marrying the renowned Claudio, whoſe eſtimation do you mightily hold vp, to a contaminated ſtale, ſuch a one as Hero.

Iohn.

What proofe ſhall I make of that?

 Bor.

Proofe enough, to miſuſe the Prince, to vexe Claudio, to vndoe Hero, and kill Leonato, looke you for any other iſſue?

 Iohn.

Onely to deſpight them, I will endeauour any thing.

 Bor.

Goe then, finde me a meete howre, to draw on Pedro and the Count Claudio alone, tell them that you know that Hero loues me, intend a kinde of zeale both to the Prince and Claudio (as in a loue of your brothers honor who hath made this match) and his friends reputation, who is thus like to be coſen'd with the ſemblance of a maid, that you haue diſcouer'd thus: they will ſcarcely beleeue this without triall: offer them inſtances which ſhall beare no leſſe likelihood, than to ſee mee at her chamber window, heare me call Margaret, Hero; heare Margaret terme me Claudio, and bring them to ſee this the very night before the intended wedding, for in the meane time, I will ſo faſhion the matter, that Hero ſhall be abſent, and there ſhall appeare ſuch ſeeming truths of Heroes diſloyaltie, that iealouſie ſhall be cal'd aſſurance, and all the preparation ouerthrowne.

 Iohn.

Grow this to what aduerſe iſſue it can, I will put it in practiſe: be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thouſand ducates.

 Bor.

Be thou conſtant in the accuſation, and my cunning ſhall not ſhame me.

 Iohn.

I will preſentlie goe learne their day of marriage.

Exit. Enter Benedicke alone. Bene.

Boy.

 Boy.

Signior.

 Bene.

In my chamber window lies a booke, bring it hither to me in the orchard.

 Boy.

I am heere already ſir.

Exit. Bene.

I know that, but I would haue thee hence, and heere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man ſeeing how much another man is a foole, when he dedicates his behauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at ſuch ſhallow follies in others, become the argument of his owne ſcorne, by falling in loue, & ſuch a man is Claudio, I haue known when there was no muſicke with him but the drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare the taber and the pipe: I haue knowne when he would haue walkt ten mile afoot, to ſee a good armor, and now will he lie ten nights awake caruing the faſhion of a new dublet: he was wont to ſpeake plaine, & to the purpoſe (like an honeſt man & a ſouldier) and now is he turn'd orthography, his words are a very fantaſticall banquet, iuſt ſo many ſtrange diſhes: may I be ſo conuerted, & ſee with theſe eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not bee ſworne, but loue may transforme me to an oyſter, but Ile take my oath on it, till he haue made an oyſter of me, he ſhall neuer make me ſuch a foole: one woman is faire, yet I am well: another is wiſe, yet I am well: another vertuous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman▪ one woman ſhall not come in my grace: rich ſhee ſhall be, that's certaine: wiſe, or Ile none: vertuous, or Ile neuer cheapen her: faire, or Ile neuer looke on her: milde, or come not neere me: Noble, or not for an Angell: of good diſcourſe: an excellent Muſitian, and her haire ſhal be of what colour it pleaſe God, hah! the Prince and Monſieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor.

 Enter Prince, Leonato, Claudio, and Iacke Wilſon. Prin.

Come, ſhall we heare this muſicke?

 Claud. Yea my good Lord: how ſtill the euening is, As huſht on purpoſe to grace harmonie. Prin.

See you where Benedicke hath hid himſelfe?

 Clau. O very well my Lord: the muſicke ended, Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth. Prince.

Come Balthaſar, wee'll heare that ſong again.

 Balth. O good my Lord, taxe not ſo bad a voyce, To ſlander muſicke any more then once. Prin. It is the witneſſe ſtill of excellency, To ſlander Muſicke any more then once. Prince. It is the witneſſe ſtill of excellencie, To put a ſtrange face on his owne perfection, I pray thee ſing, and let me woe no more. Balth. Becauſe you talke of wooing, I will ſing, Since many a wooer doth commence his ſuit, To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes, Yet will he ſweare he loues. Prince. Nay pray thee come, Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, Doe it in notes. Balth. Note this before my notes, Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting. Prince. Why theſe are very crotchets that he ſpeaks, Note notes forſooth, and nothing. Bene.

Now diuine aire, now is his ſoule rauiſht, is it not ſtrange that ſheepes guts ſhould hale ſoules out of mens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all's done.

 The Song. Sigh no more Ladies, ſigh no more, Men were deceiuers euer, One foote in Sea and one on ſhore, To one thing conſtant neuer, Then ſigh not ſo, but let them goe, And be you blithe and bonnis, Conuerting all your ſounds of woe, Into hey nony nony. Sing no more ditties, ſing no moe, Of dumps ſo dull and heauy, The fraud of men were euer ſo, Since ſummer firſt was leauy, Then ſigh not ſo, &c. Prince.

By my troth a good ſong.

 Balth.

And an ill ſinger, my Lord.

 Prince.

Ha, no, no faith, thou ſingſt well enough for a ſhift.

 Ben.

And he had been a dog that ſhould haue howld thus, they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God his bad voyce bode no miſchiefe, I had as liefe haue heard the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come after it.

 Prince.

Yea marry, doſt thou heare Balthaſar? I pray thee get vs ſome excellent muſick: for to morrow night we would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window.

 Balth.

The beſt I can, my Lord.

Exit Balthaſar. Prince.

Do ſo, farewell. Come hither Leonato, what was it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice was in loue with ſignior Benedicke?

 Cla.

O I, ſtalke on, ſtalke on, the foule ſits. I did neuer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man.

 Leon.

No nor I neither, but moſt wonderful, that ſhe ſhould ſo dote on Signior Benedicke, whom ſhee hath in all outward behauiours ſeemed euer to abhorre.

 Bene.

Is't poſſible? ſits the winde in that corner?

 Leo.

By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to thinke of it, but that ſhe loues him with an inraged affection, it is paſt the infinite of thought.

 Prince.

May be ſhe doth but counterfeit.

 Claud.

Faith like enough.

 Leon.

O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counterfeit of paſſion, came ſo neere the life of paſſion as ſhe diſcouers it.

 Prince.

Why what effects of paſſion ſhewes ſhe?

 Claud.

Baite the hooke well, this fiſh will bite.

 Leon.

What effects my Lord? ſhee will ſit you, you heard my daughter tell you how.

 Clau.

She did indeed.

 Prin.

How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I would haue thought her ſpirit had beene inuincible againſt all aſſaults of affection.

 Leo.

I would haue ſworne it had, my Lord, eſpecially againſt Benedicke.

Bene.

I ſhould thinke this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow ſpeakes it: knauery cannot ſure hide himſelfe in ſuch reuerence.

 Claud.

He hath tane th' infection, hold it vp.

 Prince.

Hath ſhee made her affection known to Benedicke?

Leonato.

No, and ſweares ſhe neuer will, that's her torment.

 Claud.

'Tis true indeed, ſo your daughter ſaies: ſhall I, ſaies ſhe, that haue ſo oft encountred him with ſcorne, write to him that I loue him?

 Leo.

This ſaies ſhee now when ſhee is beginning to write to him, for ſhee'll be vp twenty times a night, and there will ſhe ſit in her ſmocke, till ſhe haue writ a ſheet of paper: my daughter tells vs all.

 Clau.

Now you talke of a ſheet of paper, I remember a pretty ieſt your daughter told vs of.

 Leon.

O when ſhe had writ it, & was reading it ouer, ſhe found Benedicke and Beatrice betweene the ſheete.

 Clau.

That.

 Leon.

O ſhe tore the letter into a thouſand halfpence, raild at her ſelf, that ſhe ſhould be ſo immodeſt to write, to one that ſhee knew would flout her: I meaſure him, ſaies ſhe, by my owne ſpirit, for I ſhould flout him if hee writ to mee, yea though I loue him, I ſhould.

 Clau.

Then downe vpon her knees ſhe falls, weepes, ſobs, beates her heart, teares her hayre, praies, curſes, O ſweet Benedicke, God giue me patience.

 Leon.

She doth indeed, my daughter ſaies ſo, and the extaſie hath ſo much ouerborne her, that my daughter is ſomtime afeard ſhe will doe a deſperate out-rage to her ſelfe, it is very true.

 Princ.

It were good that Benedicke knew of it by ſome other, if ſhe will not diſcouer it.

 Clau.

To what end? he would but make a ſport of it, and torment the poore Lady worſe.

 Prin.

And he ſhould, it were an almes to hang him, ſhee's an excellent ſweet Lady, and (out of all ſuſpition,) ſhe is vertuous.

 Claudio.

And ſhe is exceeding wiſe.

 Prince.

In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke.

Leon.

O my Lord, wiſedome and bloud combating in ſo tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud hath the victory, I am ſorry for her, as I haue iuſt cauſe, being her Vncle, and her Guardian.

 Prince.

I would ſhee had beſtowed this dotage on mee, I would haue daft all other reſpects, and made her halfe my ſelfe: I pray you tell Benedicke of it, and heare what he will ſay.

 Leon.

Were it good thinke you?

 Clau.

Hero thinkes ſurely ſhe wil die, for ſhe ſaies ſhe will die, if hee loue her not, and ſhee will die ere ſhee make her loue knowne, and ſhe will die if hee wooe her, rather than ſhee will bate one breath of her accuſtomed croſſeneſſe.

 Prin.

She doth well, if ſhe ſhould make tender of her loue, 'tis very poſſible hee'l ſcorne it, for the man (as you know all) hath a contemptible ſpirit.

 Clau.

He is a very proper man.

 Prin.

He hath indeed a good outward happines.

 Clau.

'Fore God, and in my minde very wiſe.

 Prin.

He doth indeed ſhew ſome ſparkes that are like wit.

 Leon.

And I take him to be valiant.

 Prin.

As Hector, I aſſure you, and in the managing of quarrels you may ſee hee is wiſe, for either hee auoydes them with great diſcretion, or vndertakes them with a Chriſtian-like feare.

 Leon.

If hee doe feare God, a muſt neceſſarilie keepe peace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into a quarrell with feare and trembling.

 Prin.

And ſo will he doe, for the man doth fear God, howſoeuer it ſeemes not in him, by ſome large ieaſts hee will make: well, I am ſorry for your niece, ſhall we goe ſee Benedicke, and tell him of her loue,

 Claud.

Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it out with good counſell.

 Leon.

Nay that's impoſſible, ſhe may weare her heart out firſt.

 Prin.

Well, we will heare further of it by your daughter, let it coole the while, I loue Benedicke well, and I could wiſh he would modeſtly examine himſelfe, to ſee how much he is vnworthy to haue ſo good a Lady.

 Leon.

My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready.

 Clau.

If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuer truſt my expectation.

 Prin.

Let there be the ſame Net ſpread for her, and that muſt your daughter and her gentlewoman carry: the ſport will be, when they hold one an opinion of anothers dotage, and no ſuch matter, that's the Scene that I would ſee, which will be meerely a dumbe ſhew: let vs ſend her to call him into dinner.

Exeunt. Bene.

This can be no tricke, the conference was ſadly borne, they haue the truth of this from Hero, they ſeeme to pittie the Lady: it ſeemes her affections haue the full bent: loue me? why it muſt be requited: I heare how I am cenſur'd, they ſay I will beare my ſelfe proudly, if I perceiue the loue come from her: they ſay too, that ſhe will rather die than giue any ſigne of affection: I did neuer thinke to marry, I muſt not ſeeme proud, happy are they that heare their detractions, and can put them to mending: they ſay the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can beare them witneſſe: and vertuous, tis ſo, I cannot reprooue it, and wiſe, but for louing me, by my troth it is no addition to her witte, nor no great argument of her folly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chance haue ſome odde quirkes and remnants of witte broken on mee, becauſe I haue rail'd ſo long againſt marriage: but doth not the appetite alter? a man loues the meat in his youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quips and ſentences, and theſe paper bullets of the braine awe a man from the careere of his humour? No, the world muſt be peopled. When I ſaid I would die a batcheler, I did not think I ſhould liue till I were maried, here comes Beatrice: by this day, ſhee's a faire Lady, I doe ſpie ſome markes of loue in her.

 Enter Beatrice. Beat.

Againſt my wil I am ſent to bid you come in to dinner.

 Bene.

Faire Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines.

 Beat.

I tooke no more paines for thoſe thankes, then you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I would not haue come.

 Bene.

You take pleaſure then in the meſſage.

 Beat.

Yea iuſt ſo much as you may take vpon a kniues point, and choake a daw withall: you haue no ſtomacke ſignior, fare you well.

Exit. Bene.

Ha, againſt my will I am ſent to bid you come into dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tooke no more paines for thoſe thankes then you tooke paines to thanke me, that's as much as to ſay, any paines that I take for you is as eaſie as thankes: if I do not take pitty of her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a Iew, I will goe get her picture.

Exit.
Actus Tertius. Enter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrſula. Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour, There ſhalt thou finde my Coſin Beatrice, Propoſing with the Prince and Claudio, Whiſper her eare, and tell her I and Vrſula, Walke in the Orchard, and our whole diſcourſe Is all of her, ſay that thou ouer-heardſt vs, And bid her ſteale into the pleached bower, Where hony-ſuckles ripened by the ſunne, Forbid the ſunne to enter: like fauourites, Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride, Againſt that power that bred it, there will ſhe hide her, To liſten our purpoſe, this is thy office, Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone. Marg.

Ile make her come I warrant you preſently.

 Hero. Now Vrſula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley vp and downe, Our talke muſt onely be of Benedicke, When I doe name him, let it be thy part, To praiſe him more then euer man did merit, My talke to thee muſt be how Benedicke Is ſicke in loue with Beatrice: of this matter, Is little Cupids craſty arrow made, That onely wounds by heare-ſay: now begin, Enter Beatrice. For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs Cloſe by the ground, to heare our conference. Vrſ. The pleaſant'ſt angling is to ſee the fiſh Cut with her golden ores the ſiluer ſtreame, And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite: So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now, Is couched in the wood-bine couerture, Feare you not my part of the Dialogue. Her. Then go we neare her that her eare looſe nothing, Of the falſe ſweete baite that we lay for it: No truely Vrſula, ſhe is too diſdainfull, I know her ſpirits are as coy and wilde, As Haggerds of the rocke. Ʋrſula. But are you ſure, That Benedicke loues Beatrice ſo intirely? Her.

So ſaies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord.

 Vrſ.

And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?

 Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it, But I perſwaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke, To wiſh him wraſtle with affection, And neuer to let Beatrice know of it. Vrſula. Why did you ſo, doth not the Gentleman Deſerue as full as fortunate a bed, As euer Beatrice ſhall couch vpon? Hero. O God of loue! I know he doth deſerue, As much as may be yeelded to a man: But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart, Of prowder ſtuffe then that of Beatrice: Diſdaine and Scorne ride ſparkling in her eyes, Miſ-prizing what they looke on, and her wit Values it ſelfe ſo highly, that to her All matter elſe ſeemes weake: ſhe cannot loue, Nor take no ſhape nor proiect of affection, Shee is ſo ſelfe indeared. Vrſula. Sure I thinke ſo, And therefore certainely it were not good She knew his loue, left ſhe make ſport at it. Hero. Why you ſpeake truth, I neuer yet ſaw man, How wiſe, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd. But ſhe would ſpell him backward: if faire fac'd, She would ſweare the gentleman ſhould be her ſiſter: If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke, Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed: If low, an agot very vildlie cut: If ſpeaking, why a vane blowne with all windes: If ſilent, why a blocke moued with none. So turnes ſhe euery man the wrong ſide out, And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that Which ſimpleneſſe and merit purchaſeth. Vrſu.

Sure, ſure, ſuch carping is not commendable.

 Hero. No, not to be ſo odde, and from all faſhions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable, But who dare tell her ſo? if I ſhould ſpeake, She would mocke me into ayre, O ſhe would laugh me Out of my ſelfe, preſſe me to death with wit, Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire, Conſume away in ſighes, waſte inwardly: It were a better death, to die with mockes, Which is as bad as die with tickling. Ʋrſu.

Yet tell her of it, heare what ſhee will ſay.

 Hero. No, rather I will goe to Benedicke, And counſaile him to fight againſt his paſſion, And truly Ile deuiſe ſome honeſt ſlanders, To ſtaine my coſin with, one doth not know, How much an ill word may impoiſon liking. Ʋrſu. O doe not doe your coſin ſuch a wrong, She cannot be ſo much without true iudgement, Hauing ſo ſwift and excellent a wit As ſhe is priſde to haue, as to refuſe So rare a Gentleman as ſignior Benedicke. Hero. He is the onely man of Italy, Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio. Vrſu. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke, For ſhape, for bearing argument and valour, Goes formoſt in report through Italy. Hero.

Indeed he hath an excellent good name.

 Ʋrſu. His excellence did earne it ere he had it: When are you married Madame? Hero. Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in, Ile ſhew thee ſome attires, and haue thy counſell, Which is the beſt to furniſh me to morrow. Vrſu. Shee's tane I warrant you, We haue caught her Madame? Hero. If it proue ſo, then louing goes by haps, Some Cupid kills with arrowes, ſome with traps. Exit. Beat. What fire is in mine eares? can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and ſcorne ſo much? Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adew, No glory liues behinde the backe of ſuch. And Benedicke, loue on, I will requite thee, Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand: If thou doſt loue, my kindeneſſe ſhall incite thee To binde our loues vp in a holy band. For others ſay thou doſt deſerue, and I Beleeue it better then reportingly. Exit. Enter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato. Prince.

I doe but ſtay till your marriage be conſummate, and then go I toward Arragon.

 Clau.

Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchſafe me.

 Prin.

Nay, that would be as great a ſoyle in the new gloſſe of your marriage, as to ſhew a childe his new coat and forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his head, to the ſole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice or thrice cut Cupids bow-ſtring, and the little hang-man dare not ſhoot at him, he hath a heart as ſound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes, his tongue ſpeakes.

 Bene.

Gallants, I am not as I haue bin.

 Leo.

So ſay I, methinkes you are ſadder.

 Claud.

I hope he be in loue.

 Prin.

Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud in him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be ſad, he wants money.

 Bene.

I haue the tooth-ach.

 Prin.

Draw it.

 Bene.

Hang it.

 Claud.

You muſt hang it firſt, and draw it afterwards.

 Prin.

What? ſigh for the tooth-ach.

 Leon.

Where is but a humour or a worme.

 Bene.

Well, euery one cannot maſter a griefe, but hee that has it.

 Clau.

Yet ſay I, he is in loue.

 Prin.

There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnleſſe it be a fancy that he hath to ſtrange diſguiſes, as to bee a Dutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnleſſe hee haue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee is no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare he is.

 Clau.

If he be not in loue vvith ſome vvoman, there is no beleeuing old ſignes, a bruſhes his hat a mornings, What ſhould that bode?

 Prin.

Hath any man ſeene him at the Barbers?

 Clau.

No, but the Barbers man hath beene ſeen with him, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie ſtuft tennis balls.

 Leon.

Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the loſſe of a beard.

 Prin.

Nay a rubs himſelfe vvith Ciuit, can you ſmell him out by that?

 Clau.

That's as much as to ſay, the ſweet youth's in loue.

 Prin.

The greateſt note of it is his melancholy.

 Clau.

And vvhen vvas he vvont to vvaſh his face?

 Prin.

Yea, or to paint himſelfe? for the which I heare vvhat they ſay of him.

 Clau.

Nay, but his ieſting ſpirit, vvhich is now crept into a lute-ſtring, and now gouern'd by ſtops.

 Prin.

Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude, he is in loue.

 Clau.

Nay, but I know who loues him.

 Prince.

That would I know too, I warrant one that knowes him not.

 Cla.

Yes, and his ill conditions, and in deſpight of all, dies for him.

 Prin.

Shee ſhall be buried with her face vpwards.

 Bene.

Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old ſignior, walke aſide with mee, I haue ſtudied eight or nine wiſe words to ſpeake to you, which theſe hobby-horſes muſt not heare.

 Prin.

For my life to breake with him about Beatrice.

Clau.

'Tis euen ſo, Hero and Margaret haue by this played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two Beares will not bite one another when they meete.

 Enter Iohn the Bastard. Baſt.

My Lord and brother, God ſaue you.

 Prin.

Good den brother.

 Baſt.

If your leiſure ſeru'd, I would ſpeake with you.

 Prince.

In priuate?

 Baſt.

If it pleaſe you, yet Count Claudio may heare, for what I would ſpeake of, concernes him.

 Prin.

What's the matter?

 Baſta.

Meanes your Lordſhip to be married to morrow?

 Prin.

You know he does.

 Baſt.

I know not that when he knowes what I know.

 Clau.

If there be any impediment, I pray you diſcouer it.

 Baſt.

You may thinke I loue you not, let that appeare hereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will manifeſt, for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and in deareneſſe of heart) hath holpe to effect your enſuing marriage: ſurely ſute ill ſpent, and labour ill beſtowed.

 Prin.

Why, what's the matter?

 Baſtard.

I came hither to tell you, and circumſtances ſhortned, (for ſhe hath beene too long a talking of) the Lady is diſloyall.

 Clau.

Who Hero?

 Baſt.

Euen ſhee, Leonatoes Hero, your Hero, euery mans Hero.

Clau.

Diſloyall?

 Baſt.

The word is too good to paint out her wickedneſſe, I could ſay ſhe were worſe, thinke you of a worſe title, and I will fit her to it: wonder not till further warrant: goe but with mee to night, you ſhal ſee her chamber window entred, euen the night before her wedding day, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her: But it would better fit your honour to change your minde.

 Claud.

May this be ſo?

 Princ.

I will not thinke it.

 Bast.

If you dare not truſt that you ſee, confeſſe not that you know: if you will follow mee, I will ſhew you enough, and when you haue ſeene more, & heard more, proceed accordingly.

 Clau.

If I ſee any thing to night, why I ſhould not marry her to morrow in the congregation, where I ſhold wedde, there will I ſhame her.

 Prin.

And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I will ioyne with thee to diſgrace her.

 Baſt.

I will diſparage her no farther, till you are my witneſſes, beare it coldly but till night, and let the iſſue ſhew it ſelfe.

 Prin.

O day vntowardly turned!

 Claud.

O miſchiefe ſtrangelie thwarting!

 Baſtard.

O plague right well preuented! ſo will you ſay, when you haue ſeene the ſequele.

Exit. Enter Dogbery and his compartner with the watch. Dog.

Are you good men and true?

 Verg.

Yea, or elſe it were pitty but they ſhould ſuffer ſaluation body and ſoule.

 Dogb.

Nay, that were a puniſhment too good for them, if they ſhould haue any allegiance in them, being choſen for the Princes watch.

 Verges.

Well, giue them their charge, neighbour Dogbery.

Dog.

Firſt, who thinke you the moſt deſartleſſe man to be Conſtable?

 Watch. 1.

Hugh Ote-cake ſir, or George Sea-coale, for they can write and reade.

 Dogb.

Come hither neighbour Sea-coale, God hath bleſt you with a good name: to be a wel-fauoured man, is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes by Nature.

 Watch 2.

Both which Maſter Conſtable

 Dogb.

You haue: I knew it would be your anſwere: well, for your fauour ſir, why giue God thankes, & make no boaſt of it, and for your writing and reading, let that appeare when there is no need of ſuch vanity, you are thought heere to be the moſt ſenſleſſe and fit man for the Conſtable of the watch: therefore beare you the lanthorne: this is your charge: You ſhall comprehend all vagrom men, you are to bid any man ſtand in the Princes name.

 Watch 2.

How if a will not ſtand?

 Dogb.

Why then take no note of him, but let him go, and preſently call the reſt of the Watch together, and thanke God you are ridde of a knaue.

 Ʋerges.

If he will not ſtand when he is bidden, hee is none of the Princes ſubiects.

 Dogb.

True, and they are to meddle with none but the Princes ſubiects: you ſhall alſo make no noiſe in the ſtreetes: for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is moſt tollerable, and not to be indured.

 Watch.

We will rather ſleepe than talke, wee know what belongs to a Watch.

 Dog.

Why you ſpeake like an ancient and moſt quiet watchman, for I cannot ſee how ſleeping ſhould offend: only haue a care that your bills be not ſtolne: well, you are to call at all the Alehouſes, and bid them that are drunke get them to bed.

 Watch.

How if they will not?

 Dogb.

Why then let them alone till they are ſober, if they make you not then the better anſwere, you may ſay, they are not the men you tooke them for.

 Watch.

Well ſir.

 Dogb.

If you meet a theefe, you may ſuſpect him, by vertue of your office, to be no true man▪ and for ſuch kinde of men, the leſſe you meddle or make with them, why the more is for your honeſty.

 Watch.

If wee know him to be a thiefe, ſhall wee not lay hands on him.

 Dogb.

Truly by your office you may, but I think they that touch pitch will be defil'd: the moſt peaceable way for you, if you doe take a theefe, is, to let him ſhew himſelfe what he is, and ſteale out of your company.

 Ver.

You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful mā partner.

 Dog.

Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath anie honeſtie in him.

 Verges.

If you heare a child crie in the night you muſt call to the nurſe, and bid her ſtill it.

 Watch.

How if the nurſe be aſleepe and will not heare vs?

 Dog.

Why then depart in peace, and let the childe wake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heare her Lambe when it baes, will neuer anſwere a calfe when he bleates.

 Verges.

'Tis verie true.

 Dog.

This is the end of the charge: you conſtable are to preſent the Princes owne perſon, if you meete the Prince in the night, you may ſtaie him.

 Verges.

Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot.

 Dog.

Fiue ſhillings to one on't with anie man that knowes the Statues, he may ſtaie him, marrie not without the prince be willing, for indeed the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to ſtay a man againſt his will.

 Ʋerges.

Birladie I thinke it be ſo.

 Dog.

Ha, ah ha, well maſters good night, and there be anie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe your fellowes counſailes, and your owne, and good night, come neighbour.

 Watch.

Well maſters, we heare our charge, let vs go ſit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all to bed.

 Dog.

One word more, honeſt neighbors. I pray you watch about ſignior Leonatoes doore, for the wedding being there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night, adiew, be vigitant I beſeech you.

Exeunt. Enter Borachio and Conrade. Bor.

What, Conrade?

 Watch.

Peace, ſtir not.

 Bor.

Conrade I ſay.

 Con.

Here man, I am at thy elbow.

 Bor.

Mas and my elbow itcht, I thought there would a ſcabbe follow.

 Con.

I will owe thee an anſwere▪ for that, and now forward with thy tale.

 Bor.

Stand thee cloſe then vnder this penthouſe, for it driſſels raine, and I will, like a true drunkard, vtter all to thee.

 Watch.

Some treaſon maſters, yet ſtand cloſe.

 Bor.

Therefore know, I haue earned of Don Iohn a thouſand Ducates.

 Con.

Is it poſſible that anie villanie ſhould be ſo deare?

 Bor.

Thou ſhould'ſt rather aske if it were poſſible anie villanie ſhould be ſo rich? for when rich villains haue neede of poore ones, poore ones may make what price they will.

 Con.

I wonder at it.

 Bor.

That ſhewes thou art vnconfirm'd, thou knoweſt that the faſhion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is nothing to a man.

 Con.

Yes, it is apparell.

 Bor.

I meane the faſhion.

 Con.

Yes the faſhion is the faſhion.

 Bor.

Tuſh, I may as well ſay the foole's the foole, but ſeeſt thou not what a deformed theefe this faſhion is?

 Watch.

I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe, this vii. yeares, a goes vp and downe like a gentle man: I remember his name.

 Bor.

Did'ſt thou not heare ſome bodie?

 Con.

No, 'twas the vaine on the houſe.

 Bor.

Seeſt thou not (I ſay) what a deformed thiefe this faſhion is, how giddily a turnes about all the Hot-blouds, betweene foureteene & fiue & thirtie, ſometimes faſhioning them like Pharaoes ſouldiours in the rechie painting, ſometime like god Bels prieſts in the old Church window, ſometime like the ſhauen Hercules in the ſmircht worm eaten tapeſtrie, where his cod-peece ſeemes as maſſie as his club.

 Con.

All this I ſee, and ſee that the faſhion weares out more apparrell then the man; but art not thou thy ſelfe giddie with the faſhion too that thou haſt ſhifted out of thy tale into telling me of the faſhion?

 Bor.

Not ſo neither, but know that I haue to night wooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by the name of Hero, ſhe leanes me out at her miſtris chamber-vvindow, bids me a thouſand times good night: I tell this tale vildly. I ſhould firſt tell thee how the Prince Claudio and my Maſter planted, and placed, and poſſeſſed by my Maſter Don Iohn, ſaw a far off in the Orchard this amiable incounter.

 Con.

And thought thy Margaret was Hero?

Bor.

Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the diuell my Maſter knew ſhe was Margaret and partly by his oathes, which firſt poſſeſt them, partly by the darke night which did deceiue them, but chiefely, by my villanie, which did confirme any ſlander that Don Iohn had made, away vvent Claudio enraged, ſwore hee vvould meete her as he was apointed next morning at the Temple, and there, before the whole congregation ſhame her with vvhat he ſaw o're night, and ſend her home againe vvithout a husband.

 Watch. 1.

We charge you in the Princes name ſtand.

 Watch. 2.

Call vp the right maſter Conſtable, vve haue here recouered the moſt dangerous peece of lechery, that euer vvas knowne in the Common-wealth.

 Watch. 1.

And one Deformed is one of them, I know him, a vveares a locke.

 Conr.

Maſt • maſters.

 Watch. 2.

Youre be made bring deformed forth I warrant you,

 Conr.

Maſters, neuer ſpeake, vve charge you, let vs obey you to goe vvith vs.

 Bor.

We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, being taken vp of theſe mens bils.

 Conr.

A commoditie in queſtion I warrant you, come vveele obey you.

Exeunt. Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Ʋrſula. Hero.

Good Vrſula wake my coſin Beatrice, and deſire her to riſe.

 Ʋrſu.

I will Lady.

 Her.

And bid her come hither.

 Vrſ.

Well.

 Mar.

Troth I thinke your other rebato were better.

 Bero.

No pray thee good Meg, Ile vveare this.

 Marg.

By my troth's not ſo good, and I vvarrant your coſin vvill ſay ſo.

 Bero.

My coſin's a foole, and thou art another, ile vveare none but this.

 Mar.

I like the new tire vvithin excellently, if the haire vvere a thought browner: and your gown's a moſt rare faſhion yfaith, I ſaw the Dutcheſſe of Millaines gowne that they praiſe ſo.

 Bero.

O that exceedes they ſay.

 Mar.

By my troth's but a night-gowne in reſpect of yours, cloth a gold and cuts and lac'd with ſiluer, ſet with pearles, downe ſleeues, ſide ſleeues, and skirts, round vnderborn with a blewiſh tinſel, but for a fine queint gracefull and excellent faſhion, yours is worth ten on't.

 Hero.

God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart is exceeding heauy.

 Marga.

'Twill be heauier ſoone, by the waight of a man.

 Hero.

Fie vpon thee, art not aſham'd?

 Marg.

Of what Lady? of ſpeaking honourably? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord honourable without marriage? I thinke you would haue me ſay, ſauing your reuerence a husband: and bad thinking doe not wreſt true ſpeaking, Ile offend no body, is there any harme in the heauier for a husband? none I thinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife, otherwiſe 'tis light and not heauy, aske my Lady Beatrice elſe, here ſhe comes.

 Enter Beatrice. Hero.

Good morrow Coze.

 Beat.

Good morrow ſweet Hero.

Hero.

Why how now? do you ſpeake in the ſick tune?

 Beat.

I am out of all other tune, me thinkes.

 Mar.

Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without a burden,) do you ſing it and Ile dance it.

 Beat.

Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your husband haue ſtables enough, you'll looke he ſhall lacke no barnes.

 Mar.

O illegitimate conſtruction! I ſcorne that with my heeles.

 Beat.

'Tis almoſt fiue a clocke coſin, 'tis time you were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho.

 Mar.

For a hauke, a horſe, or a husband?

 Beat.

For the letter that begins them all, H.

 Mar.

Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's no more ſayling by the ſtarre.

 Beat.

What meanes the foole trow?

 Mar.

Nothing I, but God ſend euery one rheir harts deſire.

 Hero.

Theſe gloues the Count ſent mee, they are an excellent perfume.

 Beat.

I am ſtuft coſin, I cannot ſmell.

 Mar.

A maid and ſtuft! there's goodly catching of colde.

 Beat.

O God helpe me, God help me, how long haue you profeſt apprehenſion?

 Mar.

Euer ſince you left it, doth not my wit become me rarely?

 Beat.

It is not ſeene enough, you ſhould weare it in your cap, by my troth I am ſicke.

 Mar.

Get you ſome of this diſtill'd carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm.

 Hero.

There thou prickſt her with a thiſſell.

 Beat.

Benedictus, why benedictus? you haue ſome morall in this benedictus.

Mar.

Morall? no by my troth, I haue no morall meaning, I meant plaine holy thiſſell, you may thinke perchance that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am not ſuch a foole to thinke what I liſt, nor I liſt not to thinke what I can, nor indeed I cannot thinke, if I would thinke my hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that you will be in loue, or that you can be in loue: yet Benedicke was ſuch another, and now is he become a man, he ſwore hee would neuer marry, and yet now in deſpight of his heart he eates his meat without grudging, and how you may be conuerted I know not, but me thinkes you looke with your eies as other women doe.

 Beat.

What pace is this that thy tongue keepes.

 Mar.

Not a falſe gallop.

 Enter Vrſula. Vrſula.

Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, ſignior Benedicke, Don Iohn, and all the gallants of the towne are come to fetch you to Church.

 Hero.

Helpe to dreſſe mee good coze, good Meg, good Vrſula.

Enter Leonato, and the Conſtable, and the Headborough. Leonato.

What would you with mee, honeſt neighbour?

 Conſt. Dog.

Mary ſir I would haue ſome confidence with you, that decernes you nearely.

 Leon.

Briefe I pray you, for you ſee it is a buſie time with me.

 Conſt. Dog.

Mary this it is ſir.

 Headb.

Yes in truth it is ſir.

 Leon.

What is it my good friends?

 Con. Do.

Goodman Verges ſir ſpeakes a little of the matter, an old man ſir, and his wits are not ſo blunt, as God helpe I would deſire they were, but infaith honeſt as the skin betweene his browes.

 Head.

Yes I thank God, I am as honeſt as any man liuing, that is an old man, and no honeſter then I.

 Con. Dog.

Compariſons are odorous, palabras, neighbour Verges.

 Leon.

Neighbours, you are tedious.

 Con. Dog.

It pleaſes your worſhip to ſay ſo, but we are the poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part, if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart to beſtow it all of your worſhip.

 Leon.

All thy tediouſneſſe on me, ah?

 Conſt. Dog.

Yea, and 'twere a thouſand times more than 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Worſhip as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but a poore man, I am glad to heare it.

 Head.

And ſo am I.

 Leon.

I would faine know what you haue to ſay.

 Head.

Marry ſir our watch to night, excepting your worſhips preſence, haue tane a couple of as arrant knaues as any in Meſſina.

 Con. Dog.

A good old man ſir, hee will be talking as they ſay, when the age is in the wit is out, God helpe vs, it is a world to ſee: well ſaid yfaith neighbour Verges, well, God's a good man, and two men ride of a horſe, one muſt ride behinde, an honeſt ſoule yfaith ſir, by my troth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee worſhipt, all men are not alike, alas good neighbour.

 Leon.

Indeed neighbour he comes too ſhort of you.

 Con. Do.

Gifts that God giues.

 Leon.

I muſt leaue you.

 Con. Dog.

One word ſir, our watch ſir haue indeede comprehended two aſpitious perſons, & we would haue them this morning examined before your worſhip.

 Leon.

Take their examination your ſelfe, and bring it me, I am now in great haſte, as may appeare vnto you.

 Conſt.

It ſhall be ſuffigance.

 Leon.

Drinke ſome wine ere you goe: fare you well.

Exit. Meſſenger.

My Lord, they ſtay for you to giue your daughter to her husband.

 Leon.

Ile wait vpon them, I am ready.

 Dogb.

Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Sea-coale, bid him bring his pen and inkehorne to the Gaole: we are now to examine thoſe men.

 Verges.

And we muſt doe it wiſely.

 Dogb.

Wee will ſpare for no witte I warrant you: heere's that ſhall driue ſome of them to a non-come, only get the learned writer to ſet downe our excommunication, and meet me at the Iaile.

Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Enter Prince, Bastard, Leonato, Frier, Claudio, Benedicke, Hero, and Beatrice. Leonato.

Come Frier Francis, be briefe, onely to the plaine forme of marriage, and you ſhal recount their particular duties afterwards.

 Fran.

You come hither, my Lord, to marry this Lady.

 Clau.

No.

 Leo.

To be married to her: Frier, you come to marrie her.

 Frier.

Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count.

 Hero.

I doe.

 Frier.

If either of you know any inward impediment why you ſhould not be conioyned, I charge you on your ſoules to vtter it.

 Claud.

Know you anie, Hero?

Hero.

None my Lord.

 Frier.

Know you anie, Count?

 Leon.

I dare make his anſwer, None.

 Clau.

O what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do!

 Bene.

How now! interiections? why then, ſome be of laughing, as ha, ha, he.

 Clau. Stand thee by Frier, father, by your leaue, Will you with free and vnconſtrained ſoule Giue me this maid your daughter? Leon.

As freely ſonne as God did giue her me.

 Cla. And what haue I to giue you back, whoſe worth May counterpoiſe this rich and precious gift? Prin.

Nothing, vnleſſe you render her againe.

 Clau. Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulnes: There Leonato, take her backe againe, Giue not this rotten Orenge to your friend, Shee's but the ſigne and ſemblance of her honour: Behold how like a maid ſhe bluſhes heere! O what authoritie and ſhew of truth Can cunning ſinne couer it ſelfe withall! Comes not that bloud, as modeſt euidence, To witneſſe ſimple Vertue? would you not ſweare All you that ſee her, that ſhe were a maide, By theſe exterior ſhewes? But ſhe is none: She knowes the heat of a luxurious bed: Her bluſh is guiltineſſe, not modeſtie. Leonato.

What doe you meane, my Lord?

 Clau. Not to be married, Not to knit my ſoule to an approued wanton. Leon. Deere my Lord, if you in your owne proofe, Haue vanquiſht the reſiſtance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginitie. Clau. I know what you would ſay: if I haue knowne her, You will ſay, ſhe did imbrace me as a husband, And ſo extenuate the forehand ſinne: No Leonato, I neuer tempted her with word too large, But as a brother to his ſiſter, ſhewed Baſhfull ſinceritie and comely loue. Hero.

And ſeem'd I euer otherwiſe to you?

 Clau. Out on thee ſeeming, I will write againſt it, You ſeeme to me as Diane in her Orbe, As chaſte as is the budde ere it be blowne: But you are more intemperate in your blood, Than Venus, or thoſe pampred animalls, That rage in ſauage ſenſualitie. Hero.

Is my Lord well, that he doth ſpeake ſo wide?

 Leon.

Sweete Prince, why ſpeake not you?

 Prin. What ſhould I ſpeake? I ſtand diſhonour'd that haue gone about, To linke my deare friend to a common ſtale. Leon.

Are theſe things ſpoken, or doe I but dreame?

 Baſt.

Sir, they are ſpoken, and theſe things are true.

 Bene.

This lookes not like a nuptiall.

 Hero.

True, O God!

 Clau. Leonato, ſtand I here? Is this the Prince? is this the Princes brother? Is this face Heroes? are our eies our owne? Leon.

All this is ſo, but what of this my Lord?

 Clau. Let me but moue one queſtion to your daughter, And by that fatherly and kindly power, That you haue in her, bid her anſwer truly. Leo.

I charge thee doe, as thou art my childe.

 Hero. O God defend me how am I beſet, What kinde of catechizing call you this? Clau.

To make you anſwer truly to your name.

 Hero. Is it not Hero? who can blot that name With any iuſt reproach? Claud. Marry that can Hero, Hero it ſelfe can blot out Heroes vertue. What man was he, talkt with you yeſternight, Out at your window betwixt twelue and one? Now if you are a maid, anſwer to this. Hero.

I talkt with no man at that howre my Lord.

 Prince. Why then you are no maiden. Leonato, I am ſorry you muſt heare: vpon mine honor, My ſelfe, my brother, and this grieued Count Did ſee her, heare her, at that howre laſt night, Talke with a ruffian at her chamber window, Who hath indeed moſt like a liberall villaine, Confeſt the vile encounters they haue had A thouſand times in ſecret. Iohn. Fie, fie, they are not to be named my Lord, Not to be ſpoken of, There is not chaſtitie enough in language, Without offence to vtter them: thus pretty Lady I am ſorry for thy much miſgouernment. Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadſt thou beene If halfe thy outward graces had beene placed About thy thoughts and counſailes of thy heart? But fare thee well, moſt foule, moſt faire, farewell Thou pure impiety, and impious puritie, For thee Ile locke vp all the gates of Loue, And on my eie-lids ſhall Coniecture hang, To turne all beauty into thoughts of harme, And neuer ſhall it more be gracious. Leon.

Hath no mans dagger here a point for me?

 Beat.

Why how now coſin, wherfore ſink you down?

 Baſt. Come, let vs go: theſe things come thus to light, Smother her ſpirits vp. Bene.

How doth the Lady?

 Beat. Dead I thinke, helpe vncle, Hero, why Hero, Vncle, Signor Benedicke, Frier. Leonato. O Fate! take not away thy heauy hand, Death is the faireſt couer for her ſhame That may be wiſht for. Beatr.

How now coſin Hero?

 Fri.

Haue comfort Ladie.

 Leon.

Doſt thou looke vp?

 Frier.

Yea, wherefore ſhould ſhe not?

 Leon. Wherfore? Why doth not euery earthly thing Cry ſhame vpon her? Could ſhe heere denie The ſtorie that is printed in her blood? Do not liue Hero, do not ope thine eyes: For did I thinke thou wouldſt not quickly die, Thought I thy ſpirits were ſtronger then thy ſhames, My ſelfe would on the reward of reproaches Strike at thy life. Grieu'd I, I had but one? Chid I, for that at frugal Natures frame? O one too much by thee: why had I one? Why euer was't thou louelie in my eies? Why had I not with charitable hand Tooke vp a beggars iſſue at my gates, Who ſmeered thus, and mir'd with infamie, I might haue ſaid, no part of it is mine: This ſhame deriues it ſelfe from vnknowne loines, But mine, and mine I lou'd, and mine I prais'd, And mine that I was proud on mine ſo much, That I my ſelfe, was to my ſelfe not mine: Valewing of her, why ſhe, O ſhe is falne Into a pit of Inke, that the wide ſea Hath drops too few to waſh her cleane againe, And ſalt too little, which may ſeaſon giue To her foule tainted fleſh. Ben.

Sir, ſir, be patient: for my part, I am ſo attired in wonder, I know not what to ſay.

 Bea.

O on my ſoule my coſin is belied.

 Ben.

Ladie, were you her bedfellow laſt night?

 Bea. No truly: not although vntill laſt night, I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd, O that is ſtronger made Which was before barr'd vp with ribs of iron. Would the Princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who lou'd her ſo, that ſpeaking of her foulneſſe, Waſh'd it with teares? Hence from her, let her die. Fri.

Heare me a little, for I haue onely bene ſilent ſo long, and giuen way vnto this courſe of fortune, by noting of the Ladie, I haue markt.

A thouſand bluſhing apparitions, To ſtart into her face, a thouſand innocent ſhames, In Angel whiteneſſe beare away thoſe bluſhes, And in her eie there hath appear'd a fire To burne the errors that theſe Princes hold Againſt her maiden truth. Call me a foole, Truſt not my reading, nor my obſeruations, Which with experimental ſeale doth warrant The tenure of my booke: truſt not my age, My reuerence, calling, nor diuinitie, If this ſweet Ladie lye not guiltleſſe heere, Vnder ſome biting error. Leo. Friar, it cannot be: Thou ſeeſt that all the Grace that ſhe hath left, Is, that ſhe wil not adde to her damnation, A ſinne of periury, ſhe not denies it: Why ſeek'ſt thou then to couer with excuſe, That which appeares in proper nakedneſſe? Fri.

Ladie, what man is he you are accus'd of?

 Hero. They know that do accuſe me, I know none: If I know more of any man aliue Then that which maiden modeſtie doth warrant, Let all my ſinnes lacke mercy. O my Father, Proue you that any man with me conuerſt, At houres vnmeete, or that I yeſternight Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, Refuſe me, hate me, torture me to death. Fri.

There is ſome ſtrange miſpriſion in the Princes.

 Ben. Two of them haue the verie bent of honor, And if their wiſedomes be miſled in this: The practiſe of it liues in Iohn the baſtard, Whoſe ſpirits toile in frame of villanies. Leo. I know not: if they ſpeake but truth of her, Theſe hands ſhall teare her: If they wrong her honour, The proudeſt of them ſhall wel heare of it. Time hath not yet ſo dried this bloud of mine, Nor age ſo eate vp my inuention, Nor Fortune made ſuch hauocke of my meanes, Nor my bad life reſt me ſo much of friends, But they ſhall finde, awak'd in ſuch a kinde, Both ſtrength of limbe, and policie of minde, Ability in meanes, and choiſe of friends, To quit me of them throughly. Fri. Pauſe awhile: And let my counſell ſway you in this caſe, Your daughter heere the Princeſſe (left for dead) Let her awhile be ſecretly kept in, And publiſh it, that ſhe is dead indeed: Maintaine a mourning oſtentation, And on your Families old monument, Hang mournfull Epitaphes, and do all rites, That appertaine vnto a buriall. Leon.

What ſhall become of this? What wil this do?

 Fri. Marry this wel carried, ſhall on her behalfe, Change ſlander to remorſe, that is ſome good, But not for that dreame I on this ſtrange courſe, But on this trauaile looke for greater birth: She dying, as it muſt be ſo maintain'd, Vpon the inſtant that ſhe was accus'd, Shal be lamented, pittied, and excus'd Of euery hearer: for it ſo fals out, That what we haue, we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enioy it; but being lack'd and loſt, Why then we racke the value, then we finde The vertue that poſſeſsion would not ſhew vs Whiles it was ours, ſo will it fare with Claudio: When he ſhal heare ſhe dyed vpon his words, Th' Idea of her life ſhal ſweetly creepe Into his ſtudy of imagination. And euery louely Organ of her life, Shall come apparel'd in more precious habite: More mouing delicate, and ful of life, Into the eye and proſpect of his ſoule Then when ſhe liu'd indeed: then ſhal he mourne, If euer Loue had intereſt in his Liuer, And wiſh he had not ſo accuſed her: No, though he thought his accuſation true: Let this be ſo, and doubt not but ſucceſſe Wil faſhion the euent in better ſhape, Then I can lay it downe in likelihood. But if all ayme but this be leuelld falſe, The ſuppoſition of the Ladies death, Will quench the wonder of her infamie. And if it ſort not well, you may conceale her, As beſt befits her wounded reputation, In ſome recluſiue and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, mindes and iniuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Frier aduiſe you, And though you know my inwardneſſe and loue Is very much vnto the Prince and Claudio. Yet, by mine honor, I will deale in this▪ As ſecretly and iuſtlie, as your ſoule Should with your bodie. Leon. Being that I flow in greefe, The ſmalleſt twine may lead me. Frier. 'Tis well conſented, preſently away, For to ſtrange ſores, ſtrangely they ſtraine the cure, Come Lady, die to liue, this wedding day Perhaps is but prolong'd, haue patience & endure. Exit. Bene.

Lady Beatrice, haue you wept all this while?

 Beat.

Yea, and I will weepe a while longer.

 Bene.

I will not deſire that.

 Beat.

You haue no reaſon, I doe it freely.

 Bene.

Surelie I do beleeue your fair coſin is wrong'd.

 Beat.

Ah, how much might the man deſerue of mee that would right her!

 Bene.

Is there any way to ſhew ſuch friendſhip?

 Beat.

A verie euen way, but no ſuch friend.

 Bene.

May a man doe it?

 Beat.

It is a mans office, but not yours.

 Bene.

I doe loue nothing in the world ſo well as you, is not that ſtrange?

 Beat.

As ſtrange as the thing I know not, it were as poſſible for me to ſay, I loued nothing ſo well as you, but beleeue me not, and yet I lie not, I confeſſe nothing, nor I deny nothing, I am ſorry for my couſin.

 Bene.

By my ſword Beatrice thou lou'ſt me.

 Beat.

Doe not ſweare by it and eat it.

 Bene.

I will ſweare by it that you loue mee, and I will make him eat it that ſayes I loue not you.

 Beat.

Will you not eat your word?

 Bene.

With no ſawce that can be deuiſed to it, I proteſt I loue thee.

 Beat.

Why then God forgiue me.

 Bene.

What offence ſweet Beatrice?

 Beat.

You haue ſtayed me in a happy howre; I was about to proteſt I loued you.

 Bene.

And doe it with all thy heart.

 Beat.

I loue you with ſo much of my heart, that none is left to proteſt.

 Bened.

Come, bid me doe any thing for thee.

 Beat.

Kill Claudio.

Bene.

Ha, not for the wide world.

 Beat.

You kill me to denie, farewell.

 Bene.

Tarrie ſweet Beatrice.

Beat.

I am gone, though I am heere, there is no loue in you, nay I pray you let me goe.

 Bene.

Beatrice.

Beat.

Infaith I will goe.

 Bene.

Wee'll be friends firſt.

 Beat.

You dare eaſier be friends with mee, than fight with mine enemy.

 Bene.

Is Claudio thine enemie?

 Beat.

Is a not approued in the height a villaine, that hath ſlandered, ſcorned, diſhonoured my kinſwoman? O that I were a man! what, beare her in hand vntill they come to take hands, and then with publike accuſation vncouered ſlander, vnmittigated rancour? O God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.

 Bene.

Heare me Beatrice.

Beat.

Talke with a man out at a window, a proper ſaying.

 Bene.

Nay but Beatrice.

Beat.

Sweet Hero, ſhe is wrong'd, ſhee is ſlandered, ſhe is vndone.

 Bene.

Beat?

 Beat.

Princes and Counties! ſurelie a Princely teſtimonie, a goodly Count, Comfect, a ſweet Gallant ſurelie, O that I were a man for his ſake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my ſake! But manhood is melted into curſies, valour into complement, and men are onelie turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and ſweares it: I cannot be a man with wiſhing, therfore I will die a woman with grieuing.

 Bene.

Tarry good Beatrice, by this hand I loue thee.

 Beat.

Vſe it for my loue ſome other way then ſwearing by it.

 Bened.

Thinke you in your ſoule the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?

 Beat.

Yea, as ſure as I haue a thought, or a ſoule.

 Bene.

Enough, I am engagde, I will challenge him, I will kiſſe your hand, and ſo leaue you: by this hand Claudio ſhall render me a deere account: as you heare of me, ſo thinke of me: goe comfort your cooſin, I muſt ſay ſhe is dead, and ſo farewell.

 Enter the Conſtables, Borachio, and the Towne Clerke in gownes. Keeper.

Is our whole diſſembly appeard?

 Cowley.

O a ſtoole and a cuſhion for the Sexton.

 Sexton.

Which be the malefactors?

 Andrew.

Marry that am I, and my partner.

 Cowley.

Nay that's certaine, wee haue the exhibition to examine.

 Sexton.

But which are the offenders that are to be examined, let them come before maſter Conſtable.

 Kemp.

Yea marry, let them come before mee, what is your name, friend?

 Bor.

Borachio.

Kem.

Pray write downe Borachio. Yours ſirra.

 Con.

I am a Gentleman ſir, and my name is Conrade.

Kee.

Write downe Maſter gentleman Conrade • : maiſters, doe you ſerue God: maiſters, it is proued alreadie that you are little better than falſe knaues, and it will goe neere to be thought ſo ſhortly, how anſwer you for your ſelues?

 Con.

Marry ſir, we ſay we are none.

 Kemp.

A maruellous witty fellow I aſſure you, but I will goe about with him: come you hither ſirra, a word in your eare ſir, I ſay to you, it is thought you are falſe knaues.

 Bor.

Sir, I ſay to you, we are none.

 Kemp.

Well, ſtand aſide, 'fore God they are both in a tale: haue you writ downe that they are none?

 Sext.

Maſter Conſtable, you goe not the way to examine, you muſt call forth the watch that are their accuſers.

 Kemp.

Yea marry, that's the efteſt way, let the watch come forth: maſters, I charge you in the Princes name, accuſe theſe men.

 Watch 1.

This man ſaid ſir, that Don Iohn the Princes brother was a villaine.

 Kemp.

Write down, Prince Iohn a villaine: why this is flat periurie, to call a Princes brother villaine.

 Bora.

Maſter Conſtable.

 Kemp.

Pray thee fellow peace, I do not like thy looke I promiſe thee.

 Sexton.

What heard you him ſay elſe?

 Watch 2.

Mary that he had receiued a thouſand Dukates of Don Iohn, for accuſing the Lady Hero wrongfully.

 Kemp.

Flat Burglarie as euer was committed.

 Conſt.

Yea by th' maſſe that it is.

 Sexton.

What elſe fellow?

 Watch 1.

And that Count Claudio did meane vpon his words, to diſgrace Hero before the whole aſſembly, and not marry her.

 Kemp.

O villaine! thou wilt be condemn'd into euerlaſting redemption for this.

 Sexton.

What elſe?

 Watch.

This is all.

 Sexton.

And this is more maſters then you can deny, Prince Iohn is this morning ſecretly ſtolne away: Hero was in this manner accus'd, in this very manner refus'd, and vpon the griefe of this ſodainely died: Maſter Conſtable, let theſe men be bound, and brought to Leonato, I will goe before, and ſhew him their examination.

 Conſt.

Come, let them be opinion'd.

 Sex.

Let them be in the hands of Coxcombe.

Kem.

Gods my life, where's the Sexton? let him write downe the Princes Officer Coxcombe: come, binde them thou naughty varlet.

 Couley.

Away, you are an aſſe, you are an aſſe.

 Kemp.

Doſt thou not ſuſpect my place? doſt thou not ſuſpect my yeeres? O that hee were heere to write mee downe an aſſe! but maſters, remember that I am an aſſe: though it be not written down, yet forget not yt I am an aſſe: No thou villaine, yu art full of piety as ſhall be prou'd vpon thee by good witneſſe, I am a wiſe fellow, and which is more, an officer, and which is more, a houſhoulder, and which is more, as pretty a peece of fleſh as any in Meſſina, and one that knowes the Law, goe to, & a rich fellow enough, goe to, and a fellow that hath had loſſes, and one that hath two gownes, and euery thing handſome about him: bring him away: O that I had been writ downe an aſſe!

Exit.
Actus Quintus. Enter Leonato and his brother. Brother. If you goe on thus, you will kill your ſelfe, And 'tis not wiſedome thus to ſecond griefe, Againſt your ſelfe. Leon. I pray thee ceaſe thy counſaile, Which falls into mine eares as profitleſſe, As water in a ſiue: giue not me counſaile, Nor let no comfort delight mine eare, But ſuch a one whoſe wrongs doth ſute with mine. Bring me a father that ſo lou'd his childe, Whoſe ioy of her is ouer-whelmed like mine, And bid him ſpeake of patience, Meaſure his woe the length and bredth of mine, And let it anſwere euery ſtraine for ſtraine, As thus for thus, and ſuch a griefe for ſuch, In euery lineament, branch, ſhape, and forme: If ſuch a one will ſmile and ſtroke his beard, And ſorrow, wagge, crie hem, when he ſhould grone, Patch griefe with prouerbs, make misfortune drunke, With candle-waſters: bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience: But there is no ſuch man for brother, men Can counſaile, and ſpeake comfort to that griefe, Which they themſelues not feele, but to ſting it, Their counſaile turnes to paſſion, which before, Would giue preceptiall medicine to rage, Fetter ſtrong madneſſe in a ſilken thred, Charme ache with ayre, and agony with words, No, no, 'tis all mens office, to ſpeake patience To thoſe that wring vnder the load of ſorrow: But no mans vertue nor ſufficiencie To be ſo morall, when he ſhall endure The like himſelfe: therefore giue me no counſaile, My griefs cry lowder then aduertiſement. Broth.

Therein do men from children nothing differ.

 Leonato. I pray thee peace, I will be fleſh and bloud, For there was neuer yet Philoſopher, That could endure the tooth-ake patiently, How euer they haue writ the ſtile of gods, And made a puſh at chance and ſufferance. Brother. Yet bend not all the harme vpon your ſelfe, Make thoſe that doe offend you, ſuffer too. Leon. There thou ſpeak'ſt reaſon, nay I will doe ſo, My ſoule doth tell me, Hero is belied, And that ſhall Claudio know, ſo ſhall the Prince, And all of them that thus diſhonour her. Enter Prince and Claudio. Brot.

Here comes the Prince and Claudio haſtily.

 Prin.

Good den, good den.

 Clau.

Good day to both of you.

 Leon.

Heare you my Lords?

 Prin.

We haue ſome haſte Leonato.

Leo. Some haſte my Lord! wel, fareyouwel my Lord, Are you ſo haſty now? well, all is one. Prin.

Nay, do not quarrell with vs, good old man.

 Brot. If he could rite himſelfe with quarrelling, Some of vs would lie low. Claud.

Who wrongs him?

 Leon. Marry yu doſt wrong me, thou diſſembler, thou: Nay, neuer lay thy hand vpon thy ſword, I feare thee not. Claud. Marry beſhrew my hand, If it ſhould giue your age ſuch cauſe of feare, Infaith my hand meant nothing to my ſword. Leonato. Tuſh, tuſh, man, neuer fleere and ieſt at me, I ſpeake not like a do • ard, nor a foole, As vnder priuiledge of age to bragge, What I haue done being yong, or what would doe, Were I not old, know Claudio to thy head, Thou haſt ſo wrong'd my innocent childe and me, That I am forc'd to lay my reuerence by, And with grey haires and bruiſe of many daies, Doe challenge thee to triall of a man, I ſay thou haſt belied mine innocent childe. Thy ſlander hath gone through and through her heart, And ſhe lies buried with her anceſtors: O in a tombe where neuer ſcandall ſlept, Saue this of hers, fram'd by thy villanie. Claud.

My villany?

 Leonato.

Thine Claudio, thine I ſay.

 Prin.

You ſay not right old man.

 Leon. My Lord, my Lord, Ile proue it on his body if he dare, Deſpight his nice fence, and his actiue practiſe, His Maie of youth, and bloome of luſtihood. Claud.

Away, I will not haue to do with you.

 Leo. Canſt thou ſo daffe me? thou haſt kild my child, If thou kilſt me, boy, thou ſhalt kill a man. Bro. He ſhall kill two of vs, and men indeed, But that's no matter, let him kill one firſt: Win me and weare me, let him anſwere me, Come follow me boy, come ſir boy, come follow me Sir boy, ile whip you from your foyning fence, Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. Leon.

Brother.

 Brot. Content your ſelf, God knows I lou'd my neece, And ſhe is dead, ſlander'd to death by villaines, That dare as well anſwer a man indeede, As I dare take a ſerpent by the tongue. Boyes, apes, braggarts, Iackes, milke-ſops. Leon.

Brother Anthony.

Brot. Hold you content, what man? I know them, yea And what they weigh, euen to the vtmoſt ſcruple, Scambling, out-facing, faſhion-monging boyes, That lye, and cog, and flout, depraue, and ſlander, Goe antiquely, and ſhow outward hidiouſneſſe, And ſpeake of halfe a dozen dang'rous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durſt. And this is all. Leon.

But brother Anthonie.

Ant. Come, 'tis no matter, Do not you meddle, let me deale in this. Pri. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience My heart is ſorry for your daughters death: But on my honour ſhe was charg'd with nothing But what was true, and very full of proofe. Leon.

My Lord, my Lord.

 Prin.

I will not heare you.

 Enter Benedicke. Leo.

No come brother, away, I will be heard.

 Exeunt ambo. Bro.

And ſhall, or ſome of vs will ſmart for it.

 Prin.

See, ſee, here comes the man we went to ſeeke.

 Clau.

Now ſignior, what newes?

 Ben.

Good day my Lord.

 Prin.

Welcome ſignior, you are almoſt come to part almoſt a fray.

 Clau.

Wee had likt to haue had our two noſes ſnapt off with two old men without teeth.

 Prin.

Leonato and his brother, what think'ſt thou? had wee fought, I doubt we ſhould haue beene too yong for them.

 Ben.

In a falſe quarrell there is no true valour, I came to ſeeke you both.

 Clau.

We haue beene vp and downe to ſeeke thee, for we are high proofe melancholly, and would faine haue it beaten away, wilt thou vſe thy wit?

 Ben.

It is in my ſcabberd, ſhall I draw it?

 Prin.

Doeſt thou weare thy wit by thy ſide?

 Clau.

Neuer any did ſo, though verie many haue been beſide their wit, I will bid thee drawe, as we do the minſtrels, draw to pleaſure vs.

 Prin.

As I am an honeſt man he lookes pale, art thou ſicke, or angrie?

 Clau.

What, courage man: what though care kil'd a cat, thou haſt mettle enough in thee to kill care.

 Ben.

Sir, I ſhall meete your wit in the careere, and you charge it againſt me, I pray you chuſe another ſubiect.

 Clau.

Nay then giue him another ſtaffe, this laſt was broke croſſe.

 Prin.

By this light, he changes more and more, I thinke he be angrie indeede.

 Clau.

If he be, he knowes how to turne his girdle.

 Ben.

Shall I ſpeake a word in your eare?

 Clau.

God bleſſe me from a challenge.

 Ben.

You are a villaine, I ieſt not, I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare: do me right, or I will proteſt your cowardiſe: you haue kill'd a ſweete Ladie, and her death ſhall fall heauie on you, let me heare from you.

 Clau.

Well, I will meete you, ſo I may haue good cheare.

 Prin.

What, a feaſt, a feaſt?

 Clau.

I faith I thanke him, he hath bid me to a calues head and a Capon, the which if I doe not carue moſt curiouſly, ſay my knife's naught, ſhall I not finde a woodcocke too?

 Ben.

Sir, your wit ambles well, it goes eaſily.

 Prin.

Ile tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day: I ſaid thou hadſt a fine wit: true ſaies ſhe, a fine little one: no ſaid I, a great wit: right ſaies ſhee, a great groſſe one: nay ſaid I, a good wit: iuſt ſaid ſhe, it hurts no body: nay ſaid I, the gentleman is wiſe: certain ſaid ſhe, a wiſe gentleman: nay ſaid I, he hath the tongues: that I beleeue ſaid ſhee, for hee ſwore a thing to me on munday night, which he forſwore on tueſday morning: there's a double tongue, there's two tongues: thus did ſhee an howre together tranſ-ſhape thy particular vertues, yet at laſt ſhe concluded with a ſigh, thou waſt the propreſt man in Italie.

 Claud.

For the which ſhe wept heartily, and ſaid ſhee car'd not.

 Prin.

Yea that ſhe did, but yet for all that, and if ſhee did not hate him deadlie, ſhee would loue him dearely, the old mans daughter told vs all.

 Clau.

All, all, and moreouer, God ſaw him vvhen he was hid in the garden.

 Prin.

But when ſhall we ſet the ſauage Bulls hornes on the ſenſible Benedicks head?

 Clau.

Yea and text vnder-neath, heere dwells Benedicke the married man.

 Ben.

Fare you well, Boy, you know my minde, I will leaue you now to your goſſep-like humor, you breake ieſts as braggards do their blades, which God be thanked hurt not: my Lord, for your manie courteſies I thank you, I muſt diſcontinue your companie, your brother the Baſtard is fled from Meſſina: you haue among you, kill'd a ſweet and innocent Ladie: for my Lord Lackebeard there, he and I ſhall meete, and till then peace be with him.

 Prin.

He is in earneſt.

 Clau.

In moſt profound earneſt, and Ile warrant you, for the loue of Beatrice.

 Prin.

And hath challeng'd thee.

 Clau.

Moſt ſincerely.

 Prin.

What a prettie thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hoſe, and leaues off his wit.

 Enter Conſtable, Conrade, and Borachio. Clau.

He is then a Giant to an Ape, but then is an Ape a Doctor to ſuch a man.

 Prin.

But ſoft you, let me be, plucke vp my heart, and be ſad, did he not ſay my brother was fled?

 Conſt.

Come you ſir, if iuſtice cannot tame you, ſhee ſhall nere weigh more reaſons in her ballance, nay, and you be a curſing hypocrite once, you muſt be lookt to.

 Prin.

How now, two of my brothers men bound? Borachio one.

 Clau.

Harken after their offence my Lord▪

Prin.

Officers, what offence haue theſe men done?

 Conſt.

Marrie ſir, they haue committed falſe report, moreouer they haue ſpoken vntruths, ſecondarily they are ſlanders, ſixt and laſtly, they haue belyed a Ladie, thirdly, they haue verified vniuſt things, and to conclude they are lying knaues.

 Prin.

Firſt I aske thee what they haue done, thirdlie I aske thee vvhat's their offence, ſixt and laſtlie why they are committed, and to conclude, what you lay to their charge.

 Clau.

Rightlie reaſoned, and in his owne diuiſion, and by my troth there's one meaning vvell ſuted.

 Prin.

Who haue you offended maſters, that you are thus bound to your anſwer? this learned Conſtable is too cunning to be vnderſtood, vvhat's your offence?

 Bor.

Sweete Prince, let me go no farther to mine anſwere: do you heare me, and let this Count kill mee: I haue deceiued euen your verie eies: vvhat your wiſedomes could not diſcouer, theſe ſhallow fooles haue brought to light, vvho in the night ouerheard me confeſſing to this man, how Don Iohn your brother incenſed me to ſlander the Ladie Hero, how you were brought into the Orchard, and ſaw me court Margaret in Heroes garments, how you diſgrac'd her vvhen you ſhould marrie her: my villanie they haue vpon record, vvhich I had rather ſeale vvith my death, then repeate ouer to my ſhame: the Ladie is dead vpon mine and my maſters falſe accuſation: and briefelie, I deſire nothing but the reward of a villaine.

 Prin.

Runs not this ſpeech like yron through your bloud?

 Clau.

I haue drunke poiſon whiles he vtter'd it.

 Prin.

But did my Brother ſet thee on to this?

 Bor.

Yea, and paid me richly for the practiſe of it.

 Prin. He is compos'd and fram'd of treacherie, And fled he is vpon this villanie. Clau. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appeare In the rare ſemblance that I lou'd it firſt. Conſt.

Come, bring away the plaintiffes, by this time our Sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter: and maſters, do not forget to ſpecifie when time & place ſhall ſerue, that I am an Aſſe.

 Con. 2.

Here, here comes maſter Signior Leonato, and the Sexton too.

 Enter Leonato. Leon. Which is the villaine? let me ſee his eies, That when I note another man like him, I may auoide him: vvhich of theſe is he? Bor.

If you vvould know your wronger, looke on me.

 Leon.

Art thou thou the ſlaue that with thy breath haſt kild mine innocent childe?

 Bor.

Yea, euen I alone.

 Leo. No, not ſo villaine, thou belieft thy ſelfe, Here ſtand a paire of honourable men, A third is fled that had a hand in it: I thanke you Princes for my daughters death, Record it with your high and worthie deedes, 'Twas brauely done, if you bethinke you of it. Clau. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet I muſt ſpeake, chooſe your reuenge your ſelfe, Impoſe me to what penance your inuention Can lay vpon my ſinne, yee ſinn'd I not, But in miſtaking. Prin. By my ſoule nor I, And yet to ſatisfie this good old man, I vvould bend vnder anie heauie vvaight, That heele enioyne me to. Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter liue, That vvere impoſſible, but I praie you both, Poſſeſſe the people in Meſſina here, How innocent ſhe died, and if your loue Can labour aught in ſad inuention, Hang her an epitaph vpon her toomb, And ſing it to her bones, ſing it to night: To morrow morning come you to my houſe, And ſince you could not be my ſonne in law, Be yet my Nephew: my brother hath a daughter, Almoſt the copie of my childe that's dead, And ſhe alone is heire to both of vs, Giue her the right you ſhould haue giu'n her coſin, And ſo dies my reuenge. Clau. O noble ſir! Your ouer kindneſſe doth wring teares from me, I do embrace your offer, and diſpoſe For henceforth of poore Claudio. Leon. To morrow then I will expect your comming, To night I take my leaue, this naughtie man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who I beleeue was packt in all this wrong, Hired to it by your brother. Bor. No by my ſoule ſhe was not, Nor knew not what ſhe did when ſhe ſpoke to me, But alwaies hath bin iuſt and vertuous, In anie thing that I do know by her. Conſt.

Moreouer ſir, which indeede is not vnder white and black, this plaintiffe here, the offendour did call mee aſſe, I beſeech you let it be remembred in his puniſhment, and alſo the vvatch heard them talke of one Deformed, they ſay he weares a key in his eare and a lock hanging by it, and borrowes monie in Gods name, the which he hath vs'd ſo long, and neuer paied, that now men grow hard-harted and will lend nothing for Gods ſake: praie you examine him vpon that point.

 Leon.

I thanke thee for thy care and honeſt paines.

 Conſt.

Your vvorſhip ſpeakes like a moſt thankefull and reuerend youth, and I praiſe God for you.

 Leon.

There's for thy paines.

 Conſt.

God ſaue the foundation.

 Leon.

Goe, I diſcharge thee of thy priſoner, and I thanke thee.

 Conſt.

I leaue an arrant knaue vvith your vvorſhip, which I beſeech your worſhip to correct your ſelfe, for the example of others: God keepe your vvorſhip, I wiſh your worſhip vvell, God reſtore you to health, I humblie giue you leaue to depart, and if a merrie meeting may be wiſht, God prohibite it: come neighbour.

 Leon.

Vntill to morrow morning, Lords, farewell.

 Exeunt. Brot.

Farewell my Lords, vve looke for you to morrow.

 Prin.

We will not faile.

 Clau.

To night ile mourne with Hero:

Leon.

Bring you theſe fellowes on, weel talke vvith Margaret, how her acquaintance grew vvith this lewd fellow.

Exeunt. Enter Benedicke and Margaret. Ben.

Praie thee ſweete Miſtris Margaret, deſerue vvell at my hands, by helping mee to the ſpeech of Beatrice.

Mar.

Will you then write me a Sonnet in praiſe of my beautie?

 Bene.

In ſo high a ſtile Margaret, that no man liuing ſhall come ouer it, for in moſt comely truth thou deſerueſt it.

 Mar.

To haue no man come ouer me, why, ſhall I alwaies keepe below ſtaires?

 Bene.

Thy wit is as quicke as the grey-hounds mouth, it catches.

 Mar.

And yours, as blunt as the Fencers foiles, which hit, but hurt not.

 Bene.

A moſt manly wit Margaret, it will not hurt a woman: and ſo I pray thee call Beatrice, I giue thee the bucklers.

 Mar.

Giue vs the ſwords, wee haue bucklers of our owne.

 Bene.

If you vſe them Margaret, you muſt put in the pikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for Maides.

 Mar.

Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I thinke hath legges.

Exit Margarite. Ben.

And therefore will come. The God of loue that ſits aboue, and knowes me, and knowes me, how pittifull I deſerue. I meane in ſinging, but in louing, Leander the good ſwimmer, Tro • lous the firſt imploier of pandars, and a whole booke full of theſe quondam carpet-mongers, whoſe name yet runne ſmoothly in the euen rode of a blanke verſe, why they were neuer ſo truely turned ouer and ouer as my poore ſelfe in loue: marrie I cannot ſhew it rime, I haue tried, I can finde out no rime to Ladie but babie, an innocent rime: for ſcorne, horne, a hard time: for ſchoole foole, a babling time: verie ominous endings, no, I was not borne vnder a riming Plannet, for I cannot wooe in feſtiuall tearmes: Enter Beatrice. ſweete Beatrice would'ſt thou come when I cal'd thee?

 Beat.

Yea Signior, and depart when you bid me.

 Bene.

O ſtay but till then.

 Beat.

Then, is ſpoken: fare you well now, and yet ere I goe, let me goe with that I came, which is, with knowing what hath paſt betweene you and Claudio.

Bene.

Onely foule words, and thereupon I will kiſſe thee.

 Beat.

Foule words is but foule wind, and foule wind is but foule breath, and foule breath is noiſome, therefore I will depart vnkiſt.

 Bene.

Thou haſt frighted the word out of his right ſence, ſo forcible is thy wit, but I muſt tell thee plainely, Claudio vndergoes my challenge, and either I muſt ſhortly heare from him, or I will ſubſcribe him a coward, and I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didſt thou firſt fall in loue with me?

 Beat.

For them all together, which maintain'd ſo politique a ſtate of euill, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them: but for which of my good parts did you firſt ſuffer loue for me?

 Bene.

Suffer loue! a good epithite, I do ſuffer loue indeede, for I loue thee againſt my will.

 Beat.

In ſpight of your heart I think, alas poore heart, if you ſpight it for my ſake, I will ſpight it for yours, for I will neuer loue that which my friend hates.

 Bened.

Thou and I are too wiſe to wooe peaceablie.

 Bea.

It appeares not in this confeſſion, there's not one wiſe man among twentie that will praiſe himſelfe.

 Bene.

An old, an old inſtance Beatrice, that liu'd in the time of good neighbours, if a man doe not erect in this age his owne tombe ere he dies, hee ſhall liue no longer in monuments, then the Bels ring, & the Widdow weepes.

 Beat.

And how long is that thinke you?

 Ben.

Queſtion, why an hower in clamour and a quarter in rhewme, therfore is it moſt expedient for the wife, if Don worme (his conſcience) finde no impediment to the contrarie, to be the trumpet of his owne vertues, as I am to my ſelfe ſo much for praiſing my ſelfe, who I my ſelfe will beare witneſſe is praiſe worthie, and now tell me, how doth your coſin?

 Beat.

Verie ill.

 Bene.

And how doe you?

 Beat.

Verie ill too.

 Enter Ʋrſula. Bene.

Serue God, loue me, and mend, there will I leaue you too, for here comes one in haſte.

 Vrſ.

Madam, you muſt come to your Vncle, yonders old coile at home, it is prooued my Ladie Hero hath bin falſelie accuſde, the Prince and Claudio mightilie abuſde, and Don Iohn is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come preſentlie?

 Beat.

Will you go heare this newes Signior?

 Bene.

I will hue in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eies: and moreouer, I will goe with thee to thy Vncles.

Exeunt. Enter Claudio, Prince, and three or foure with Tapers. Clau.

Is this the monument of Leonato?

 Lord.

It is my Lord.

Epitaph. Done to death by ſlanderous tongues, Was the Hero that here lies: Death in guerdon of her wrongs, Giues her fame which neuer dies: So the life that dyed with ſhame, Liues in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there vpon the tombe, Praiſing her when I am dombe. Clau.

Now muſick ſound & ſing your ſolemn hymne

Song. Pardon goddeſſe of the night, Thoſe that ſlew thy virgin knight, For the which with ſongs of woe, Round about her tombe they goe: Midnight aſſiſt our mone, helpe vs to ſigh and grone Heauily, heauily. Graues yawne and yeelde your dead, Till death be vttered, Heauenly, heauenly. Lo.

Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do this right.

 Prin. Good morrow maſters, put your Torches out, The wolues haue preied, and looke, the gentle day Before the wheeles of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowſie Eaſt with ſpots of grey: Thanks to you all, and leaue vs, fare you well. Clau.

Good morrow maſters, each his ſeuerall way.

 Prin. Come let vs hence, and put on other weedes, And then to Leonatoes we will goe. Clau. And Hymen now with luckier iſſue ſpeeds, Then this for whom we rendred vp this woe. Exeunt. Enter Leonato, Bene. Marg. Vrſula, old man, Frier, Hero. Frier.

Did I not tell you ſhe was innocent?

 Leo. So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd her, Vpon the errour that you heard debated: But Margaret was in ſome fault for this, Although againſt her will as it appeares, In the true courſe of all the queſtion. Old.

Well, I am glad that all things ſort ſo well.

 Bene. And ſo am I, being elſe by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by your ſelues, And when I ſend for you, come hither mask'd: The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this howre To viſit me, you know your office Brother, You muſt be father to your brothers daughter, And giue her to young Claudio. Exeunt Ladies. Old.

Which I will doe with confirm'd countenance.

 Bene.

Frier, I muſt intreat your paines, I thinke.

 Frier.

To doe what Signior?

 Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them: Signior Leonato, truth it is good Signior, Your neece regards me with an eye of fauour. Leo.

That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis moſt true.

 Bene.

And I doe with an eye of loue require her.

 Leo. The ſight whereof I thinke you had from me, From Claudio, and the Prince, but what's your will? Bened. Your anſwer ſir is Enigmaticall, But for my will, my will is, your good will May ſtand with ours, this day to be conioyn'd, In the ſtate of honourable marriage, In which (good Frier) I ſhall deſire your helpe. Leon.

My heart is with your liking.

 Frier.

And my helpe.

 Enter Prince and Claudio, with attendants. Prin.

Good morrow to this faire aſſembly.

 Leo. Good morrow Prince, good morrow Claudio: We heere attend you, are you yet determin'd, To day to marry with my brothers daughter? Claud.

Ile hold my minde were ſhe an Ethiope.

 Leo.

Call her forth brother, heres the Frier ready.

 Prin. Good morrow Benedike, why what's the matter? That you haue ſuch a Februarie face, So full of froſt, of ſtorme, and clowdineſſe. Claud. I thinke he thinkes vpon the ſauage bull: Tuſh, feare not man, wee'll tip thy hornes with gold, And all Europa ſhall reioyce at thee, As once Europa did at luſty Ioue, When he would play the noble beaſt in loue. Ben. Bull Ioue ſir, had an amiable low, And ſome ſuch ſtrange bull leapt your fathers Cow, A got a Calfe in that ſame noble ſeat, Much like to you, for you haue iuſt his b • eat. Enter brother, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, Vrſula. Cla. For this I owe you: here comes other recknings. Which is the Lady I muſt ſeize vpon? Leo.

This ſame is ſhe, and I • oe giue you her.

 Cla.

Why thou ſhe's mine, ſweet let me ſee your face.

 Leon. No that you ſhal not, till you take her hand, Before this Frier, and ſweare to marry her. Clau. Giue me your hand before this holy Frier, I am your husband if you like of me. Hero. And when I liu'd I was your other wife, And when you lou'd, you were my other husband. Clau.

Another Hero?

Hero. Nothing certaine • . One Hero died, but I doe liue, And ſurely as I liue, I am a maid. Prin.

The former Hero, Hero that is dead.

 Leon.

Shee died my Lord, but whiles her ſlander liu'd.

 Frier. All this amazement can I qualifie, When after that the holy rites are ended, Ile tell you largely of faire Heroes death: Meane time let wonder ſeeme familiar, And to the chappell let vs preſently. Ben.

Soft and faire Frier, which is Beatrice?

 Beat.

I anſwer to that name, what is your will?

 Bene.

Doe not you loue me?

 Beat.

Why no, no more then reaſon.

 Bene.

Why then your Vncle, and the Prince, & Claudio, haue beene deceiued, they ſwore you did.

 Beat.

Doe not you loue mee?

 Bene.

Troth no, no more then reaſon.

 Beat. Why then my Coſin Margaret and Ʋrſula Are much deceiu'd, for they did ſweare you did. Bene.

They ſwore you were almoſt ſicke for me.

 Beat.

They ſwore you were wel-nye dead for me.

 Bene.

Tis no matter, then you doe not loue me?

 Beat.

No truly, but in friendly recompence.

 Leon.

Come Coſin, I am ſure you loue the gentlemā.

 Clau. And Ile be ſworne vpon't, that he loues her, For heres a paper written in his hand, A halting ſonnet of his owne pure braine, Faſhioned to Beatrice. Hero. And heeres another, Writ in my coſins hand, ſtolne from her pocket, Containing her affection vnto Benedicke. Bene.

A miracle, here's our owne hands againſt our hearts: come I will haue thee, but by this light I take thee for pittie.

 Beat.

I would not denie you, but by this good day, I yeeld vpon great perſwaſion, & partly to ſaue your life, for I was told, you were in a conſumption.

 Leon.

Peace I will ſtop your mouth.

 Prin.

How doſt thou Benedicke the married man?

 Bene.

Ile tell thee what Prince: a Colledge of witte-crackers cannot flout mee out of my humour, doſt thou think I care for a Satyre or an Epigram? no, if a man will be beaten with braines, a ſhall weare nothing handſome about him: in briefe, ſince I do purpoſe to marry, I will thinke nothing to any purpoſe that the world can ſay againſt it, and therefore neuer flout at me, for I haue ſaid againſt it: for man is a giddy thing, and this is my concluſion: for thy part Claudio, I did thinke to haue beaten thee, but in that thou art like to be my kinſman, liue vnbruis'd, and loue my couſin.

 Cla.

I had well hop'd yu wouldſt haue denied Beatrice, yt I might haue cudgel'd thee out of thy ſingle life, to make thee a double dealer, which out of queſtiō thou wilt be, if my Couſin do not looke exceeding narrowly to thee.

 Bene.

Come, come, we are friends, let's haue a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wiues heeles.

 Leon.

Wee'll haue dancing afterward.

 Bene.

Firſt, of my vvord, therfore play muſick. Prince, thou art ſad, get, thee a vvife, get thee a vvife, there is no ſtaff more reuerend then one tipt with horn.

Enter. Meſ. Meſſen. My Lord, your brother Iohn is tane in flight, And brought with armed men backe to Meſſina. Bene.

Thinke not on him till to morrow, ile deuiſe thee braue puniſhments for him: ſtrike vp Pipers.

Dance.
FINIS.
Loues Labour's loſt.
Actus primus. Enter Ferdinand King of Nauarre, Berowne, Longauill, and Dumane. Ferdinand. LEt Fame, that all hunt after in their liues, Liue regiſtred vpon our brazen Tombes, And then grace vs in the diſgrace of death: when ſpight of cormorant deuouring Time, Th' endeuour of this preſent breath may buy: That honour which ſhall bate his ſythes keene edge, And make vs heyres of all eternitie: Therefore braue Conquerours, for ſo you are, That warre againſt your owne affections, And the huge Armie of the worlds deſires. Our late edict ſhall ſtrongly ſtand in force, Nauar ſhall be the wonder of the world. Our Court ſhall be a little Achademe, Still and contemplatiue in liuing Art. You three, Berowne, Dumaine, and Longauill, Haue ſworne for three yeeres terme, to liue with me: My fellow Schollers, and to keepe thoſe ſtatutes That are recorded in this ſcedule heere. Your oathes are paſt, and now ſubſcribe your names: That his owne hand may ſtrike his honour downe, That violates the ſmalleſt branch heerein: If you are arm'd to doe, as ſworne to do, Subſcribe to your deepe oathes, and keepe it to. Longauill. I am reſolu'd, 'tis but a three yeeres faſt: The minde ſhall banquet, though the body pine, Fat paunches haue leane pates: and dainty bits, Make rich the ribs, but bankerout the wits. Dumane. My louing Lord, Dumane is mortified, The groſſer manner of theſe worlds delights, He throwes vpon the groſſe worlds baſer ſlaues: To loue, to wealth, to pompe, I pine and die, With all theſe liuing in Philoſophie. Berowne. I can but ſay their proteſtation ouer, So much, deare Liege, I haue already ſworne, That is, to liue and ſtudy heere three yeeres. But there are other ſtrict obſeruances: As not to ſee a woman in that terme, Which I hope well is not enrolled there. And one day in a weeke to touch no foode: And but one meale on euery day beſide: The which I hope is not enrolled there. And then to ſleepe but three houres in the night, And not be ſeene to winke of all the day. When I was wont to thinke no harme all night, And make a darke night too of halfe the day: Which I hope well is not enrolled there. O, theſe are barren taskes, too hard to keepe, Not to ſee Ladies, ſtudy, faſt, not ſleepe. Ferd.

Your oath is paſt, to paſſe away from theſe.

 Berow. Let me ſay no my Liedge, and if you pleaſe, I onely ſwore to ſtudy with your grace, And ſtay heere in your Court for three yeeres ſpace. Longa.

You ſwore to that Berowne, and to the reſt.

 Berow. By yea and nay ſir, than I ſwore in ieſt. What is the end of ſtudy, let me know? Fer.

Why that to know which elſe wee ſhould not know.

 Ber.

Things hid & bard (you meane) frō cōmon ſenſe.

 Ferd.

I, that is ſtudies god-like recompence.

 Bero. Come on then, I will ſweare to ſtudie ſo, To know the thing I am forbid to know: As thus, to ſtudy where I well may dine, When I to faſt expreſſely am forbid. Or ſtudie where to meet ſome Miſtreſſe fine, When Miſtreſſes from common ſenſe are hid. Or hauing ſworne too hard a keeping oath, Studie to breake it, and not breake my troth. If ſtudies gaine be thus, and this be ſo, Studie knowes that which yet it doth not know, Sweare me to this, and I will nere ſay no. Ferd. Theſe be the ſtops that hinder ſtudie quite, And traine our intellects to vaine delight. Ber. Why? all delights are vaine, and that moſt vaine Which with paine purchas'd, doth inherit paine, As painefully to poare vpon a Booke, To ſeeke the light of truth, while truth the while Doth falſely blinde the eye-ſight of his looke: Light ſeeeking light, doth light of light beguile: So ere you finde where light in darkeneſſe lies, Your light growes darke by loſing of your eyes. Studie me how to pleaſe the eye indeede, By fixing it vpon a fairer eye, Who dazling ſo, that eye ſhall be his heed, And giue him light that it was blinded by. Studie is like the heauens glorious Sunne, That will not be deepe ſearch'd with ſawcy lookes: Small haue continuall plodders euer wonne, Saue baſe authoritie from others Bookes. Theſe earthly Godfathers of heauens lights, That giue a name to euery fixed Starre, Haue no more profit of their ſhining nights, Then thoſe that walke and wot not what they are. Too much to know, is to know nought but fame▪ And euery Godfather can giue a name. Fer.

How well hee's read, to reaſon againſt reading.

 Dum.

Proceeded well, to ſtop all good proceeding.

 Lon.

Hee weedes the corne, and ſtill lets grow the weeding.

 Ber.

The Spring is neare when greene geeſſe are a breeding.

 Dum.

How followes that?

 Ber.

Fit in his place and time.

 Dum.

In reaſon nothing.

 Ber.

Something then in rime.

 Ferd. Berowne is like an enuious ſneaping Froſt, That bites the firſt borne infants of the Spring. Ber. Wel, ſay I am, why ſhould proud Summer boaſt, Before the Birds haue any cauſe to ſing? Why ſhould I ioy in any abortiue birth? At Chriſtmas I no more deſire a Roſe, Then wiſh a Snow in Mayes new fangled ſhowes: But like of each thing that in ſeaſon growes. So you to ſtudie now it is too late, That were to clymbe ore the houſe to vnlocke the gate. Fer.

Well, fit you out: go home Berowne: adue.

 Ber. No my good Lord, I haue ſworn to ſtay with you. And though I haue for barbariſme ſpoke more, Then for that Angell knowledge you can ſay, Yet confident Ile keepe what I haue ſworne, And bide the pennance of each three yeares day. Giue me the paper, let me reade the ſame, And to the ſtricteſt decrees Ile write my name. Fer.

How well this yeelding reſcues thee from ſhame.

 Ber. Item. That no woman ſhall come within a mile of my Court. Hath this bin proclaimed? Lon.

Foure dayes agoe.

 Ber. Let's ſee the penaltie. On paine of looſing her tongue. Who deuis'd this penaltie? Lon.

Marry that did I.

 Ber.

Sweete Lord, and why?

 Lon.

To fright them hence with that dread penaltie, A dangerous law againſt gentilitie. Item, If any man be ſeene to talke with a woman within the tearme of three yeares, hee ſhall indure ſuch publique ſhame as the reſt of the Court ſhall poſſibly deuiſe.

 Ber. This Article my Liedge your ſelfe muſt breake, For well you know here comes is Embaſſie The French Kings daughter, with your ſelfe to ſpeake: A Maide of grace and compleate maieſtie, About ſurrender vp of Aquitaine: To her decrepit, ſicke, and bed-rid Father. Therefore this Article is made in vaine, Or vainly comes th' admired Princeſſe hither. Fer. What ſay you Lords? Why, this was quite forgot. Ber. So Studie euermore is ouerſhot, While it doth ſtudy to haue what it would, It doth forget to doe the thing it ſhould: And when it hath the thing it hunteth moſt, 'Tis won as townes with fire, ſo won, ſo loſt. Fer. We muſt of force diſpence with this Decree, She muſt lye here on meere neceſſitie. Ber. Neceſſity will make vs all forſworne Three thouſand times within this three yeeres ſpace: For euery man with his affects is borne, Not by might maſtred, but by ſpeciall grace. If I breake faith, this word ſhall breake for me, I am forſworne on meere neceſſitie. So to the Lawes at large I write my name, And he that breakes them in the leaſt degree, Stands in attainder of eternall ſhame. Suggeſtions are to others as to me: But I beleeue although I ſeeme ſo loth, I am the laſt that will laſt keepe his oth. But is there no quicke recreation granted? Fer. I that there is, our Court you know is hanted With a refined trauailer of Spaine, A man in all the worlds new faſhion planted, That hath a mint of phraſes in his braine: One, who the muſicke of his owne vaine tongue, Doth rauiſh like inchanting harmonie: A man of complements whom right and wrong Haue choſe as vmpire of their mutinie. This childe of fancie that Armado hight, For interim to our ſtudies ſhall relate, In high-borne words the worth of many a Knight: From tawnie Spaine loſt in the worlds debate. How you delight my Lords, I know not I, But I proteſt I loue to heare him lie, And I will vſe him for my Minſtrelſie. Bero. Armado is a moſt illuſtrious wight, A man of fire, new words, faſhions owne Knight. Lon. Coſtard the ſwaine and he, ſhall be our ſport, And ſo to ſtudie, three yeeres is but ſhort. Enter a Conſtable with Coſtard with a Letter. Conſt.

Which is the Dukes owne perſon.

 Ber.

This fellow, What would'ſt?

 Con.

I my ſelfe reprehend his owne perſon, for I am his graces Tharborough: But I would ſee his own perſon in fleſh and blood.

 Ber.

This is he.

 Con. Signeor Arme, Arme commends you: Ther's villanie abroad, this letter will tell you more. Clow.

Sir the Contempts thereof are as touching mee.

 Fer.

A letter from the magnificent Armado.

Ber.

How low ſoeuer the matter, I hope in God for high words.

 Lon.

A high hope for a low heauen, God grant vs patience.

 Ber.

To heare, or forbeare hearing.

 Lon.

To heare meekely ſir, and to laugh moderately, or to forbeare both.

 Ber.

Well ſir, be it as the ſtile ſhall giue vs cauſe to clime in the merrineſſe.

 Clo. The matter is to me ſir, as concerning Iaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. Ber.

In what manner?

 Clo.

In manner and forme following ſir all thoſe three. I was ſeene with her in the Mannor houſe, ſitting with her vpon the Forme, and taken following her into the Parke: which put to gether, is in manner and forme following. Now ſir for the manner; It is the manner of a man to ſpeake to a woman, for the forme in ſome forme.

 Ber.

For the following ſir.

 Clo.

As it ſhall follow in my correction, and God defend the right.

 Fer.

Will you heare this Letter with attention?

 Ber.

As we would heare an Oracle.

 Clo.

Such is the ſimplicitie of man to harken after the fleſh.

 Ferdinand.

GReat Deputie, the Welk • ns Vicegerent, and ſole dominator of Nauar, my ſoules earths God, and bodies foſtring patrone:

 Coſt.

Not a vvord of Coſtard yet.

 Ferd.

So it is.

Coſt.

It may be ſo: but if he ſay it is ſo, he is in telling true: but ſo.

 Ferd.

Peace,

 Clow.

Be to me, and euery man that dares not fight.

 Ferd.

No words,

 Clow.

Of other mens ſecrets I beſeech you.

 Ferd.

So it is beſieged with ſable coloured melancholie, I did commend the blacke oppreſſing humour to the moſt wholeſome Phyſicke of thy health-giuing ayre: And as I am a Gentleman, betooke my ſelfe to walke: the time When? about the ſixt houre, When beaſts moſt graſe, birds beſt pecke, and men ſit downe to that nouriſhment which is called ſupper: So much for the time When. Now for the ground Which? which I meane I walkt vpon, it is ycliped, Thy Parke. Then for the place Where? where I meane I did encounter that obſcene and moſt prepoſterous euent that draweth from my ſnow-white pen the ebon coloured Inke, which heere thou vieweſt, beholdeſt, ſuruayeſt, or ſeeſt. But to the place Where? It standeth North North-eaſt and by Eaſt from the Weſt corner of thy curious knotted garden; There did I ſee that low ſpirited Swaine, that baſe Minow of thy myrth, (Clown. Mee?) that vnletered ſmall knowing ſoule, (Clow Me?) that ſhallow vaſſall (Clow. Still mee?) which as I remember, hight Coſtard, (Clow. O me) ſorted and conſorted contrary to thy eſtabliſhed proclaymed Edict and Continet, Cannon: Which with, ô with, but with this I paſſion to ſay wherewith:

Clo.

With a Wench.

 Ferd.

With a childe of our Grandmother E • e, a female; or for thy more ſweet vnderſtanding a woman: him, I (as my euer eſteemed dutie prickes me on) haue ſent to thee, to receiue the meed of puniſhment by thy ſweet Graces Officer Anthony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, & estimation.

Anth.

Me, an't ſhall pleaſe you? I am Anthony Dull.

Ferd.

For Iaquenetta (ſo is the weaker veſſell called) which I apprehended with the aforeſaid Swaine, I keeper her as a veſſell of thy Lawes furie, and ſhall at the leaſt of thy ſweet notice, bring her to triall. Thine in all complements of deuoted and heart-burning heat of dutie.

Don Adriana de Armado.

 Ber.

This is not ſo well as I looked for, but the beſt that euer I heard.

 Fer.

I the beſt, for the worſt. But ſirra, What ſay you to this?

 Clo.

Sir I confeſſe the Wench.

 Fer.

Did you heare the Proclamation?

 Clo.

I doe confeſſe much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

 Fer.

It was proclaimed a yeeres impriſonment to bee taken with a Wench.

 Clow.

I was taken with none ſir, I was taken vvith a Damoſell.

 Fer.

Well, it was proclaimed Damoſell.

 Clo.

This was no Damoſell neyther ſir, ſhee was a Virgin.

 Fer.

It is ſo varried to, for it was proclaimed Virgin.

 Clo.

If it were, I denie her Virginitie: I was taken with a Maide.

 Fer.

This Maid will not ſerue your turne ſir.

 Clo.

This Maide will ſerue my turne ſir.

 Kin.

Sir I will pronounce your ſentence: You ſhall faſt a Weeke with Branne and water.

 Clo.

I had rather pray a Moneth with Mutton and Porridge.

 Kin. And Don Armado ſhall be your keeper. My Lord Berowne, ſee him deliuer'd ore, And goe we Lords to put in practice that, Which each to other hath ſo ſtrongly ſworne. Bero. Ile lay my head to any good mans hat, Theſe oathes and lawes will proue an idle ſcorne. Sirra, come on. Clo.

I ſuffer for the truth ſir: for true it is, I was taken with Iaquenetta, and Iaquenetta is a true girle, and therefore welcome the ſowre cup of proſperitie, affliction may one day ſmile againe, and vntill then ſit downe ſorrow.

Exit. Enter Armado and Moth his Page. Arma.

Boy, What ſigne is it when a man of great ſpirit growes melancholy?

 Boy.

A great ſigne ſir, that he will looke ſad.

 Brag.

Why? ſadneſſe is one and the ſelfe-ſame thing deare impe.

 Boy.

No no, O Lord ſir no.

 Brag.

How canſt thou part ſadneſſe and melancholy my tender Iuuenall?

 Boy.

By a familiar demonſtration of the working, my tough ſigneur.

 Brag.

Why tough ſigneur? Why tough ſigneur?

 Boy.

Why tender Iuuenall? Why tender Iuuenall?

 Brag.

I ſpoke it tender Iuuenall, as a congruent apathaton, appertaining to thy young daies, which we may nominate tender.

 Boy.

And I tough ſigneur, as an appertinent title to your olde time, which we may name tough.

 Brag.

Pretty and apt.

 Boy.

How meane you ſir, I pretty, and my ſaying apt? or I apt, and my ſaying prettie?

 Brag.

Thou pretty becauſe little.

 Boy.

Little pretty, becauſe little: wherefore apt?

 Brag

And therefore apt, becauſe quicke.

 Boy.

Speake you this in my praiſe Maſter?

 Brag.

In thy condigne praiſe.

 Boy.

I will praiſe an Eele with the ſame praiſe.

 Brag.

What? that an Eele is ingenuous.

 Boy.

That an Eele is quicke.

 Brag.

I doe ſay thou art quicke in anſweres. Thou heat'ſt my bloud.

 Boy.

I am anſwer'd ſir.

 Brag.

I loue not to be croſt.

 Boy.

He ſpeakes the meere contrary, croſſes loue not him.

 Br.

I haue promis'd to ſtudy iij. yeres with the Duke.

 Boy.

You may doe it in an houre ſir.

 Brag.

Impoſſible.

 Boy.

How many is one thrice told?

 Bra.

I am ill at reckning, it fits the ſpirit of a Tapſter.

 Boy.

You are a gentleman and a gameſter fir.

 Brag.

I confeſſe both, they are both the varniſh of a compleat man.

 Boy.

Then I am ſure you know how much the groſſe ſumme of deuſ-ace amounts to.

 Brag.

It doth amount to one more then two.

 Boy.

Which the baſe vulgar call three.

 Br.

True.

 Boy.

Why ſir is this ſuch a peece of ſtudy? Now here's three ſtudied, ere you'll thrice wink, & how eaſie it is to put yeres to the word three, and ſtudy three yeeres in two words, the dancing horſe will tell you.

 Brag.

A moſt fine Figure.

 Boy.

To proue you a Cypher.

 Brag.

I will heereupon confeſſe I am in loue: and as it is baſe for a Souldier to loue; ſo am I in loue with a baſe wench. If drawing my ſword againſt the humour of affection, would deliuer mee from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Deſire priſo • , and ranſome him to any French Courtier for a n • deuis'd curtſie. I thinke ſcorne to ſigh, me thinkes I ſhould out-ſweare Cupid. Comfort me Boy, What great men haue beene in loue?

 Boy.

Hercules Maſter.

 Brag.

Moſt ſweete Hercules: more authority deare Boy, name more; and ſweet my childe let them be men of good repute and carriage.

 Boy.

Sampſon Maſter, he was a man of good carriage, great carriage: for hee carried the Towne-gates on his backe like a Porter: and he was in loue.

 Brag.

O well-knit Sampſon, ſtrong ioynted Sampſon; I doe excell thee in my rapier, as much as thou didſt mee in carrying gates. I am in loue too. Who was Sampſons loue my deare Moth?

 Boy.

A Woman, Maſter.

 Brag.

Of what complexion?

 Boy.

Of all the foure, or the three, or the two, or one of the foure.

 Brag.

Tell me preciſely of what complexion?

 Boy.

Of the ſea-water Greene ſir.

 Brag.

Is that one of the foure complexions?

 Boy.

As I haue read ſir, and the beſt of them too.

 Brag.

Greene indeed is the colour of Louers: but to haue a Loue of that colour, methinkes Sampſon had ſmall reaſon for it. He ſurely affected her for her wit.

 Boy.

It was ſo ſir, for ſhe had a greene wit.

 Brag.

My Loue is moſt immaculate white and red.

 Boy.

Moſt immaculate thoughts Maſter, are mask'd vnder ſuch colours.

 Brag.

Define, define, well educated infant.

 Boy.

My fathers witte, and my mothers tongue aſſiſt mee.

 Brag.

Sweet inuocation of a childe, moſt pretty and patheticall.

 Boy. If ſhee be made of white and red, Her faults will nere be knowne: For bluſh-in cheekes by faults are bred, And feares by pale white ſhowne: Then if ſhe feare, or be to blame, By this you ſhall not know, For ſtill her cheekes poſſeſſe the ſame, Which natiue ſhe doth owe: A dangerous rime maſter againſt the reaſon of white and redde. Brag.

Is there not a ballet Boy, of the King and the Begger?

 Boy.

The world was very guilty of ſuch a Ballet ſome three ages ſince, but I thinke now 'tis not to be found: or if it were, it would neither ſerue for the writing, nor the tune.

 Brag.

I will haue that ſubiect newly writ ore, that I may example my digreſſion by ſome mighty preſident. Boy, I doe loue that Countrey girle that I tooke in the Parke with the rationall hinde Coſtard: ſhe deſerues well.

 Boy.

To bee whip'd: and yet a better loue then my Maſter.

 Brag.

Sing Boy, my ſpirit grows heauy in ioue.

 Boy.

And that's great maruell, louing a light wench.

 Brag.

I ſay ſing.

 Boy.

Forbeare till this company be paſt.

 Enter Clowne, Conſtable, and Wench. Conſt.

Sir, the Dukes pleaſure, is that you keepe Coſtard ſafe, and you muſt let him take no delight, nor no penance, but hee muſt faſt three daies a weeke: for this Damſell, I muſt keepe her at the Parke, ſhee is alowd for the Day-woman. Fare you well.

Exit. Brag.

I do betray my ſelfe with bluſhing: Maide.

 Maid.

Man.

 Brag.

I wil viſit thee at the Lodge.

 Maid.

That's here by.

 Brag.

I know where it is ſituate.

 Mai.

Lord how wiſe you are!

 Brag.

I will tell thee wonders.

 Ma.

With what face?

 Brag.

I loue thee.

 Mai.

So I heard you ſay.

 Brag.

And ſo farewell.

 Mai.

Faire weather after you.

 Clo.

Come Iaquenetta, away.

Exeunt. Brag.

Villaine, thou ſhalt faſt for thy offences ere thou be pardoned.

 Clo.

Well ſir, I hope when I doe it, I ſhall doe it on a full ſtomacke.

 Brag.

Thou ſhalt be heauily puniſhed.

 Clo.

I am more bound to you then your fellowes, for they are but lightly rewarded.

 Clo.

Take away this villaine, ſhut him vp.

 Boy.

Come you tranſgreſſing ſlaue, away.

 Clow.

Let mee not bee pent vp ſir, I will faſt being looſe.

 Boy.

No ſir, that were faſt and looſe: thou ſhalt to priſon.

 Clow.

Well, if euer I do ſee the merry dayes of deſolation that I haue ſeene, ſome ſhall ſee.

 Boy.

What ſhall ſome ſee?

 Clow.

Nay nothing, Maſter Moth, but what they looke vpon. It is not for priſoners to be ſilent in then words, and therefore I will ſay nothing: I thanke God, I haue as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet.

Exit. Brag.

I doe affect the very ground (which is baſe) where her ſhooe (which is baſer) guided by her foote (which is baſeſt) doth tread. I ſhall be forſworn (which ia a great argument of falſhood) if I loue. And how can that be true loue, which is falſly attempted? Loue is a familiar, Loue is a Diuell. There is no euill Angell but Loue, yet Sampſon was ſo tempted, and he had an excellent ſtrength: Yet was Salomon ſo ſeduced, and hee had a very good witte. Cupids But ſhaft is too hard for Hercules Clubbe, and therefore too much ods for a Spaniards Rapier: The firſt and ſecond cauſe will not ſerue my turne: the Paſſado hee reſpects not, the Duello he regards not; his diſgrace is to be called Boy, but his glorie is to ſubdue men. Adue Valour, ruſt Rapier, bee ſtill Drum, for your manager is in loue; yea hee loueth. Aſſiſt me ſome extemporall god of Rime, for I am ſure I ſhall turne Sonnet. Deuiſe Wit, write Pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio.

Exit. Finis Actus Primus.
Actus Secunda. Enter the Princeſſe of France, with three attending Ladies, and three Lords. Boyet. Now Madam ſummon vp your deareſt ſpirits, Conſider who the King your father ſends: To whom he ſends, and what's his Embaſſie. Your ſelfe, held precious in the worlds eſteeme, To parlee with the ſole inheritour Of all perfections that a man may owe, Matchleſſe Nauarre, the plea of no leſſe weight Then Aquitaine, a Dowrie for a Queene. Be now as prodigall of all deare grace, As Nature was in making Graces deare, When ſhe did ſtarue the generall world beſide, And prodigally gaue them all to you. Queen. Good L. Boyet, my beauty though but mean, Needs not the painted flouriſh of your praiſe: Beauty is bought by iudgement of the eye, Not vttred by baſe ſale of chapmens tongues: I am leſſe proud to heare you tell my worth, Then you much wiling to be counted wiſe, In ſpending your wit in the praiſe of mine. But now to taske the tasker, good Boyet, Prin. You are not ignorant all-telling fame Doth noyſe abroad Nauar hath made a vow, Till painefull ſtudie ſhall out-weare three yeares, No woman may approach his ſilent Court: Therefore to's ſeemeth it a needfull courſe, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleaſure, and in that behalfe Bold of your worthineſſe, we ſingle you, As our beſt mouing faire ſoliciter: Tell him, the daughter of the King of France, On ſerious buſineſſe crauing quicke diſpatch, Importunes perſonall conference with his grace. Haſte, ſignifie ſo much while we attend, Like humble viſag'd ſuters his high will. Boy.

Proud of imployment, willingly I goe.

Exit. Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is ſo: Who are the Votaries my louing Lords, that are vow-fellowes with this vertuous Duke? Lor.

Longauill is one.

 Princ.

Know you the man?

 1 Lady. I know him Madame at a marriage feaſt, Betweene L. Perigort and the beautious heire Of Iaques Fauconbridge ſolemnized. In Normandie ſaw I this Longauill, A man of ſoueraigne parts he is eſteem'd: Well fitted in Arts, glorious in Armes: Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. The onely ſoyle of his faire vertues gloſſe, If vertues gloſſe will ſtaine with any ſoile, Is a ſharp wit match'd with too blunt a Will: Whoſe edge hath power to cut whoſe will ſtill wills, It ſhould none ſpare that come within his power. Prin.

Some merry mocking Lord belike, iſt ſo?

 Lad. 1.

They ſay ſo moſt, that moſt his humors know.

 Prin. Such ſhort liu'd wits do wither as they grow. Who are the reſt? 2. Lad. The yong Dumaine, a well accompliſht youth, Of all that Vertue loue, for Vertue loued. Moſt power to doe moſt harme, leaſt knowing ill: For he hath wit to make an ill ſhape good, And ſhape to win grace though ſhe had no wit. I ſaw him at the Duke Alanſoes once, And much too little of that good I ſaw, Is my report to his great worthineſſe. Roſſa. Another of theſe Students at that time, Was there with him, as I haue heard a truth. Berowne they call him, but a merrier man, Within the limit of becomming mirth, I neuer ſpent an houres talke withall. His eye begets occaſion for his wit, For euery obiect that the one doth catch, The other turnes to a mirth-mouing ieſt. Which his faire tongue (conceits expoſitor) Deliuers in ſuch apt and gracious words, That aged eares play treuant at his tales, And yonger hearings are quite rauiſhed. So ſweet and voluble is his diſcourſe. Prin. God bleſſe my Ladies, are they all in loue? That euery one her owne hath garniſhed, With ſuch bedecking ornaments of praiſe. Ma.

Heere comes Boyet.

Enter Boyet. Prin.

Now, what admittance Lord?

 Boyet. Nauar had notice of your faire approach, And he and his competitors in oath, Were all addreſt to meete you gentle Lady Before I came: Marrie thus much I haue learnt, He rather meanes to lodge you in the field, Like one that comes heere to beſiege his Court, Then ſeeke a diſpenſation for his oath: To let you enter his vnpeopled houſe. Enter Nauar, Longauill, Dumaine, and Berowne. Heere comes Nauar. Nau.

Faire Princeſſe, welcom to the Court of Nauar.

Prin.

Faire I giue you backe againe, and welcome I haue not yet: the roofe of this Court is too high to bee yours, and welcome to the wide fields, too baſe to be mine.

 Nau.

You ſhall be welcome Madam to my Court.

 Prin.

I wil be welcome then, Conduct me thither.

 Nau.

Heare me deare Lady, I haue ſworne an oath.

 Prin.

Our Lady helpe my Lord, he'll be forſworne.

 Nau.

Not for the world faire Madam, by my will.

 Prin.

Why, will ſhall breake it will, and nothing els.

 Nau.

Your Ladiſhip is ignorant what it is.

 Prin. Were my Lord ſo, his ignorance were wiſe, Where now his knowledge muſt proue ignorance. I heare your grace hath ſworne out Houſeekeeping: 'Tis deadly ſinne to keepe that oath my Lord, And ſinne to breake it: But pardon me, I am too ſodaine bold, To teach a Teacher ill beſeemeth me. Vouchſafe to read the purpoſe of my comming, And ſodainly reſolue me in my ſuite. Nau.

Madam, I will, if ſodainly I may.

 Prin. You will the ſooner that I were away, For you'll proue periur'd if you make me ſtay. Berow.

Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

 Roſa.

Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

 Ber.

I know you did.

 Roſa.

How needleſſe was it then to ask the queſtion?

 Ber.

You muſt not be ſo quicke.

 Roſa.

'Tis long of you yt ſpur me with ſuch queſtions.

 Ber.

Your wit's too hot, it ſpeeds too faſt, 'twill tire.

 Roſa.

Not till it leaue the Rider in the mire.

 Ber.

What time a day?

 Roſa.

The howre that fooles ſhould aske.

 Ber.

Now faire befall your maske.

 Roſa.

Faire fall the face it couers.

 Ber.

And ſend you many louers.

 Roſa.

Amen, ſo you be none.

 Ber.

Nay then will I be gone.

 Kin. Madame, your father heere doth intimate, The paiment of a hundred thouſand Crownes, Being but th' one halfe, of an intire ſumme, Disburſed by my father in his warres. But ſay that he, or we, as neither haue Receiu'd that ſumme; yet there remaines vnpaid A hundred thouſand more: in ſurety of the which, One part of Aquitaine is bound to vs, Although not valued to the moneys worth. If then the King your father will reſtore But that one halfe which is vnſatisfied, We will giue vp our right in Aquitaine, And hold faire friendſhip with his Maieſtie: But that it ſeemes he little purpoſeth, For here he doth demand to haue repaie, An hundred thouſand Crownes, and not demands One paiment of a hundred thouſand Crownes, To haue his title liue in Aquitaine. Which we much rather had depart withall, And haue the money by our father lent, Then Aquitane, ſo guelded as it is. Deare Princeſſe, were not his requeſts ſo farre From reaſons yeelding, your faire ſelfe ſhould make A yeelding 'gainſt ſome reaſon in my breſt, And goe well ſatisfied to France againe. Prin. You doe the King my Father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In ſo vnſeeming to confeſſe receyt Of that which hath ſo faithfully beene paid. Kin. I doe proteſt I neuer heard of it, And if you proue it, Ile repay it backe, Or yeeld vp Aquitaine. Prin. We arreſt your word: Boyet, you can produce acquittances For ſuch a ſumme, from ſpeciall Officers, Of Charles his Father. Kin.

Satisfie me ſo.

 Boyet. So pleaſe your Grace, the packet is not come Where that and other ſpecialties are bound, To morrow you ſhall haue a ſight of them. Kin. It ſhall ſuffice me; at which enterview, All liberall reaſon would I yeeld vnto: Meane time, receiue ſuch welcome at my hand, As Honour, without breach of Honour may Make tender of, to thy true worthineſſe. You may not come faire Princeſſe in my gates, But heere without you ſhall be ſo receiu'd, As you ſhall deeme your ſelfe lodg'd in my heart, Though ſo deni'd farther harbour in my houſe: Your owne good thoughts excuſe me, and farewell, To morrow we ſhall viſit you againe. Prin.

Sweet health & faire deſires conſort your grace.

 Kin.

Thy own wiſh wiſh I thee, in euery place.

Exit. Boy.

Lady, I will commend you to my owne heart.

 La. Ro. Pray you doe my commendations, I would be glad to ſee it. Boy.

I would you heard it grone.

 La. Ro.

Is the ſoule ſicke?.

 Boy.

Sicke at the heart.

 La. Ro.

Alacke, let it bloud.

 Boy.

Would that doe it good?

 La. Ro.

My Phiſicke ſaies I.

 Boy.

Will you prick't with your eye.

 La. Ro.

No poynt, with my knife.

 Boy.

Now God ſaue thy life.

 La. Ro.

And yours from long liuing.

 Ber.

I cannot ſtay thankſ-giuing.

Exit. Enter Dumane. Dum.

Sir, I pray you a word: What Lady is that ſame?

 Boy.

The heire of Alanſon, Roſalin her name.

 Dum.

A gallant Lady, Mounſier fare you well.

 Long.

I beſeech you a word: what is ſhe in the white?

 Boy.

A woman ſomtimes, if you ſaw her in the light.

 Long.

Perchance light in the light: I deſire her name.

 Boy. Shee hath but one for her ſelfe, To deſire that were a ſhame. Long.

Pray you ſir, whoſe daughter?

 Boy.

Her Mothers, I haue heard.

 Long.

Gods bleſſing a your beard.

 Boy. Good ſir be not offended, Shee is an heyre of Faulconbridge. Long. Nay, my choller is ended: Shee is a moſt ſweet Lady. Exit. Long. Boy.

Not vnlike ſir, that may be.

 Enter Beroune. Ber.

What's her name in the cap.

 Boy.

Katherine by good hap.

 Ber.

Is ſhe wedded, or no.

 Boy.

To her will ſir, or ſo.

 Ber.

You are welcome ſir, adiew.

 Boy.

Fare well to me ſir, and welcome to you.

Exit. La. Ma. That laſt is Beroune, the mery mad-cap Lord. Not a word with him, but a ieſt. Boy.

And euery ieſt but a word.

 Pri.

It was well done of you to take him at his word.

 Boy.

I was as willing to grapple, as he was to boord.

 La. Ma. Two hot Sheepes marie: And wherefore not Ships? Boy.

No Sheepe (ſweet Lamb) vnleſſe we feed on your lips.

 La.

You Sheep & I paſture: ſhall that finiſh the ieſt?

 Boy.

So you grant paſture for me.

 La. Not ſo gentle beaſt. My lips are no Common, though ſeuerall they be. Bo.

Belonging to whom?

 La.

To my fortunes and me.

 Prin. Good wits wil be iangling, but gentles agree. This ciuill warre of wits were much better vſed On Nauar and his bookemen, for heere 'tis abus'd. Bo. If my obſeruation (which very ſeldome lies By the hearts ſtill rhetoricke, diſcloſed with eyes) Deceiue me not now, Nauar is infected. Prin.

With what?

 Bo.

With that which we Louers intitle affected.

 Prin.

Your reaſon.

 Bo. Why all his behauiours doe make their retire, To the court of his eye, peeping thorough deſire. His hart like an Agot with your print impreſſed, Proud with his forme, in his eie pride expreſſed. His tongue all impatient to ſpeake and not ſee, Did ſtumble with haſte in his eie-ſight to be, All ſences to that ſence did make their repaire, To feele onely looking on faireſt of faire: Me thought all his ſences were lockt in his eye, As Iewels in Chriſtall for ſome Prince to buy. Who tendring their own worth from whence they were glaſt, Did point out to buy them along as you paſt. His faces owne margent did coate ſuch amazes, That all eyes ſaw his eies inchanted with gazes. Ile giue you Aquitaine, and all that is his, And you giue him for my ſake, but one louing Kiſſe. Prin.

Come to our Pauillion, Boyet is diſpoſde.

 Bro. But to ſpeak that in words, which his eie hath diſclos'd. I onelie haue made a mouth of his eie, By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie. Lad. Ro.

Thou art an old Loue-monger, and ſpeakeſt skilfully.

 Lad. Ma.

He is Cupids Grandfather, and learnes news of him.

 Lad. 2.

Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

 Boy.

Do you heare my mad wenches?

 La. 1.

No.

 Boy.

What then, do you ſee?

 Lad. 2.

I, our way to be gone.

 Boy.

You are too hard for me.

Exeunt omnes.
Actus Tertius. Enter Broggart and Boy. Song. Bra.

Warble childe, make paſſionate my ſenſe of hearing.

 Boy.

Concolinel.

 Brag.

Sweete Ayer, go tenderneſſe of yeares: take this Key, giue enlargement to the ſwaine, bring him feſtinatly hither: I muſt imploy him in a letter to my Loue.

 Boy.

Will you win your loue with a French braule?

 Bra.

How meaneſt thou, brauling in French?

 Boy.

No my compleat maſter, but to Iigge off a tune at the tongues end, canarie to it with the feete, humour it with turning vp your eie: ſigh a note and ſing a note, ſometime through the throate: if you ſwallowed loue with ſinging, loue ſometime through: noſe as if you ſnuft vp loue by ſmelling loue with your hat penthouſe-like ore the ſhop of your eies, with your armes croſt on your thinbellie doublet, like a Rabbet on a ſpit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting, and keepe not too long in one tune, but a ſnip and away: theſe are complements, theſe are humours, theſe betraie nice wenches that would be betraied without theſe, and make them men of note: do you note men that moſt are affected to theſe?

 Brag.

How haſt thou purchaſed this experience?

 Boy.

By my penne of obſeruation.

 Brag.

But O, but O.

 Boy.

The Hobbie-horſe is forgot.

 Bra.

Cal'ſt thou my loue Hobbi-horſe.

 Boy. No Maſter, the Hobbie-horſe is but a Colt, and and your Loue perhaps, a Hacknie: But haue you forgot your Loue? Brag.

Almoſt I had.

 Boy.

Negligent ſtudent, learne her by heart.

 Brag.

By heart, and in heart Boy.

 Boy.

And out of heart Maſter: all thoſe three I will proue.

 Brag.

What wilt thou proue?

 Boy.

A man, if I liue (and this) by, in, and without, vpon the inſtant: by heart you loue her, becauſe your heart cannot come by her: in heart you loue her, becauſe your heart is in loue with her: and out of heart you loue her, being out of heart that you cannot enioy her.

 Brag.

I am all theſe three.

 Boy.

And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

 Brag.

Fetch hither the Swaine, he muſt carrie mee a letter.

 Boy.

A meſſage well ſimpathis'd, a Horſe to be embaſſadour for an Aſſe.

 Brag.

Ha, ha, What ſaieſt thou?

 Boy.

Marrie ſir, you muſt ſend the Aſſe vpon the Horſe for he is verie ſlow gated: but I goe.

 Brag.

The way is but ſhort, away.

 Boy.

As ſwift as Lead ſir.

 Brag.

Thy meaning prettie ingenious, is not Lead a mettall heauie, dull, and ſlow?

 Boy.

Minnime honeſt Maſter, or rather Maſter no.

 Brad.

I ſay Lead is ſlow.

 Boy. You are too ſwift ſir to ſay ſo. Is that Lead ſlow which is fir'd from a Gunne? Brag. Sweete ſmoke of Rhetorike, He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he: I ſhoote thee at the Swaine. Boy.

Thump then, and I flee.

 Bra. A moſt acute iuuenall, voluble and free of grace, By thy fauour ſweet Welkin, I muſt ſigh in thy face. Moſt rude melancholie, Valour giues thee place. My Herald is return'd. Enter Page and Clowne. Pag.

A wonder Maſter, here's a Coſtard broken in a ſhin.

 Ar.

Some enigma, ſome riddle, come, thy Lenuoy begin.

 Clo.

No egma, no riddle, no lenuoy, no ſalue, in thee male ſir. Or ſir, Plantan, a plaine Plantan: no lenuoy, no lenuoy, no Salue ſir, but a Plantan.

 Ar.

By vertue thou inforceſt laughter, thy ſillie thought, my ſpleene, the heauing of my lunges prouokes me to rediculous ſmyling: O pardon me my ſtars, doth the inconſiderate take ſalue for lenuoy, and the word lenuoy for a ſalue?

 Pag.

Doe the wiſe thinke them other, is not lenuoy a ſalue?

 Ar. No Page, it is an epilogue or diſcourſe to make plaine, Some obſcure precedence that hath to fore bin faine. Now will I begin your morrall, and do you follow with my lenuoy. The Foxe, the Ape, and the Humble-Bee, Were ſtill at oddes, being but three. Arm. Vntill the Gooſe came out of doore, Staying the oddes by adding foure. Pag.

A good Lenuoy, ending in the Gooſe: would you deſire more?

 Clo. The Boy hath ſold him a bargaine, a Gooſe, that's flat Sir, your penny-worth is good, and your Gooſe be fat▪ To ſell a bargaine well is as cunning as faſt and looſe: Let me ſee a fat Lenuoy, I that's a fat Gooſe. Ar. Come hither, come hither: How did this argument begin? Boy. By ſaying that a Coſtard was broken in a ſhin. Then cal'd you for the Lenuoy. Clow. True, and I for a Plantan: Thus came your argument in: Then the Boyes fat Lenuoy, the Gooſe that you bought, And he ended the market. Ar.

But tell me: How was there a Coſtard broken in a ſhin?

 Pag.

I will tell you ſencibly.

 Clow. Thou haſt no feeling of it Moth, I will ſpeake that Lenuoy. I Coſtard running out, that was ſafely within, Fell ouer the threſhold, and broke my ſhin. Arm.

We will talke no more of this matter.

 Clow.

Till there be more matter in the ſhin.

 Arm.

Sirra Coſtard, I will infranchiſe thee.

 Clow.

O, marrie me to one Francis, I ſmell ſome Lenuoy, ſome Gooſe in this.

 Arm.

By my ſweete ſoule, I meane, ſetting thee at libertie. Enfreedoming thy perſon: thou wert emured, reſtrained, captiuated, bound.

 Clow.

True, true, and now you will be my purgation, and let me looſe.

 Arm.

I giue thee thy libertie, ſet thee from durance, and in lieu thereof, impoſe on thee nothing but this: Beare this ſignificant to the countrey Maide Iaquenetta: there is remuneration, for the beſt ward of mine honours is rewarding my dependants. Moth, follow.

 Pag. Like the ſequell I. Signeur Coſtard adew. Exit. Clow.

My ſweete ounce of mans fleſh, my in-conie Iew: Now will I looke to his remuneration. Remuneration, O, that's the Latine word for three-farthings: Three-farthings remuneration, What's the price of this yncle? i.d. no, Ile giue you a remuneration: Why? It carries it remuneration: Why? It is a fairer name then a French-Crowne. I will neuer buy and ſell out of this word.

 Enter Berowne. Ber.

O my good knaue Coſtard, exceedingly well met.

 Clow.

Pray you ſir, How much Carnation Ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

 Ber.

What is a remuneration?

 Coſt.

Marrie ſir, halfe pennie farthing.

 Ber.

O, Why then three farthings worth of Silke.

 Coſt.

I thanke your worſhip, God be wy you.

 Ber. O ſtay ſlaue, I muſt employ thee: As thou wilt win my fauour, good my knaue, Doe one thing for me that I ſhall intreate. Clow.

When would you haue it done ſir?

 Ber.

O this after-noone.

 Clo.

Well, I will doe it ſir: Fare you well.

 Ber.

O thou knoweſt not what it is.

 Clo.

I ſhall know ſir, when I haue done it.

 Ber.

Why villaine thou muſt know firſt.

 Clo.

I wil come to your worſhip to morrow morning.

 Ber. It muſt be done this after-noone, Harke ſlaue, it is but this: The Princeſſe comes to hunt here in the Parke, And in her traine there is a gentle Ladie: When tongues ſpeak ſweetly, then they name her name, And Roſaline they call her, aske for her: And to her white hand ſee thou do commend This ſeal'd vp counſaile. Ther's thy guerdon: goe. Clo.

Gardon, O ſweete gardon, better then remuneration, a leuenpence-farthing better: moſt ſweete gardon. I will doe it ſir in print: gardon, remuneration.

 Exit. Ber. O, and I forſooth in loue, I that haue beene loues whip? A verie Beadle to a humerous ſigh: A Criticke, Nay, a night-watch Conſtable. A domineering pedant ore the Boy, Then whom no mortall ſo magnificent. This wimpled, whyning, purblinde waiward Boy, This ſignior Iunios gyant drawfe, don Cupid, Regent of Loue-rimes, Lord of folded armes, Th' annointed ſoueraigne of ſighes and groanes: Liedge of all loyterers and male contents: Dread Prince of Placcats, King of Codpeeces. Sole Emperator and great generall Of trotting Parrators (O my little heart.) And I to be a Corporall of his field, And weare his colours like a Tumblers hoope. What? I loue, I ſue, I ſeeke a wife, A woman that is like a Germane Cloake, Still a repairing: euer out of frame, And neuer going a right, being a Watch: But being watcht, that it may ſtill goe right. Nay, to be periurde, which is worſt of all: And among three, to loue the worſt of all, A whitly wanton, with a veluet brow. With two pitch bals ſtucke in her face for eyes. I, and by heauen, one that will doe the deede, Though Argus were her Eunuch and her garde. And I to ſigh for her, to watch for her, To pray for her, go to: it is a plague That Cupid will impoſe for my neglect, Of his almighty dreadfull little might. Well, I will loue, write, ſigh, pray, ſhue, grone, Some men muſt loue my Lady, and ſome lone.
Actus Quartus. Enter the Princeſſe, a Forreſter, her Ladies, and her Lords. Qu. Was that the King that ſpurd his horſe ſo hard, Againſt the ſteepe vpriſing of the hill? Boy.

I know not, but I thinke it was not he.

 Qu. Who ere a was, a ſhew'd a mounting minde: Well Lords, to day we ſhall haue our diſpatch, On Saterday we will returne to France. Then Forreſter my friend, Where is the Buſh That we muſt ſtand and play the murtherer in? For. Hereby vpon the edge of yonder Coppice, A Stand where you may make the faireſt ſhoote. Qu. I thanke my beautie, I am faire that ſhoote, And thereupon thou ſpeak'ſt the faireſt ſhoote. For.

Pardon me Madam, for I meant not ſo.

 Qu. What, what? Firſt praiſe me, & then again ſay no. O ſhort liu'd pride. Not faire? alacke for woe. For.

Yes Madam faire.

 Qu. Nay, neuer paint me now, Where faire is not, praiſe cannot mend the brow. Here (good my glaſſe) take this for telling true: Faire paiment for foule words, is more then due. For.

Nothing but faire is that which you inherit.

 Qu. See, ſee, my beautie will be ſau'd by merit. O hereſie in faire, fit for theſe dayes, A giuing hand, though foule, ſhall haue faire praiſe. But come, the Bow: Now Mercie goes to kill, And ſhooting well, is then accounted ill: Thus will I ſaue my credit in the ſhoote, Not wounding, pittie would not let me do't: If wounding, then it was to ſhew my skill, That more for praiſe, then purpoſe meant to kill. And out of queſtion, ſo it is ſometimes: Glory growes guiltie of deteſted crimes, When for Fames ſake, for praiſe an outward part, We bend to that, the working of the hart. As I for praiſe alone now ſeeke to ſpill The poore Deeres blood, that my heart meanes no ill. Boy. Do not curſt wiues hold that ſelfe-ſoueraigntie Onely for praiſe ſake, when they ſtriue to be Lords ore their Lords? Qu. Onely for praiſe and praiſe we may afford, To any Lady that ſubdewes a Lord. Enter Clowne. Boy.

Here comes a member of the common-wealth.

 Clo.

God dig-you-den all, pray you which is the head Lady?

 Qu.

Thou ſhalt know her fellow, by the reſt that haue no heads.

 Clo.

Which is the greateſt Lady, the higheſt?

 Qu.

The thickeſt, and the talleſt.

 Clo. The thickeſt, & the talleſt: it is ſo, truth is truth. And your waſte Miſtris, were as ſlender as my wit, One a theſe Maides girdles for your waſte ſhould be fit. Are not you the chiefe womā? You are the thickeſt here? Qu.

What's your will ſir? What's your will?

 Clo. I haue a Letter from Monſier Berowne, To one Lady Roſaline. Qu. O thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine. Stand a ſide good bearer. Boyet, you can carue, Breake vp this Capon. Boyet. I am bound to ſerue. This Letter is miſtooke: it importeth none here: It is writ to Iaquenetta. Qu. We will reade it, I ſweare. Breake the necke of the Waxe, and euery one giue eare. Boyet reades.

BY heauen, that thou art faire, is moſt infallible: true that thou art beauteous, truth it ſelfe that thou art louely: more fairer then faire, beautifull then beautious, truer then truth it ſelfe: haue comiſeration on thy heroicall Vaſſall. The magnanimous and moſt illuſtrate King Cophetua ſet eie vpon the pernicious and indubitate Begger Zenelophon: and he it was that might rightly ſay, Veni, vidi, vici: Which to annothanize in the vulgar, O baſe and obſcure vulgar; videliſet, He came, See, and ouercame: hee came one; ſee, two; couercame three: Who came? the King. Why did he come? to ſee. Why did he ſee? to ouercome. To whom came he? to the Begger. What ſaw he? the Begger. Who ouercame he? the Begger. The concluſion is victorie: On whoſe ſide? the King: the captiue is inricht: On whoſe ſide? the Beggers. The cataſtrophe is a Nuptiall: on whoſe ſide? the Kings: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the King (for ſo ſtands the compariſon) thou the Begger, for ſo witneſſeth thy lowlineſſe. Shall I command thy loue? I may. Shall I enforce thy loue? I could. Shall I entreate thy loue? I will. What, ſhalt thou exchange for ragges, roabes: for tittles titles, for thy ſelfe mee. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foote, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy euerie part.

Thine in the deareſt deſigne of induſtrie, Don Adriana de Armatho. Thus doſt thou heare the Nemean Lion roare, Gainſt thee thou Lambe, that ſtandeſt as his pray: Submiſſiue fall his princely feete before, And he from forrage will incline to play. But if thou ſtriue (poore ſoule) what art thou then? Foode for his rage, repaſture for his den. Qu.

What plume of feathers is hee that indited this Letter? What veine? What Wethercocke? Did you euer heare better?

 Boy.

I am much deceiued, but I remember the ſtile.

 Qu.

Elſe your memorie is bad, going ore it erewhile.

 Boy. This Armando is a Spaniard that keeps here in court A Phantaſime, a Monarcho, and one that makes ſport To the Prince and his Booke-mates. Qu. Thou fellow, a word. Who gaue thee this Letter? Clow.

I told you, my Lord.

 Qu.

To whom ſhould'ſt thou giue it?

 Clo.

From my Lord to my Lady.

 Qu.

From which Lord, to which Lady?

 Clo. From my Lord Berowne, a good maſter of mine, To a Lady of France, that he call'd Roſaline. Qu. Thou haſt miſtaken his letter. Come Lords away. Here ſweete, put vp this, 'twill be thine another day. Exeunt. Boy.

Who is the ſhooter? Who is the ſhooter?

 Roſa.

Shall I teach you to know.

 Boy.

I my continent of beautie.

 Roſa.

Why ſhe that beares the Bow. Finely put off.

 Boy. My Lady goes to kill hornes, but if thou marrie, Hang me by the necke, if hornes that yeare miſcarrie. Finely put on. Roſa.

Well then, I am the ſhooter.

 Boy.

And who is your Deare?

 Roſa.

If we chooſe by the hornes, your ſelfe come not neare. Finely put on indeede.

 Maria.

You ſtill wrangle with her Boyet, and ſhee ſtrikes at the brow.

 Boyet. But ſhe her ſelfe is hit lower: Haue I hit her now. Roſa.

Shall I come vpon thee with an old ſaying, that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it.

 Boyet.

So I may anſwere thee with one as old that was a woman when Queene Guinouer of Brittaine was a little wench, as touching the hit it.

 Roſa. Thou canſt not hit it, hit it, hit it, Thou canſt not hit it my good man. Boy. I cannot, cannot, cannot: And I cannot, another can. Exit. Clo.

By my troth moſt pleaſant, how both did fit it.

 Mar.

A marke marueilous well ſhot, for they both did hit.

 Boy. A mark, O marke but that marke: a marke ſaies my Lady. Let the mark haue a pricke in't, to meat at, if it may be. Mar.

Wide a' th bow hand. yfaith your hand is out.

 Clo.

Indeede a' muſt ſhoote nearer, or heele ne're hit the clout.

 Boy.

And if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

 Clo.

Then will ſhee get the vpſhoot by cleauing the is in.

 Ma.

Come, come, you talke greaſely, your lips grow foule,

 Clo.

She's too hard for you at pricks, ſir challenge her to boule.

 Boy.

I feare too much rubbing: good night my good Oule.

 Clo. By my ſoule a Swaine, a moſt ſimple Clowne. Lord, Lord, how the Ladies and I haue put him downe. O my troth moſt ſweete ieſts, moſt inconie vulgar wit, When it comes ſo ſmoothly off, ſo obſcenely, as it were, ſo fit. Armathor ath to the ſide, O a moſt dainty man. To ſee him walke before a Lady, and to beare her Fan. To ſee him kiſſe his hand, and how moſt ſweetly a will ſweare: And his Page at other ſide, that handfull of wit, Ah heauens, it is moſt patheticall nit. Sowla, ſowla. Exeunt. Shoote within. Enter Dull, Holofernes, the Pedant and Nathaniel. Nat.

Very reuerent ſport truely, and done in the teſtimony of a good conſcience.

 Ped.

The Deare was (as you know) ſanguis in blood, ripe as a Pomwater, who now hangeth like a Iewell in the eare of Celo the ſkie; the welken the heauen, and anon falleth like a Crab on the face of Terra, the ſoyle, the land, the earth.

 Curat. Nath.

Truely M. Holofernes, the epythithes are ſweetly varied like a ſcholler at the leaſt: but ſir I aſſure ye, it was a Bucke of the firſt head.

 Hol.

Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

Dul.

'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket.

 Hol.

Moſt barbarous intimation: yet a kinde of inſinuation, as it were in via, in way of explication facere: as it were replication, or rather oſtentare, to ſhow as it were his inclination after his vndreſſed, vnpoliſhed, vneducated, vnpruned, vntrained, or rather vnlettered, or rathereſt vnconfirmed faſhion, to inſert againe my haud credo for a Deare.

 Dul.

I ſaid the Deare was not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket.

 Hol.

Twice ſod ſimplicitie, his coctus, O thou monſter Ignorance, how deformed dooſt thou looke.

 Nath. Sir hee hath neuer fed of the dainties that are bred in a booke. He hath not eate paper as it were: He hath not drunke inke.

His intellect is not repleniſhed, hee is onely an animall, onely ſenſible in the duller parts: and ſuch barren plants are ſet before vs, that we thankfull ſhould be: which we taſte and feeling, are for thoſe parts that doe fructifie in vs more then he.

For as it would ill become me to be vaine, indiſcreet, or a foole; So were there a patch ſet on Learning, to ſee him in a Schoole. But omne bene ſay I, being of an old Fathers minde, Many can brooke the weather, that loue not the winde. Dul.

You two are book-men: Can you tell by your wit, What was a month old at Cains birth, that's not fiue weekes old as yet?

 Hol.

Dictiſima goodman Dull, dictiſima goodman Dull.

Dul.

What is dictima?

 Nath.

A title to Phebe, to Luna, to the Moone.

Hol. The Moone was a month old when Adam was no more. And wrought not to fiue-weekes when he came to fiueſcore. Th' alluſion holds in the Exchange. Dul.

'Tis true indeede, the Colluſion holds in the Exchange.

 Hol.

God comfort thy capacity, I ſay th' alluſion holds in the Exchange.

 Dul.

And I ſay the poluſion holds in the Exchange: for the Moone is neuer but a month old: and I ſay beſide that, 'twas a Pricket that the Princeſſe kill'd.

 Hol.

Sir Nathaniel, will you heare an extemporall Epytaph on the death of the Deare, and to humour the ignorant call'd the Deare, the Princeſſe kill'd a Pricket.

 Nath.

Perge, good M. Holofernes, perge, ſo it ſhall pleaſe you to abrogate ſcurilitie.

 Hol. I will ſomething affect the letter, for it argues facilitie. The prayfull Princeſſe pearſt and prickt a prettie pleaſing Pricket, Some ſay a Sore, but not a ſore, till now made ſore with ſhooting. The Dogges did yell, put ell to Sore, then Sorell iumps from thicket: Or Pricket-ſore, or elſe Sorell, the people fall a hooting. If Sore be ſore, then ell to Sore, makes fiftie ſores O ſorell: Of one ſore I an hundred make by adding but one more L. Nath.

A rare talent.

 Dul.

If a talent be a claw, looke how he clawes him with a talent.

 Nath.

This is a gift that I haue ſimple: ſimple, a fooliſh extrauagant ſpirit, full of formes, figures, ſhapes, obiects, Ideas, apprehenſions, motions, reuolutions. Theſe are begot in the ventricle of memorie, nouriſht in the wombe of primater, and deliuered vpon the mellowing of occaſion: but the gift is good in thoſe in whom it is acute, and I am thankfull for it.

 Hol.

Sir, I praiſe the Lord for you, and ſo may my pariſhioners, for their Sonnes are well tutor'd by you, and their Daughters profit very greatly vnder you: you are a good member of the common-wealth.

 Nath.

Mehercle, If their Sonnes be ingennous, they ſhall want no inſtruction: If their Daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Vir ſapis qui pauca loquitur, a ſoule Feminine ſaluteth vs.

 Enter Iaquenetta and the Clowne. Iaqu.

God giue you good morrow M. Perſon.

Nath.

Maſter Perſon, quaſi Perſon? And if one ſhould be perſt, Which is the one?

 Clo.

Marry M. Schoolemaſter, hee that is likeſt to a hogſhead.

 Nath.

Of perſing a Hogshead, a good luſter of conceit in a curph of Earth, Fire enough for a Flint, Pearle enough for a Swine: 'tis prettie, it is well.

 Iaqu.

Good Maſter Parſon be ſo good as reade mee this Letter, it was giuen mee by Coſtard, and ſent mee from Don Armatho: I beſeech you reade it.

 Nath.

Facile procor gellida, quando pecas omnia ſub vmbraruminat, and ſo forth. Ah good old Mantuan, I may ſpeake of thee as the traueiler doth of Venice, vemchie, vencha, que non te vnde, que non te perreche. Old Mantuam, old Mantuan. Who vnderſtandeth thee not, vt re ſol la mi fa: Vnder pardon ſir, What are the contents? or rather as Horrace ſayes in his, What my ſoule verſes.

 Hol.

I ſir, and very learned.

 Nath. Let me heare a ſtaffe, a ſtanze, a verſe, Lege domine. If Loue make me forſworne, how ſhall I ſweare to loue? Ah neuer faith could hold, if not to beautie vowed. Though to my ſelfe forſworn, to thee Ile faithfull proue. Thoſe thoughts to mee were Okes, to thee like Oſiers bowed. Studie his byas leaues, and makes his booke thine eyes. Where all thoſe pleaſures liue, that Art would comprehend. If knowledge be the marke, to know thee ſhall ſuffice. Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee cōmend. All ignorant that ſoule, that ſees thee without wonder. Which is to me ſome praiſe, that I thy parts admire; Thy eye Ioues lightning beares, thy voyce his dreadfull thunder. Which not to anger bent, is muſique, and ſweet fire. Celeſtiall as thou art, Oh pardon loue this wrong, That ſings heauens praiſe, with ſuch an earthly tongue. Ped.

You finde not the apoſtraphas, and ſo miſſe the accent. Let me ſuperuiſe the cangenet.

 Nath.

Here are onely numbers ratified, but for the elegancy, facility, & golden cadence of poeſie caret: Ouiddius Naſo was the man. And why in deed Naſo, but for ſmelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the ierkes of inuention imitarie is nothing: So doth the Hound his maſter, the Ape his keeper, the tyred Horſe his rider: But Damoſella virgin, Was this directed to you?

 Iaq.

I ſir from one mounſier Berowne, one of the ſtrange Queenes Lords.

 Nath.

I will ouerglance the ſuperſcript.

To the ſnow-white hand of the moſt beautious Lady Roſaline.

I will looke againe on the intellect of the Letter, for the nomination of the partie written to the perſon written vnto.

Your Ladiſhips in all deſired imployment, Berowne. Per.

Sir Holofernes, this Berowne is one of the Votaries with the King, and here he hath framed a Letter to a ſequent of the ſtranger Queenes: which accidentally, or by the way of progreſſion, hath miſcarried. Trip and goe my ſweete, deliuer this Paper into the hand of the King, it may concerne much: ſtay not thy complement, I forgiue thy duetie, adue.

 Maid. Good Coſtard go with me: Sir God ſaue your life. Coſt.

Haue with thee my girle.

Exit. Hol.

Sir you haue done this in the feare of God very religiouſly: and as a certaine Father ſaith

 Ped.

Sir tell not me of the Father, I do feare colourable colours. But to returne to the Verſes, Did they pleaſe you ſir Nathaniel?

 Nath.

Marueilous well for the pen.

 Peda.

I do dine to day at the fathers of a certaine Pupill of mine, where if (being repaſt) it ſhall pleaſe you to gratifie the table with a Grace, I will on my priuiledge I haue with the parents of the foreſaid Childe or Pupill, vndertake your bien vonuto, where I will proue thoſe Verſes to be very vnlearned, neither ſauouring of Poetrie, Wit, nor Inuention. I beſeech your Societie.

 Nat.

And thanke you to: for ſocietie (ſaith the text) is the happineſſe of life.

 Peda. And certes the text moſt infallibly concludes it. Sir I do inuite you too, you ſhall not ſay me nay: pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. Exeunt. Enter Berowne with a Paper in his hand, alone. Bero. The King he is hunting the Deare, I am courſing my ſelfe.

They haue pitcht a Toyle, I am toyling in a pytch, pitch that defiles; defile, a foule word: Well, ſet thee downe ſorrow; for ſo they ſay the foole ſaid, and ſo ſay I, and I the foole: Well proued wit. By the Lord this Loue is as mad as Aiax, it kils ſheepe, it kils mee, I a ſheepe: Well proued againe a my ſide. I will not loue; if I do hang me: yfaith I will not. O but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would not loue her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I doe nothing in the world but lye, and lye in my throate. By heauen I doe loue, and it hath taught mee to Rime, and to be mallicholie: and here is part of my Rime, and heere my mallicholie. Well, ſhe hath one a' my Sonnets already, the Clowne bore it, the Foole ſent it, and the Lady hath it: ſweet Clowne, ſweeter Foole, ſweeteſt Lady. By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper, God giue him grace to grone.

 He ſtands aſide. The King entreth. Kin.

Ay mee!

 Ber.

Shot by heauen: proceede ſweet Cupid, thou haſt thumpt him with thy Birdbolt vnder the left pap: in faith ſecrets.

 King. So ſweete a kiſſe the golden Sunne giues not, To thoſe freſh morning drops vpon the Roſe, As thy eye beames, when their freſh rayſe haue ſmot. The night of dew that on my cheekes downe flowes. Nor ſhines the ſiluer Moone one halfe ſo bright, Through the tranſparent boſome of the deepe, As doth thy face through teares of mine giue light: Thou ſhin'ſt in euery teare that I doe weepe, No drop, but as a Coach doth carry thee: So rideſt thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the teares that ſwell in me, And they thy glory through my griefe will ſhow: But doe not loue thy ſelfe, then thou wilt keepe My teares for glaſſes, and ſtill make me weepe. O Queene of Queenes, how farre doſt thou excell, No thought can thinke, nor tongue of mortall tell. How ſhall ſhe know my griefes? Ile drop the paper. Sweet leaues ſhade folly. Who is he comes heere? Enter Longauile. The King ſteps aſide. What Longauill, and reading: liſten eare. Ber.

Now in thy likeneſſe, one more foole appeare.

 Long.

Ay me, I am forſworne.

 Ber.

Why he comes in like a periure, wearing papers.

 Long.

In loue I hope, ſweet fellowſhip in ſhame.

 Ber.

One drunkard loues another of the name.

 Lon.

Am I the firſt yt haue been periur'd ſo?

 Ber. I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I know, Thou makeſt the triumphery, the corner cap of ſocietie, The ſhape of Loues Tiburne, that hangs vp ſimplicitie. Lon. I feare theſe ſtubborn lines lack power to moue. O ſweet Maria, Empreſſe of my Loue, Theſe numbers will I teare, and write in proſe. Ber. O Rimes are gards on wanton Cupids hoſe, Disfigure not his Shop. Lon.

This ſame ſhall goe.

He reades the Sonnet. Did not the heauenly Rhetoricke of thine eye, 'Gainſt whom the world cannot hold argument, Perſwade my heart to this falſe periurie? Vowes for thee broke deſerue not puniſhment. A woman I forſwore, but I will proue, Thou being a Goddeſſe, I forſwore not thee. My Vow was earthly, thou a heauenly Loue. Thy grace being gain'd, cures all diſgrace in me. Vowes are but breath; and breath a vapour is. Then thou faire Sun, which on my earth doeſt ſhine, Exhalest this vapor-vow, in thee it is: If broken then, it is no fault of mine: If by me broke, What foole is not ſo wiſe, To looſe an oath, to win a Paradiſe? Ber. This is the liuer veine, which makes fleſh a deity. A greene Gooſe, a Coddeſſe, pure pure Idolatry. God amend vs, God amend, we are much out o' th' way. Enter Dumaine. Lon.

By whom ſhall I ſend this (company?) Stay.

 Bero. All hid, all hid, an old infant play, Like a demie God, here ſit I in the skie, And wretched fooles ſecrets heedfully ore-eye. More Sacks to the myll. O heauens I haue my wiſh, Dumaine transform'd, foure Woodcocks in a diſh. Dum.

O moſt diuine Kate.

Bero.

O moſt prophane coxcombe.

 Dum.

By heauen the wonder of a mortall eye.

 Bero.

By earth ſhe is not, corporall, there you lye.

 Dum.

Her Amber haires for foule hath amber coted.

 Ber.

An Amber coloured Rauen was well noted.

 Dum.

As vpright as the Cedar.

 Ber.

Stoope I ſay her ſhoulder is with-child.

 Dum.

As faire as day.

 Ber.

I as ſome daies, but then no ſunne muſt ſhine.

 Dum.

O that I had my wiſh?

 Lon.

And I had mine.

 Kin.

And mine too good Lord.

 Ber.

Amen, ſo I had mine: Is not that a good word?

 Dum. I would forget her, but a Feuer ſhe Raignes in my bloud, and will remembred be. Ber. A Feuer in your bloud, why then inciſion Would let her out in Sawcers, ſweet miſpriſion. Dum.

Once more Ile read the Ode that I haue writ.

 Ber.

Once more Ile marke how Loue can varry Wit.

 Dumane reades his Sonnet. On a day, alack the day: Loue, whoſe Month is euery May, Spied a bloſſome paſſing faire, Playing in the wanton ayre: Through the Veluet, leaues the winde, All vnſeene, can paſſage finde. That the Louer ſicke to death, Wiſh himſelfe the heauens breath. Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe, Ayre, would I might triumph ſo. But alacke my hand is ſworne, Nere to plucke thee from thy throne: Vow alacke for youth vnmeete, Youth ſo apt to plucke a ſweet. Doe not call it ſinne in me, That I am forſworne for thee. Thou for whom loue would ſweare, Iuno but an Aethiop were, And denie himſelfe for Ioue. Turning mortall for thy Loue. This will I ſend, and ſomething elſe more plaine. That ſhall expreſſe my true-loues faſting paine. O would the King, Berowne and Longauill, Were Louers too, ill to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a periur'd note: For none offend, where all alike doe dote. Lon. Dumaine, thy Loue is farre from charitie, That in Loues griefe deſir'ſt ſocietie: You may looke pale, but I ſhould bluſh I know, To be ore-heard, and taken napping ſo. Kin. Come ſir, you bluſh: as his, your caſe is ſuch, You chide at him, offending twice as much. You doe not loue Maria? Longauile, Did neuer Sonnet for her ſake compile; Nor neuer lay his wreathed armes athwart His louing boſome, to keepe downe his heart. I haue beene cloſely ſhrowded in this buſh, And markt you both, and for you both did bluſh. I heard your guilty Rimes, obſeru'd your faſhion: Saw ſighes reeke from you, noted well your paſſion. Aye me, ſayes one! O Ioue, the other cries! On her haires were Gold, Chriſtall the others eyes. You would for Paradiſe breake Faith and troth, And Ioue for your Loue would infringe an oath. What will Berowne ſay when that he ſhall heare Faith infringed, which ſuch zeale did ſweare. How will he ſcorne? how will he ſpend his wit? How will he triumph, leape, and laugh at it? For all the wealth that euer I did ſee, I would not haue him know ſo much by me. Bero. Now ſtep I forth to whip hypocriſie. Ah good my Liedge, I pray thee pardon me. Good heart, What grace haſt thou thus to reproue Theſe wormes for louing, that art moſt in loue? Your eyes doe make no couches in your teares. There is no certaine Princeſſe that appeares. You'll not be periur'd, 'tis a hatefull thing: Tuſh, none but Minſtrels like of Sonnetting. But are you not aſham'd? nay, are you not All three of you, to be thus much ore'ſhot? You found his Moth, the King your Moth did ſee: But I a Beame doe finde in each of three. O what a Scene of fool'ry haue I ſeene. Of ſighes, of grones, of ſorrow, and of teene: O me, with what ſtrict patience haue I ſat, To ſee a King transformed to a Gnat? To ſee great Hercules whipping a Gigge, And profound Salomon tuning a Iygge? And Neſtor play at puſh-pin with the boyes, And Critticke Tymon laugh at idle toyes. Where lies thy griefe? O tell me good Dumaine; And gentle Longauill, where lies thy paine? And where my Liedges? all about the breſt: A Candle hoa! Kin. Too bitter is thy ieſt. Are wee betrayed thus to thy ouer-view? Ber. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you. I that am honeſt, I that hold it ſinne To breake the vow I am ingaged in. I am betrayed by keeping company With men, like men of inconſtancie. When ſhall you ſee me write a thing in rime? Or grone for Ioane? or ſpend a minutes time,

In pruning mee, when ſhall you heare that I will praiſe a hand, a foot, a face, an eye: a gate, a ſtate, a brow, a breſt, a waſte, a legge, a limme.

 Kin. Soft, Whither a-way ſo faſt? A true man, or a theefe, that gallops ſo. Ber.

I poſt from Loue, good Louer let me go.

 Enter Iaquenetta and Clowne. Iaqu.

God bleſſe the King.

 Kin.

What Preſent haſt thou there?

 Clo.

Some certaine treaſon.

 Kin.

What makes treaſon heere?

 Clo.

Nay it makes nothing ſir.

 Kin. If it marre nothing neither, The treaſon and you goe in peace away together. Iaqu. I beſeech your Grace let this Letter be read, Our perſon miſ-doubts it: it was treaſon he ſaid. Kin.

Berowne, read it ouer.

He reades the Letter. Kin.

Where hadſt thou it?

 Iaqu.

Of Coſtard.

King.

Where hadſt thou it?

 Coſt.

Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

Kin.

How now, what is in you? why doſt thou tear it?

 Ber.

A toy my Liedge, a toy: your grace needes not feare it.

 Long.

It did moue him to paſſion, and therefore let's heare it.

 Dum.

It is Berowns writing, and heere is his name.

 Ber. Ah you whoreſon loggerhead, you were borne to doe me ſhame. Guilty my Lord, guilty: I confeſſe, I confeſſe. Kin.

What?

 Ber. That you three fooles, lackt mee foole, to make vp the meſſe. He, he, and you: and you my Liedge, and I, Are picke-purſes in Loue, and we deſerue to die. O diſmiſſe this audience, and I ſhall tell you more. Dum.

Now the number is euen.

 Berow.

True true, we are fowre: will theſe Turtles be gone?

 Kin.

Hence ſirs, away.

 Clo.

Walk aſide the true folke, & let the traytors ſtay.

 Ber. Sweet Lords, ſweet Louers, O let vs imbrace, As true we are as fleſh and bloud can be, The Sea will ebbe and flow, heauen will ſhew his face: Young bloud doth not obey an old decree. We cannot croſſe the cauſe why we are borne: Therefore of all hands muſt we be forſworne. King.

What, did theſe rent lines ſhew ſome loue of thine?

 Ber. Did they, quoth you? Who ſees the heauenly Roſaline, That (like a rude and ſauage man of Inde.) At the firſt opening of the gorgeous Eaſt, Bowes not his vaſſall head, and ſtrooken blinde, Kiſſes the baſe ground with obedient breaſt? What peremptory Eagle-ſighted eye Dares looke vpon the heauen of her brow, That is not blinded by her maieſtie? Kin. What zeale, what furie, hath inſpir'd thee now? My Loue (her Miſtres) is a gracious Moone, Shee (an attending Starre) ſcarce ſeene a light. Ber. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my Loue, day would turne to night, Of all complexions the cul'd ſoueraignty, Doe meet as at a faire in her faire cheeke, Where ſeuerall Worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants, that want it ſelfe doth ſeeke. Lend me the flouriſh of all gentle tongues, Fie painted Rethoricke, O ſhe needs it not, To things of ſale, a ſellers praiſe belongs: She paſſes prayſe, then prayſe too ſhort doth blot. A withered Hermite, fiueſcore winters worne, Might ſhake off fiftie, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varniſh Age, as if new borne, And giues the Crutch the Cradles infancie. O 'tis the Sunne that maketh all things ſhine. King.

By heauen, thy Loue is blacke as Ebonie.

 Berow. Is Ebonie like her? O word diuine? A wife of ſuch wood were felicitie. O who can giue an oth? Where is a booke? That I may ſweare Beauty doth beauty lacke, If that ſhe learne not of her eye to looke: No face is faire that is not full ſo blacke. Kin. O paradoxe, Blacke is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the Schoole of night: And beauties creſt becomes the heauens well. Ber. Diuels ſooneſt tempt reſembling ſpirits of light. O if in blacke my Ladies browes be deckt, It mournes, that painting vſurping haire Should rauiſh doters with a falſe aſpect: And therfore is ſhe borne to make blacke, faire. Her fauour turnes the faſhion of the dayes, For natiue bloud is counted painting now: And therefore red that would auoyd diſpraiſe, Paints it ſelfe blacke, to imitate her brow. Dum.

To look like her are Chimny-ſweepers blacke.

 Lon.

And ſince her time, are Colliers counted bright.

 King.

And Aethiops of their ſweet complexion crake.

 Dum.

Dark needs no Candles now, for dark is light.

 Ber. Your miſtreſſes dare neuer come in raine, For feare their colours ſhould be waſht away. Kin. 'Twere good yours did: for ſir to tell you plaine, Ile finde a fairer face not waſht to day. Ber.

Ile proue her faire, or talke till dooms-day here.

 Kin.

No Diuell will fright thee then ſo much as ſhee.

 Duma.

I neuer knew man hold vile ſtuffe ſo deere.

 Lou.

Looke, heer's thy loue, my foot and her face ſee.

 Ber. O if the ſtreets were paued with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for ſuch tread. Duma. O vile, then as ſhe goes what vpward lyes? The ſtreet ſhould ſee as ſhe walk'd ouer head. Kin.

But what of this, are we not all in loue?

 Ber.

O nothing ſo ſure, and thereby all forſworne.

 Kin. Then leaue this chat, & good Berown now proue Our louing lawfull, and our fayth not torne. Dum.

I marie there, ſome flattery for this euill.

 Long. O ſome authority how to proceed, Some tricks, ſome quillets, how to cheat the diuell. Dum.

Some ſalue for periurie.

 Ber. O 'tis more then neede. Haue at you then affections men at armes, Conſider what you firſt did ſweare vnto: To faſt, to ſtudy, and to ſee no woman: Flat treaſon againſt the Kingly ſtate of youth. Say, Can you faſt? your ſtomacks are too young: And abſtinence ingenders maladies. And where that you haue vow'd to ſtudie (Lords) In that each of you haue forſworne his Booke Can you ſtill dreame and pore, and thereon looke. For when would you my Lord, or you, or you, Haue found the ground of ſtudies excellence, Without the beauty of a womans face; From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue, They are the Ground, the Bookes, the Achadems, From whence doth ſpring the true Promethean fire. Why, vniuerſall plodding poyſons vp The nimble ſpirits in the arteries, As motion and long during action tyres The ſinnowy vigour of the trauailer. Now for not looking on a womans face, You haue in that forſworne the vſe of eyes: And ſtudie too, the cauſer of your vow. For where is any Author in the world, Teaches ſuch beauty as a womans eye: Learning is but an adiunct to our ſelfe, And where we are, our Learning likewiſe is. Then when our ſelues we ſee in Ladies eyes, With our ſelues. Doe we not likewiſe ſee our learning there? O we haue made a Vow to ſtudie, Lords, And in that vow we haue forſworne our Bookes: For when would you (my Leege) or you, or you? In leaden contemplation haue found out Such fiery Numbers as the prompting eyes, Of beauties tutors haue inrich'd you with: Other ſlow Arts intirely keepe the braine: And therefore finding barraine practizers, Scarce ſhew a harueſt of their heauy toyle. But Loue firſt learned in a Ladies eyes, Liues not alone emured in the braine: But with the motion of all elements, Courſes as ſwift as thought in euery power, And giues to euery power a double power, Aboue their functions and their offices. It addes a precious ſeeing to the eye: A Louers eyes will gaze an Eagle blinde. A Louers eare will heare the loweſt ſound. When the ſuſpicious head of theft is ſtopt. Loues feeling is more ſoft and ſenſible, Then are the tender hornes of Cockled Snayles. Loues tongue proues dainty, Bachus groſſe in taſte, For Valour, is not Loue a Hercules? Still climing trees in the Heſporides. Subtill as Sphinx, as ſweet and muſicall, As bright Apollo's Lute, ſtrung with his haire. And when Loue ſpeakes, the voyce of all the Gods, Make heauen drowſie with the harmonie. Neuer durſt Poet touch a pen to write, Vntill his Inke were tempred with Loues ſighes: O then his lines would rauiſh ſauage eares, And plant in Tyrants milde humilitie. From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue. They ſparcle ſtill the right promethean fire, They are the Bookes, the Arts, the Achademes, That ſhew, containe, and nouriſh all the world. Elſe none at all in ought proues excellent. Then fooles you were theſe women to forſweare: Or keeping what is ſworne, you will proue fooles, For Wiſedomes ſake, a word that all men loue: Or for Loues ſake, a word that loues all men. Or for Mens ſake, the author of theſe Women: Or Womens ſake, by whom we men are Men. Let's once looſe our oathes to finde our ſelues, Or elſe we looſe our ſelues, to keepe our oathes▪ It is religion to be thus forſworne. For Charity it ſelfe fulfills the Law: And who can ſeuer loue from Charity. Kin.

Saint Cupid then, and Souldiers to the field.

 Ber. Aduance your ſtandards, & vpon them Lords. Pell, mell, downe with them: but be firſt aduis'd, In conflict that you get the Sunne of them. Long. Now to plaine dealing, Lay theſe glozes by, Shall we reſolue to woe theſe girles of France? Kin. And winne them too, therefore let vs deuiſe, Some entertainment for them in their Tents. Ber. Firſt from the Park let vs conduct them thither, Then homeward euery man attach the hand Of his faire Miſtreſſe, in the afternoone We will with ſome ſtrange paſtime ſolace them: Such as the ſhortneſſe of the time can ſhape, For Reuels, Dances, Maskes, and merry houres, Fore-runne faire Loue, ſtrewing her way with flowres. Kin. Away, away, no time ſhall be omitted, That will be time, and may by vs be fitted. Ber. Alone, alone ſowed Cockell, reap'd no Corne, And Iuſtice alwaies whirles in equall meaſure: Light Wenches may proue plagues to men forſworne, If ſo, our Copper buyes no better treaſure. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Enter the Pedant, Curate and Dull. Pedant.

Satis quid ſufficit.

Curat.

I praiſe God for you ſir, your reaſons at dinner haue beene ſharpe & ſententious: pleaſant without ſcurrillity, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and ſtrange without hereſie: I did conuerſe this quondam day with a companion of the Kings, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armatho.

Ped.

Noui hominum tanquam te, His humour is lofty, his diſcourſe peremptorie: his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gate maieſticall, and his generall behauiour vaine, ridiculous, and thraſonicall. He is too picked, too ſpruce, too affected, too odde, as it were, too peregrinat, as I may call it.

 Curat.

A moſt ſingular and choiſe Epithat,

 Draw out his Table-booke. Peda.

He draweth out the thred of his verboſitie, finer then the ſtaple of his argument. I abhor ſuch phanaticall phantaſims, ſuch inſociable and poynt deuiſe companions, ſuch rackers of ortagriphie, as to ſpeake dout fine, when he ſhould ſay doubt; det, when he ſhold pronounce debt; de • t, not det: he clepeth a Calf, Caufe: halfe, haufe: neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abreuiated ne: this is abhominable, which he would call abhominable: it inſinuateth me of infamie: ne inteligis domine, to make franti • ke, lunaticke?

 Cura.

Laus deo, bene intelligo.

Peda.

Bome boon for boon preſcian, a little ſcratcht, 'twil ſerue.

 Enter Bragart, Boy. Curat.

Vides ne quis venit?

 Peda.

Video, & gaudio.

Brag.

Chirra.

 Peda.

Quar • Chirra, not Sirra?

 Brag.

Men of peace well incountred.

 Ped.

Moſt millitarie ſir ſalutation▪

Boy.

They haue beene at a great feaſt of Languages, and ſtolne the ſcraps.

 Clow.

O they haue liu'd long on the almes-basket of words. I maruell thy M. hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not ſo long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: Thou art eaſier ſwallowed then a flap dragon.

 Page.

Peace, the peale begins.

 Brag.

Mounſier, are you not lettred?

 Page. Yes, yes, he • eaches boyes the Horne-booke: What is Abſpeld backward with the horn on his head? Peda.

Ba, puericia with a horne added.

 Pag.

Ba moſt ſeely Sheepe, with a horne: you heare his learning.

 Peda.

Quis quis, thou Conſonant?

 Pag

The laſt of the fiue Vowels if You repeat them, or the fift if I.

 Peda.

I will repeat them: a e I.

 Pag.

The She • pe, the other two concludes it o u.

 Brag.

Now by the ſalt waue of the mediteranium, a ſweet tutch, a quicke vene we of wit, ſnip ſnap, quick & home, it reioyceth my intellect, true wit.

 Page.

Offered by a childe to an olde man: which is wit-old.

 Peda.

What is the figure? What is the figure?

 Page.

Hornes.

 Peda.

Thou diſputes like an Infant: goe whip thy Gigge.

 Pag.

Lend me your Horne to make one, and I will whip about your Infamie vnum cita a gigge of a Cuckolds horne.

 Clow.

And I had but one penny in the world, thou ſhouldſt haue it to buy Ginger bread: Hold, there is the very Remuneration I had of thy Maiſter, thou halfpenny purſe of wit, thou Pidgeon-egge of diſcretion. O & the heauens were ſo pleaſed, that thou wert but my Baſtard; What a ioyfull father wouldſt thou make mee? Goe to, thou haſt it ad dungil, at the fingers ends, as they ſay.

 Peda.

Oh I ſmell falſe Latine, dunghel for vnguem.

Brag.

Artſ-man preambulat, we will bee ſingled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the Charghouſe on the top of the Mountaine?

 Peda.

Or Mons the hill.

 Brag.

At your ſweet pleaſure, for the Mountaine.

 Peda.

I doe ſans queſtion.

Bra.

Sir, it is the Kings moſt ſweet pleaſure and affection, to congratulate the Princeſſe at her Pauilion, in the poſteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the after-noone.

 Ped.

The poſterior of the day, moſt generous ſir, is liable, congruent, and meaſurable for the after-noone: the word is well culd, choſe, ſweet, and apt I doe aſſure you ſir, I doe aſſure.

 Brag.

Sir, the King is a noble Gentleman, and my familiar, I doe aſſure ye very good friend: for what is inward betweene vs, let it paſſe. I doe beſeech thee remember thy curteſie. I beſeech thee apparell thy head: and among other importunate & moſt ſerious deſignes, and of great import indeed too: but let that paſſe, for I muſt tell thee it will pleaſe his Grace (by the world) ſometime to leane vpon my poore ſhoulder, and with his royall finger thus dallie with my excrement, with my muſtachio: but ſweet heart let that paſſe. By the world I recount no fable, ſome certaine ſpeciall honours it pleaſeth his greatneſſe to impart to Armado a Souldier, a man of trauell, that hath ſeene the world: but let that paſſe; the very all of all is: but ſweet heart, I do implore ſecrecie, that the King would haue mee preſent the Princeſſe (ſweet chucke) with ſome delightfull oſtentation, or ſhow, or pageant, or anticke, or fire-worke: Now, vnderſtanding that the Curate and your ſweet ſelf are good at ſuch eruptions, and ſodaine breaking out of myrth • . i • were) I haue acquainted you withall, to the end to craue your aſſiſtance.

 Peda.

Sir, you ſhall preſent before her the Nine Worthies. Sir Holofernes, as concerning ſome entertainment of time, ſome ſhow in the poſterior of this day, to bee rendred by our aſſiſtants the Kings command: and this moſt gallant, illuſtrate and learned Gentleman, before the Princeſſe: I ſay none ſo ſit as to preſent the Nine Worthies.

 Curat.

Where will you finde men worthy enough to preſent them?

 Peda.

Ioſua, your ſelfe: my ſelfe, and this gallant gentleman Iudas Machabeus; this Swaine (becauſe of his great limme or • oynt) ſhall paſſe Pompey the great, the Page Hercules.

Brag.

Pardon ſir, error: He is not quantitie enough for that Worthies thumb, hee is not ſo big as the end of his Club.

 Peda.

Shall I haue audience? he ſhall preſent Hercules in minoritie: his enter and exit ſhall bee ſtrangling a Snake; and I will haue an Apologie for that purpoſe.

 Pag.

An excellent deuice: ſo if any of the audience hiſſe, you may cry, Well done Hercules, now thou cruſheſt the Snake; that is the way to make an offence gracious, though few haue the grace to doe it.

 Brag.

For the reſt of the Worthies?

 Peda.

I will play three my ſelfe.

 Pag.

Thrice worthy Gentleman.

 Brag.

Shall I tell you a thing?

 Peda.

We attend.

 Brag.

We will haue, if this fadge not, an Antique. I beſeech you follow.

 Ped.

Via good-man Dull, thou haſt ſpoken no word all this while.

 Dull.

Nor vnderſtood none neither ſir.

 Ped.

Alone, we will employ thee.

 Dull.

Ile make one in a dance, or ſo: or I will play on the taber to the Worthies, & let them dance the hey.

 Ped.

Moſt Dull, honeſt Dull, to our ſport away.

Exit. Enter Ladies. Qu. Sweet hearts we ſhall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in. A Lady wal'd about with Diamonds: Look you, what I haue from the louing King. Roſa.

Madam, came nothing elſe along with that?

 Qu. Nothing but this yes as much loue in Rime, As would be cram'd vp in a ſheet of paper Writ on both ſides the leaſe, margent and all, That he was faine to ſeale on Cupids name. Roſa. That was the way to make his god-head wax: For he hath beene fiue thouſand yeeres a Boy. Kath.

I, and a ſhrewd vnhappy gallowes too.

 Roſ.

You'll nere be friends with him, a kild your ſiſter.

 Kath.

He made her melancholy, ſad, and heauy, and ſo ſhe died: had ſhe beene Light like you, of ſuch a merrie nimble ſtirring ſpirit, ſhe might a bin a Grandam ere ſhe died. And ſo may you: For a light heart liues long.

 Roſ.

What's your darke meaning mouſe, of this light word?

 Kat.

A light condition in a beauty darke.

 Roſ.

We need more light to finde your meaning out.

 Kat. You'll marre the light by taking it in ſnuffe: Therefore Ile darkely end the argument. Roſ.

Look what you doe, you doe it ſtil i' th darke.

 Kat.

So do not you, for you are a light Wench.

 Roſ.

Indeed I waigh not you, and therefore light.

 Ka.

You waigh me not, O that's you care not for me.

 Roſ.

Great reaſon: for paſt care, is ſtill paſt cure.

 Qu. Well bandied both, a ſet of Wit well played. But Roſaline, you haue a Fauour too? Who ſent it? and what is it? Ros. I would you knew. And if my face were but as faire as yours. My Fauour were as great, be witneſſe this. Nay, I haue Verſes too, I thanke Berowne, The numbers true, and were the numbring too, I were the faireſt goddeſſe on the ground. I am compar'd to twenty thouſand fairs. O he hath drawne my picture in his letter. Qu.

Any thing like?

 Roſ.

Much in the letters, nothing in the praiſe.

 Qu.

Beauteous as Incke: a good concluſion.

 Kat.

Faire as a text B. in a Coppie booke.

 Roſ. Ware penſals. How? Let me not die your debtor, My red Dominicall, my golden letter. O that your face were full of Ocs. Qu. A Pox of that ieſt, and I beſhrew all Shrowes: But Katherine, what was ſent to you From faire Dumaine? Kat.

Madame, this Gloue.

 Qu.

Did he not ſend you twaine?

 Kat. Yes Madame: and moreouer, Some thouſand Verſes of a faithfull Louer. A huge tranſlation of hypocriſie, Vildly compiled, profound ſimplicitie. Mar. This, and theſe Pearls, to me ſent Longauile. The Letter is too long by halfe a mile. Qu. I thinke no leſſe: Doſt thou wiſh in heart The Chaine were longer, and the Letter ſhort. Mar.

I, or I would theſe hands might neuer part.

 Quee.

We are wiſe girles to mocke our Louers ſo.

 Roſ. They are worſe fooles to purchaſe mocking ſo. That ſame Berowne ile torture ere I goe. O that I knew he were but in by th' weeke, How I would make him fawne, and begge, and ſeeke, And wait the ſeaſon, and obſerue the times, And ſpend his prodigall wits in booteles rimes. And ſhape his ſeruice wholly to my deuice, And make him proud to make me proud that ieſts. So pertaunt like would I o' reſway his ſtate, That he ſhold be my foole, and I his fate. Qu. None are ſo ſurely caught▪ when they are catcht, As Wit turn'd foole, follie in Wiſedome hatch'd: Hath wiſedoms warrant, and the helpe of Schoole, And Wits owne grace to grace a learned Foole? Roſ. The bloud of youth burns not with ſuch exceſſe, As grauities reuolt to wantons be. Mar. Follie in Fooles beares not ſo ſtrong a note, As fool'ry in the Wiſe, when Wit doth dote: Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To proue by Wit, worth in ſimplicitie. Enter Boyet. Qu.

Heere comes Boyet, and mirth in his face.

 Boy.

O I am ſtab'd with laughter, Wher's her Grace?

 Qu.

Thy newes Boyet?

Boy. Prepare Madame, prepare. Arme Wenches arme, incounters mounted are, Againſt your Peace, Loue doth approach, diſguis'd: Armed in arguments, you'll be ſurpriz'd. Muſter your Wits, ſtand in your owne defence, Or hide your heads like Cowards, and flie hence. Qu. Saint Dennis to S. Cupid: What are they, That charge their breath againſt vs? Say ſcout ſay. Boy. Vnder the coole ſhade of a Siccamore, I thought to cloſe mine eyes ſome halfe an houre: When lo to interrupt my purpos'd reſt, Toward that ſhade I might behold addreſt, The King and his companions: warely I ſtole into a neighbour thicket by, And ouer-heard, what you ſhall ouer-heare: That by and by diſguis'd they will be heere. Their Herald is a pretty knauiſh Page: That well by heart hath con'd his embaſſage, Action and accent did they teach him there. Thus muſt thou ſpeake, and thus thy body beare. And euer and anon they made a doubt, Preſence maieſticall would put him out: For quoth the King, an Angell ſhalt thou ſee: Yet feare not thou, but ſpeake audaciouſly. The Boy reply'd, An Angell is not euill: I ſhould haue fear'd her, had ſhe beene a deuill▪ With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the ſhoulder, Making the bold wagg by their praiſes bolder. One rub'd his elboe thus, and fleer'd, and ſwore, A better ſpeech was neuer ſpoke before. Another with his finger and his thumb, Cry'd via, we will doo't, come what will come. The third he caper'd and cried, All goes well. The fourth turn'd on the toe, and downe he fell: With that they all did tumble on the ground, With ſuch a zelous laughter ſo profound, That in this ſpleene ridiculous appeares, To checke their folly paſſions ſolemne teares. Quee.

But what, but what, come they to viſit vs?

 Boy. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus, Like Muſcouites, or Ruſſians, as I geſſe. Their purpoſe is to parlee, to court, and dance, And euery one his Loue-feat will aduance, Vnto his ſeuerall Miſtreſſe: which they'll know By fauours ſeuerall, which they did beſtow. Queen. And will they ſo? the Gallants ſhall be taskt: For Ladies; we will euery one be maskt, And not a man of them ſhall haue the grace Deſpight of ſute, to ſee a Ladies face. Hold Roſaline, this Fauour thou ſhalt weare, And then the King will court thee for his Deare: Hold, take thou this my ſweet, and giue me thine, So ſhall Berowne take me for Roſaline. And change your Fauours too, ſo ſhall your Loues Woo contrary, deceiu'd by theſe remoues. Roſa.

Come on then, weare the fauours moſt in ſight.

 Kath.

But in this changing, What is your intent?

 Queen. The effect of my intent is to croſſe theirs: They doe it but in mocking merriment, And mocke for mocke is onely my intent. Their ſeuerall counſels they vnboſome ſhall, To Loues miſtooke, and ſo be mockt withall. Vpon the next occaſion that we meete, With Viſages diſplayd to talke and greete. Roſ.

But ſhall we dance, if they deſire vs too't?

 Quee. No, to the death we will not moue a foot, Nor to their pen'd ſpeech render we no grace: But while 'tis ſpoke, each turne away his face. Boy. Why that contempt will kill the keepers heart, And quite diuorce his memory from his part. Quee. Therefore I doe it, and I make no doubt, The reſt will ere come in, if he be out. Theres no ſuch ſport, as ſport by ſport orethrowne: To make theirs ours, and ours none but our owne. So ſhall we ſtay mocking entended game, And they well mockt, depart away with ſhame. Sound. Boy.

The Trompet ſounds, be maskt, the maskers come.

 Enter Black moores with muſicke, the Boy with a ſpeech, and the reſt of the Lords diſguiſed. Page.

All haile, the richeſt Beauties on the earth.

Ber.

Beauties no richer then rich Taffata.

 Pag.

A holy parcell of the faireſt dames that euer turn'd their backes to mortall viewes.

The Ladies turne their backes to him. Ber.

Their eyes villaine, their eyes.

 Pag. That euer turn'd their eyes to mortall viewes. Out Boy.

True, out indeed.

 Pag. Out of your fauours heauenly ſpirits vouchſafe Not to beholde. Ber.

Once to behold, rogue.

 Pag Once to behold with your Sunne beamed eyes, With your Sunne beamed eyes. Boy. They will not anſwer to that Epythite, You were beſt call it Daughter beamed eyes. Pag.

They do not marke me, and that brings me out.

 Bero.

Is this your perfectneſſe? be gon you rogue.

 Roſa. What would theſe ſtrangers? Know their mindes Boyet. If they doe ſpeake our language, 'tis our will That ſome plaine man recount their purpoſes. Know what they would? Boyet.

What would you with the Princes?

 Ber.

Nothing but peace, and gentle viſitation.

 Roſ.

What would they, ſay they?

 Boy.

Nothing but peace, and gentle viſitation.

 Roſa.

Why that they haue, and bid them ſo be gon.

 Boy.

She ſaies you haue it, and you may be gon.

 Kin. Say to her we haue meaſur'd many miles, To tread a Meaſure with you on the graſſe. Boy. They ſay that they haue meaſur'd many a mile, To tread a Meaſure with you on this graſſe. Roſa. It is not ſo. Aske them how many inches Is in one mile? If they haue meaſur'd manie, The meaſure then of one is eaſlie told: Boy. If to come hither, you haue meaſur'd miles, And many miles: the Princeſſe bids you tell, How many inches doth fill vp one mile? Ber.

Tell her we meaſure them by weary ſteps.

 Boy.

She heares her ſelfe.

 Roſa. How manie wearie ſteps, Of many wearie miles you haue ore-gone, Are numbred in the trauell of one mile? Bero. We number nothing that we ſpend for you, Our dutie is ſo rich, ſo infinite, That we may doe it ſtill without accompt. Vouchſafe to ſhew the ſunſhine of your face, That we (like ſauages) may worſhip it. Roſa.

My face is but a Moone, and clouded too.

 Kin. Bleſſed are clouds, to doe as ſuch clouds do. Vouchſafe bright Moone, and theſe thy ſtars to ſhine, (Thoſe clouds remooued) vpon our waterie eyne. Roſa. O vaine peticioner, beg a greater matter, Thou now requeſts but Mooneſhine in the water. Kin. Then in our meaſure, vouchſafe but one change. Thou bidſt me begge, this begging is not ſtrange. Roſa. Play muſicke then: nay you muſt doe it ſoone. Not yet no dance: thus change I like the Moone. Kin.

Will you not dance? How come you thus eſtranged?

 Roſa.

You tooke the Moone at full, but now ſhee's changed?

 Kin.

Yet ſtill ſhe is the Moone, and I the Man.

 Roſa.

The muſick playes, vouchſafe ſome motion to it: Our eares vouchſafe it.

 Kin.

But your legges ſhould doe it.

 Roſ. Since you are ſtrangers, & come here by chance, Wee'll not be nice, take hands, we will not dance. Kin.

Why take you hands then?

 Roſa. Onelie to part friends. Curtſie ſweet hearts, and ſo the Meaſure ends. Kin.

More meaſure of this meaſure, be not nice.

 Roſa.

We can afford no more at ſuch a price.

 Kin.

Priſe your ſelues: What buyes your companie?

 Roſa.

Your abſence onelie.

 Kin.

That can neuer be.

 Roſa. Then cannot we be bought: and ſo adue, Twice to your Viſore, and halfe once to you. Kin.

If you denie to dance, let's hold more chat.

 Roſ.

In priuate then.

 Kin.

I am beſt pleas'd with that.

 Be.

White handed Miſtris, one ſweet word with thee.

 Qu.

Hony, and Milke, and Suger: there is three.

 Ber. Nay then two treyes, an if you grow ſo nice Methegline, Wort, and Malmſey; well runne dice: There's halfe a dozen ſweets. Qu. Seuenth ſweet adue, ſince you can cogg, Ile play no more with you. Ber.

One word in ſecret.

 Qu.

Let it not be ſweet.

 Ber.

Thou greeu'ſt my gall.

 Qu.

Gall, bitter.

 Ber.

Therefore meete.

 Du.

Will you vouchſafe with me to change a word?

 Mar.

Name it.

 Dum.

Faire Ladie.

 Mar. Say you ſo? Faire Lord: Take you that for your faire Lady. Du. Pleaſe it you, As much in priuate, and Ile bid adieu. Mar.

What, was your vizard made without a tong?

 Long.

I know the reaſon Ladie why you aske.

 Mar.

O for your reaſon, quickly ſir, I long.

 Long. You haue a double tongue within your mask. And would affoord my ſpeechleſſe vizard halfe. Mar.

Veale quoth the Dutch-man: is not Veale a Calfe?

 Long.

A Calfe faire Ladie?

 Mar.

No, a faire Lord Calfe.

 Long.

Let's part the word.

 Mar. No, Ile not be your halfe: Take all and weane it, it may proue an Oxe. Long. Looke how you but your ſelfe in thoſe ſharpe mockes. Will you giue hornes chaſt Ladie? Do not ſo. Mar.

Then die a Calfe before your horns do grow.

 Lon.

One word in priuate with you ere I die.

 Mar.

Bleat ſoftly then, the Butcher heares you cry.

 Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the Razors edge, inuiſible: Cutting a ſmaller haire then may be ſeene, Aboue the ſenſe of ſence ſo ſenſible: Seemeth their conference, their conceits haue wings, Fleeter then arrows, bullets wind, thoght, ſwifter things Roſa.

Not one word more my maides, breake off, breake off.

 Ber.

By heauen, all drie beaten with pure ſcoffe.

 King.

Farewell madde Wenches, you haue ſimple wits.

Exeunt. Qu. Twentie adieus my frozen Muſcouits. Are theſe the breed of wits ſo wondred at? Boyet.

Tapers they are, with your ſweete breathes puft out.

 Roſa.

Wel-liking wits they haue, groſſe, groſſe, fat, fat.

 Qu. O pouertie in wit, Kingly poore flout. Will they not (thinke you) hang themſelues to night? Or euer but in vizards ſhew their faces: This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite. Roſa. They were all in lamentable caſes. The King was vveeping ripe for a good word. Qu.

Berowne did ſweare himſelfe out of all ſuite.

 Mar. Dumaine was at my ſeruice, and his ſword: No point (quoth I:) my ſeruant ſtraight vvas mute. Ka. Lord Longauill ſaid I came ore his hart: And trow you vvhat he call'd me? Qu.

Qualme perhaps.

 Kat.

Yes in good faith.

 Qu.

Go ſickneſſe as thou art.

 Roſ. Well, better wits haue worne plain ſtatute caps, But vvil you heare; the King is my loue ſworne. Qu.

And quicke Berowne hath plighted faith to me.

 Kat.

And Longauill was for my ſeruice borne.

 Mar.

Dumaine is mine as ſure as barke on tree.

 Boyet. Madam, and prettie miſtreſſes giue care, Immediately they will againe be heere In their owne ſhapes: for it can neuer be, They will digeſt this harſh indignitie. Qu.

Will they returne?

 Boy. They will they will, God knowes, And leape for ioy, though they are lame with blowes: Therefore change Fauours, and when they repaire, Blow like ſweet Roſes, in this ſummer aire. Qu.

How blovv? how blovv? Speake to bee vnderſtood.

 Boy. Faire Ladies maskt, are Roſes in their bud: Diſmaskt, their damaske ſweet commixture ſhowne, Are Angels vailing clouds, or Roſes blowne. Qu. Auant perplexitie: What ſhall vve do, If they returne in their owne ſhapes to wo? Roſa. Good Madam, if by me you'l be aduis'd, Let's mocke them ſtill as well knowne as diſguis'd: Let vs complaine to them vvhat fooles were heare, Diſguis'd like Muſcouites in ſhapeleſſe geare: And wonder what they were, and to what end Their ſhallow ſhowes, and Prologue vildely pen'd: And their rough carriage ſo ridiculous, Should be preſented at our Tent to vs. Boyet.

Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.

 Quee.

Whip to our Tents, as Roes runnes ore Land.

 Exeunt. Enter the King and the reſt. King.

Faire ſir, God ſaue you. Wher's the Princeſſe?

 Boy. Gone to her Tent. Pleaſe it your Maieſtie command me any ſeruice to her? King.

That ſhe vouchſafe me audience for one word.

 Boy.

I will, and ſo will ſhe, I know my Lord.

Exit. Ber. This fellow pickes vp wit as Pigeons peaſe, And vtters it againe, when Ioue doth pleaſe. He is Wits Pedler, and retailes his Wares, At Wakes, and Waſſels, Meetings, M • kets, Faires. And we that ſell by groſſe, the Lord doth know, Haue not the grace to grace it with ſuch ſhow. This Gallant pins the Wenches on his ſleeue. Had he bin Adam, he had tempted Eue. He can carue too, and liſpe: Why this is he, That kiſt away his hand in courteſie. This is the Ape of Forme, Monſieur the nice, That when he plaies at Tables, chides the Dice In honorable tearmes: Nay he can ſing A meane moſt meanly, and in Vſhering Mend him who can: the Ladies call him ſweete. The ſtaires as he treads on them kiſſe his feete. This is the flower that ſmiles on euerie one, To ſhew his teeth as white as Whales bone. And conſciences that wil not die in debt, Pay him the dutie of honie-tongued Boyet. King. A bliſter on his ſweet tongue with my hart, That put Armathoes Page out of his part. Enter the Ladies. Ber. See where it comes. Behauiour what wer't thou, Till this madman ſhew'd thee? And what art thou now? King.

All haile ſweet Madame, and faire time of day.

 Qu.

Faire in all Haile is foule, as I conceiue.

 King.

Conſtrue my ſpeeches better, if you may.

 Qu.

Then wiſh me better, I wil giue you leaue.

 King. We came to viſit you, and purpoſe now To leade you to our Court, vouchſafe it then. Qu. This field ſhal hold me, and ſo hold your vow: Nor God, nor I, delights in periur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you prouoke: The vertue of your eie muſt breake my oth. Q. You nickname vertue: vice you ſhould haue ſpoke: For vertues office neuer breakes men troth. Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure As the vnſallied Lilly, I proteſt, A world of torments though I ſhould endure, I would not yeeld to be your houſes gueſt: So much I hate a breaking cauſe to be Of heauenly oaths, vow'd with integritie. Kin. O you haue liu'd in deſolation heere, Vnſeene, vnuiſited, much to our ſhame. Qu. Not ſo my Lord, it is not ſo I ſweare, We haue had paſtimes heere, and pleaſant game, A meſſe of Ruſſians left vs but of late. Kin.

How Madam? Ruſsians?

 Qu. I in truth, my Lord. Trim gallants, full of Courtſhip and of ſtate. Roſa. Madam ſpeake true. It is not ſo my Lord: My Ladie (to the manner of the daies) In curteſie giues vndeſeruing praiſe. We foure indeed confronted were with foure In Ruſsia habit: Heere they ſtayed an houre, And talk'd apace: and in that houre (my Lord) They did not bleſſe vs with one happy word. I dare not call them fooles; but this I thinke, When they are thirſtie, fooles would faine haue drinke. Ber. This ieſt is drie to me. Gentle ſweete, Your wits makes wiſe things fooliſh when we greete With eies beſt ſeeing, heauens fierie eie: By light we looſe light; your capacitie Is of that nature, that to your huge ſtoore, Wiſe things ſeeme fooliſh, and rich things but poore. Roſ.

This proues you wiſe and rich: for in my eie

 Ber.

I am a foole, and full of pouertie.

 Roſ. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to ſnatch words from my tongue. Ber.

O, I am yours and all that I poſſeſſe.

 Roſ.

All the foole mine.

 Ber.

I cannot giue you leſſe.

 Roſ.

Which of the Vizards what it that you wore?

 Ber. Where? when? What Vizard? Why demand you this? Roſ. There, then, that vizard, that ſuperfluous caſe, That hid the worſe, and ſhew'd the better face. Kin. We are diſcried, They'l mocke vs now downeright. Du.

Let vs confeſſe, and turne it to a ieſt.

 Que.

Amaz'd my Lord? Why lookes your Highnes ſadde?

 Roſa. Helpe hold his browes, hee'l ſound: why looke you pale? Sea-ſicke I thinke comming from Muſcouie. Ber. Thus poure the ſtars down plagues for periury. Can any face of braſſe hold longer out? Heere ſtand I Ladie dart thy skill at me, Bruiſe me with ſcorne, confound me with a flout. Thruſt thy ſharpe wit quite through my ignorance. Cut me to peeces with thy keene conceit: And I will wiſh thee neuer more to dance, Nor neuer more in Ruſsian habit waite. O! neuer will I truſt to ſpeeches pen'd, Nor to the motion of a Schoole-boies tongue Nor neuer come in vizard to my friend, Nor woo in rime like a blind-harpers ſongue, Taffata phraſes, ſilken tearmes preciſe, Three-pil'd Hyperboles, ſpruce affection; Figures pedanticall, theſe ſummer flies, Haue blowne me full of maggot oſtentation. I do forſweare them, and I heere proteſt, By this white Gloue (how white the hand God knows) Henceforth my woing minde ſhall be expreſt In ruſſet yeas, and honeſt kerſie noes. And to begin Wench, ſo God helpe me law, My loue to thee is ſound, ſans cracke or flaw. Roſa.

Sans, ſans, I pray you.

 Ber. Yet I haue a tricke Of the old rage: beare with me, I am ſicke. Ile leaue it by degrees: ſoft, let vs ſee, Write Lord haue mercie on vs, on thoſe three, They are infected, in their hearts it lies: They haue the plague, and caught it of your eyes: Theſe Lords are viſited, you are not free: For the Lords tokens on you do I ſee. Qu.

No, they are free that gaue theſe tokens to vs.

 Ber.

Our ſtates are forfeit, ſeeke not to vndo vs.

 Roſ. It is not ſo; for how can this be true, That you ſtand forfeit, being thoſe that ſue. Ber.

Peace, for I will not haue to do with you.

 Roſ.

Nor ſhall not, if I do as I intend.

 Ber.

Speake for your ſelues, my wit is at an end.

 King.

Teach vs ſweete Madame, for our rude tranſgreſsion, ſome faire excuſe.

 Qu. The faireſt is confeſsion. Were you not heere but euen now, diſguis'd? Kin.

Madam, I was.

 Qu.

And were you well aduis'd?

 Kin.

I was faire Madam.

 Qu. When you then were heere, What did you whiſper in your Ladies eare? King.

That more then all the world I did reſpect her

 Qu.

When ſhee ſhall challenge this, you will reiect her.

 King.

Vpon mine Honor no.

 Qu.

Peace, peace, forbeare: your oath once broke, you force not to forſweare.

 King.

Deſpiſe me when I breake this oath of mine.

 Qu. I will, and therefore keepe it. Roſaline, What did the Ruſsian whiſper in your eare? Roſ. Madam, he ſwore that he did hold me deare As precious eye-ſight, and did value me Aboue this World: adding thereto moreouer, That he vvould Wed me, or elſe die my Louer. Qu.

God giue thee ioy of him: the Noble Lord Moſt honorably doth vphold his word.

 King. What meane you Madame? By my life, my troth, I neuer ſwore this Ladie ſuch an oth. Roſ.

By heauen you did; and to confirme it plaine, you gaue me this: But take it ſir againe.

 King. My faith and this, the Princeſſe I did giue, I knew her by this Iewell on her ſleeue. Qu. Pardon me ſir, this Iewell did ſhe weare, And Lord Berowne (I thanke him) is my deare. What? Will you haue me, or your Pearle againe? Ber. Neither of either, I remit both twaine. I ſee the tricke on't: Heere was a conſent, Knowing aforehand of our merriment, To daſh it like a Chriſtmas Comedie. Some carry-tale, ſome pleaſe-man, ſome ſlight Zanie, Some mumble-newes, ſome trencher-knight, ſom Dick That ſmiles his cheeke in yeares, and knowes the trick To make my Lady laugh, when ſhe's diſpos'd; Told our intents before: which once diſclos'd, The Ladies did change Fauours, and then we Following the ſignes, woo'd but the ſigne of ſhe. Now to our periurie, to adde more terror, We are againe forſworne in will and error. Much vpon this tis: and might not you Foreſtall our ſport, to make vs thus vntrue? Do not you know my Ladies foot by 'th ſquier? And laugh vpon the apple of her eie? And ſtand betweene her backe ſir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, ieſting merrilie? You put our Page out: go, you are alowd. Die when you will, a ſmocke ſhall be your ſhrowd. You leere vpon me, do you? There's an eie Wounds like a Leaden ſword. Boy.

Full merrily hath this braue manager, this carreere bene run.

 Ber. Loe, he is tilting ſtraight. Peace, I haue don. Enter Clowne. Welcome pure wit, thou part'ſt a faire fray. Clo. O Lord ſir, they would kno, Whether the three worthies ſhall come in, or no. Ber.

What, are there but three?

 Clo. No ſir, but it is var • fine, For euerie one purſents three. Ber.

And three times thrice is nine.

 Clo.

Not ſo ſir, vnder correction ſir, I hope it is not ſo. You cannot beg vs ſir, I can aſſure you ſir, we know what we know: I hope ſir three times thrice ſir.

 Ber.

Is not nine.

 Clo.

Vnder correction ſir, wee know where-vntill it doth amount.

 Ber.

By Ioue, I alwaies tooke three threes for nine.

 Clow.

O Lord ſir, it were pittie you ſhould get your liuing by reckning ſir.

 Ber.

How much is it?

 Clo.

O Lord ſir, the parties themſelues, the actors ſir will ſhew where-vntill it doth amount: for mine owne part, I am (as they ſay, but to perfect one man in one poore man) Pompion the great ſir.

 Ber.

Art thou one of the Worthies?

 Clo.

It pleaſed them to thinke me worthie of Pompey the great: for mine owne part, I know not the degree of the Worthie, but I am to ſtand for him.

 Ber.

Go, bid them prepare.

Exit. Clo.

We will turne it finely off ſir, we wil take ſome care.

 King. Berowne, they will ſhame vs: Let them not approach. Ber.

We are ſhame-proofe my Lord: and 'tis ſome policie, to haue one ſhew worſe then the Kings and his companie.

 Kin.

I ſay they ſhall not come.

 Qu. Nay my good Lord, let me ore-rule you now; That ſport beſt pleaſes, that doth leaſt know how. Where Zeale ſtriues to content, and the contents Dies in the Zeale of that which it preſents: Their forme confounded, makes moſt forme in mirth, When great things labouring periſh in their birth. Ber.

A right deſcription of our ſport my Lord.

 Enter Braggart. Brag.

Annointed, I implore ſo much expence of thy royall ſweet breath, as will vtter a brace of words.

 Qu.

Doth this man ſerue God?

 Ber.

Why aske you?

 Qu.

He ſpeak's not like a man of God's making.

 Brag.

That's all one my faire ſweet honie Monarch: For I proteſt, the Schoolmaſter is exceeding fantaſticall: Too too vain, too too vaine. But we wil put it (as they ſay) to Fortuna delaguar, I wiſh you the peace of minde moſt royall cupplement.

 King.

Here is like to be a good preſence of Worthies; He preſents Hector of Troy, the Swaine Pompey ye great, the Pariſh Curate Alexander, Armadoes Page Hercules, the Pedant Iudas Machabeus: And if theſe foure Worthies in their firſt ſhew thriue, theſe foure will change habites, and preſent the other fiue.

 Ber.

There is fiue in the firſt ſhew.

 Kin.

You are deceiued, tis not ſo.

 Ber. The Pedant, the Braggart, the Hedge-Prieſt, the Foole, and the Boy, Abate throw at Novum, and the whole world againe, Cannot pricke out fiue ſuch, take each one in's vaine. Kin.

The ſhip is vnder ſaile, and here ſhe coms amain.

 Enter Pompey. Clo.

I Pompey am.

Ber.

You lie, you are not he.

 Clo.

I Pompey am.

Boy.

With Libbards head on knee.

 Ber. Well ſaid old mocker, I muſt needs be friends with thee. Clo.

I Pompey am, Pompey ſurnam'd the big.

Du.

The great.

 Clo. It is great ſir: Pompey ſurnam'd the great: That oft in field, with Targe and Shield, did make my foe to ſweat: And trauailing along this coaſt, I heere am come by chance, And lay my Armes before the legs of this ſweet Laſſe of France. If your Ladiſhip would ſay thankes Pompey, I had done. La.

Great thankes great Pompey.

Clo.

Tis not ſo much worth: but I hope I was perfect. I made a little fault in great.

 Ber.

My hat to a halfe-penie, Pompey prooues the beſt Worthie.

 Enter Curate for Alexander. Curat. When in the world I liu'd, I was the worldes Commander: By Eaſt, Weſt, North, & South, I ſpred my conquering might My Scutcheon plaine declares that I am Aliſander. Boiet. Your noſe ſaies no, you are not: For it ſtands too right. Ber.

Your noſe ſmels no, in this moſt tender ſmelling Knight.

 Qu. The Conqueror is diſmaid: Proceede good Alexander. Cur.

When in the world I liued, I was the worldes Commander.

Boiet.

Moſt true, 'tis right: you were ſo Aliſander.

Ber.

Pompey the great.

 Clo.

your ſeruant and Coſtard.

Ber.

Take away the Conqueror, take away Aliſander

Clo.

O ſir, you haue ouerthrowne Aliſander the conqueror: you will be ſcrap'd out of the painted cloth for this: your Lion that holds his Pollax ſitting on a cloſe ſtoole, will be giuen to Aiax. He will be the ninth worthie. A Conqueror, and affraid to ſpeake? Runne away for ſhame Aliſander. There an't ſhall pleaſe you: a fooliſh milde man, an honeſt man, looke you, & ſoon daſht. He is a maruellous good neighbour inſooth, and a verie good Bowler: but for Aliſander, alas you ſee, how 'tis a little ore-parted. But there are Worthies a comming, will ſpeake their minde in ſome other ſort.

Exit Cu. Qu.

Stand aſide good Pompey.

 Enter Pedant for Iudas, and the Boy for Hercules. Ped. Great Hercules is preſented by this Impe, Whoſe Club kil'd Cerberus that three-headed Canus, And when he was a babe, a childe, a ſhrimpe, Thus did he ſtrangle Serpents in his Manus: Quoniam, he ſeemeth in minoritie, Ergo, I come with this Apologie. Keepe ſome ſtate in thy exit, and vaniſh. Exit Boy Ped.

Iudas I am.

Dum.

A Iudas?

 Ped. Not Iſcariot ſir. Iudas I am, ycliped Machabeus. Dum.

Iudas Machabeus clipt, is plaine Iudas.

 Ber.

A kiſsing traitor. How art thou prou'd Iudas?

 Ped.

Iudas I am.

Dum.

The more ſhame for you Iudas.

Ped.

What meane you ſir?

 Boi.

To make Iudas hang himſelfe.

 Ped.

Begin ſir, you are my elder.

 Ber.

Well follow'd, Iudas was hang'd on an Elder.

 Ped.

I will not be put out of countenance.

 Ber.

Becauſe thou haſt no face.

 Ped.

What is this?

 Boi.

A Citterne head.

 Dum.

The head of a bodkin.

 Ber.

A deaths face in a ring.

 Lon.

The face of an old Roman coine, ſcarce ſeene.

 Boi.

The pummell of Caeſars Faulchion.

 Dum.

The caru'd-bone face on a Flaske.

 Ber.

S. Georges halfe cheeke in a brooch.

 Dum.

I, and in a brooch of Lead.

 Ber. I, and worne in the cap of a Tooth-drawer. And now forward, for we haue put thee in countenance Ped.

You haue put me out of countenance.

 Ber.

Falſe, we haue giuen thee faces.

 Ped.

But you haue out-fac'd them all.

 Ber.

And thou wer't a Lion, we would do ſo.

 Boy. Therefore as he is, an Aſſe, let him go: And ſo adieu ſweet Iude. Nay, why doſt thou ſtay? Dum.

For the latter end of his name.

 Ber.

For the Aſſe to the Iude: giue it him. Iud-as away.

 Ped.

This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

 Boy.

A light for monſieur Iudas, it growes darke, he may ſtumble.

 Que.

Alas poore Machabeus, how hath hee beene baited.

 Enter Braggart. Ber.

Hide thy head Achilles, heere comes Hector in Armes.

 Dum.

Though my mockes come home by me, I will now be merrie.

 King.

Hector was but a Troyan in reſpect of this.

 Boi.

But is this Hector?

 Kin.

I thinke Hector was not ſo • leane timber'd.

 Lon.

His legge is too big for Hector.

Dum.

More Calfe certaine.

 Boi.

No, he is beſt indued in the ſmall.

 Ber.

This cannot be Hector.

Dum.

He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces.

 Brag.

The Armipotent Mars, of Launces the almighty, gaue Hector a gift.

Dum.

A gilt Nutmegge.

 Ber.

A Lemmon.

 Lon.

Stucke with Cloues.

 Dum.

No clouen.

 Brag. The Armipotent Mars of Launces the almighty, Gaue Hector a gift, the heire of Illion; A man ſo breathed, that certaine he would fight: yea From morne till night, out of his Pauillion. I am that Flower. Dum.

That Mint.

 Long.

That Cullambine.

 Brag.

Sweet Lord Longauill reine thy tongue.

 Lon.

I muſt rather giue it the reine: for it runnes againſt Hector.

Dum.

I, and Hector's a Grey-hound.

 Brag. The ſweet War-man is dead and rotten, Sweet chuckes, beat not the bones of the buried: But I will forward with my deuice; Sweet Royaltie beſtow on me the ſence of hearing. Berowne ſteppes forth. Qu.

Speake braue Hector, we are much delighted.

 Brag.

I do adore thy ſweet Graces ſlipper.

 Boy.

Loues her by the foot.

 Dum.

He may not by the yard.

 Brag.

This Hector farre ſurmounted Hanniball.

The partie is gone. Clo.

Fellow Hector, ſhe is gone; ſhe is two moneths on her way.

 Brag.

What meaneſt thou?

 Clo.

Faith vnleſſe you play the honeſt Troyan, the poore Wench is caſt away: ſhe's quick, the child brags in her belly alreadie: tis yours.

 Brag.

Doſt thou infamonize me among Potentates? Thou ſhalt die.

 Clo.

Then ſhall Hector be whipt for Iaquenetta that is quicke by him, and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him.

 Dum.

Moſt rare Pompey.

Boi.

Renowned Pompey.

Ber.

Greater then great, great, great, great Pompey: Pompey the huge.

 Dum.

Hector trembles.

 Ber.

Pompey is moued, more Atees more Atees ſtirre them, or ſtirre them on.

 Dum.

Hector will challenge him.

 Ber.

I, if a' haue no more mans blood in's belly, then will ſup a Flea.

 Brag.

By the North-pole I do challenge thee.

 Clo.

I wil not fight with a pole like a Northern man; Ile flaſh, Ile do it by the ſword: I pray you let mee borrow my Armes againe.

 Dum.

Roome for the incenſed Worthies.

 Clo.

Ile do it in my ſhirt.

 Dum.

Moſt reſolute Pompey.

Page. Maſter, let me take you a button hole lower: Do you not ſee Pompey is vncaſing for the combat: what meane you? you will loſe your reputation. Brag.

Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I will not combat in my ſhirt.

 Du.

You may not denie it, Pompey hath made the challenge.

 Brag.

Sweet bloods, I both may, and will.

 Ber.

What reaſon haue you for't?

 Brag. The naked truth of it is, I haue no ſhirt, I go woolward for penance. Boy.

True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for want of Linnen: ſince when, Ile be ſworne he wore none, but a diſhclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next his heart for a fauour.

 Enter a Meſſenger, Monſieur Marcade. Mar.

God ſaue you Madame.

 Qu.

Welcome Marcade, but that thou interrupteſt our merriment.

 Marc.

I am ſorrie Madam, for the newes I bring is heauie in my tongue. The King your father

 Qu.

Dead for my life.

 Mar.

Euen ſo: My tale is told.

 Ber.

Worthies away, the Scene begins to cloud.

 Brag.

For mine owne part, I breath free breath: I haue ſeene the day of wrong, through the little hole of diſcretion, and I will right my ſelfe like a Souldier.

 Exeunt Worthies Kin.

How fare's your Maieſtie?

 Qu.

Boyet prepare, I will away to night.

 Kin.

Madame not ſo, I do beſeech you ſtay.

 Qu. Prepare I ſay. I thanke you gracious Lords For all your faire endeuours and entreats: Out of a new ſad-ſoule, that you vouchſafe, In your rich wiſedome to excuſe, or hide, The liberall oppoſition of our ſpirits, If ouer-boldly we haue borne our ſelues, In the conuerſe of breath (your gentleneſſe Was guiltie of it.) Farewell worthie Lord: A heauie heart beares not a humble tongue. Excuſe me ſo, comming ſo ſhort of thankes, For my great ſuite, ſo eaſily obtain'd. Kin. The extreme parts of time, extremelie formes All cauſes to the purpoſe of his ſpeed: And often at his verie looſe-decides That, which long proceſſe could not arbitrate. And though the mourning brow of progenie Forbid the ſmiling curteſie of Loue: The holy ſuite which faine it would conuince, Yet ſince loues argument was firſt on foote, Let not the cloud of ſorrow iuſtle it From what it purpos'd: ſince to waile friends loſt, Is not by much ſo wholſome profitable, As to reioyce at friends but newly found, Qu.

I vnderſtand you not, my greefes are double.

 Ber. Honeſt plain words, beſt pierce the ears of griefe And by theſe badges vnderſtand the King, For your faire ſakes haue we neglected time, Plaid foule play with our oaths: your beautie Ladies Hath much deformed vs, faſhioning our humors Euen to the oppoſed end of our intents. And what in vs hath ſeem'd ridiculous: As Loue is full of vnbefitting ſtraines, All wanton as a childe, skipping and vaine. Form'd by the eie, and therefore like the eie. Full of ſtraying ſhapes, of habits, and of formes Varying in ſubiects as the eie doth roule, To euerie varied obiect in his glance: Which partie-coated preſence of looſe loue Put on by vs, if in your heauenly eies, Haue misbecom'd our oathes and grauities. Thoſe heauenlie eies that looke into theſe faults, Suggeſted vs to make: therefore Ladies Our loue being yours, the error that Loue makes Is likewiſe yours. We to our ſelues proue falſe, By being once falſe, for euer to be true To thoſe that make vs both, faire Ladies you. And euen that falſhood in it ſelfe a ſinne, Thus purifies it ſelfe, and turnes to grace. Qu. We haue receiu'd your Letters, full of Loue: Your Fauours, the Ambaſſadors of Loue. And in our maiden counſaile rated them, At courtſhip, pleaſantieſt, and curteſie, As bumbaſt and as lining to the time: But more deuout then theſe are our reſpects Haue we not bene, and therefore met your loues In their owne faſhion, like a merriment. Du.

Our letters Madam, ſhew'd much more then ieſt.

 Lon.

So did our lookes.

 Roſa.

We did not coat them ſo.

 Kin. Now at the lateſt minute of the houre, Grant vs your loues. Qu. A time me thinkes too ſhort, To make a world-without-end bargaine in; No, no my Lord, your Grace is periur'd much, Full of deare guiltineſſe, and therefore this: If for my Loue (as there is no ſuch cauſe) You will do ought, this ſhall you do for me. Your oth I will not truſt: but go with ſpeed To ſome forlorne and naked Hermitage, Remote from all the pleaſures of the world: There ſtay, vntill the twelue Celeſtiall Signes Haue brought about their annuall reckoning. If this auſtere inſociable life, Change not your offer made in heate of blood: If froſts, and faſts, hard lodging, and thin weeds Nip not the gaudie bloſſomes of your Loue, But that it beare this triall, and laſt loue: Then at the expiration of the yeare, Come challenge me, challenge me by theſe deſerts, And by this Virgin palme, now kiſſing thine, I will be thine: and till that inſtant ſhut My wofull ſelfe vp in a mourning houſe, Raining the teares of lamentation, For the remembrance of my Fathers death. If this thou do denie, let our hands part, Neither intitled in the others hart. Kin. If this, or more then this, I would denie, To flatter vp theſe powers of mine with reſt, The ſodaine hand of death cloſe vp mine eie. Hence euer then, my heart is in thy breſt. Ber.

And what to me my Loue? and what to me?

 Roſ. You muſt be purged too, your ſins are rack'd. You are attaint with faults and periurie: Therefore if you my fauor meane to get, A tweluemonth ſhall you ſpend, and neuer reſt, But ſeeke the wearie beds of people ſicke. Du.

But what to me my loue? but what to me?

 Kat. A wife? a beard, faire health, and honeſtie, With three-fold loue, I wiſh you all theſe three. Du.

O ſhall I ſay, I thanke you gentle wife?

 Kat. Not ſo my Lord, a tweluemonth and a day, Ile marke no words that ſmoothfac'd wooers ſay. Come when the King doth to my Ladie come: Then if I haue much loue, Ile giue you ſome. Dum.

Ile ſerue thee true and faithfully till then.

 Kath.

Yet ſweare not, leaſt ye be forſworne agen▪

Lon.

What ſaies Maria?

 Mari. At the tweluemonths end, Ile change my blacke Gowne, for a faithfull friend. Lon.

Ile ſtay with patience: but the time is long.

 Mari.

The liker you, few taller are ſo yong.

 Ber. Studies my Ladie? Miſtreſſe, looke on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eie: What humble ſuite attends thy anſwer there, Impoſe ſome ſeruice on me for my loue. Roſ. Oft haue I heard of you my Lord Berowne, Before I ſaw you: and the worlds large tongue Proclaimes you for a man repleate with mockes, Full of compariſons, and wounding floutes: Which you on all eſtates will execute, That lie within the mercie of your wit. To weed this Wormewood from your fruitfull braine, And therewithall to win me, if you pleaſe, Without the which I am not to be won: You ſhall this tweluemonth terme from day to day, Viſite the ſpeechleſſe ſicke, and ſtill conuerſe With groaning wretches: and your taske ſhall be, With all the fierce endeuour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to ſmile. Ber. To moue wilde laughter in the throate of death? It cannot be, it is impoſſible. Mirth cannot moue a ſoule in agonie. Roſ. Why that's the way to choke a gibing ſpirit, Whoſe influence is begot of that looſe grace, Which ſhallow laughing hearers giue to fooles: A ieſts proſperitie, lies in the eare Of him that heares it, neuer in the tongue Of him that makes it: then, if ſickly eares, Deaft with the clamors of their owne deare grones, Will heare your idle ſcornes; continue then, And I will haue you, and that fault withall. But if they will not, throw away that ſpirit, And I ſhal finde you emptie of that fault, Right ioyfull of your reformation. Ber. A tweluemonth? Well: befall what will befall, Ile ieſt a tweluemonth in an Hoſpitall. Qu.

I ſweet my Lord, and ſo I take my leaue.

 King.

No Madam, we will bring you on your way.

 Ber. Our woing doth not end like an old Play: Iacke hath not Gill: theſe Ladies courteſie Might wel haue made our ſport a Comedie. Kin. Come ſir, it wants a tweluemonth and a day, And then 'twil end. Ber.

That's too long for a play.

 Enter Braggart. Brag.

Sweet Maieſty vouchſafe me.

 Qu.

Was not that Hector?

 Dum.

The worthie Knight of Troy.

 Brag.

I wil kiſſe thy royal finger, and take leaue. I am a Votarie, I haue vow'd to Iaquenetta to holde the Plough for her ſweet loue three yeares. But moſt eſteemed greatneſſe, wil you heare the Dialogue that the two Learned men haue compiled, in praiſe of the Owle and the Cuckow? It ſhould haue followed in the end of our ſhew.

 Kin.

Call them forth quickely, we will do ſo.

 Brag.

Holla, Approach.

 Enter all. This ſide is Hiems, Winter. This Ver, the Spring: the one maintained by the Owle, Th' other by the Cuckow. Ver, begin. The Song. When Daſies pied, and Violets blew, And Cuckow-buds of yellow hew: And Ladie-ſmockes all ſiluer white, Do paint the Medowes with delight. The Cuckow then on euerie tree, Mockes married men, for thus ſings he, Cuckow. Cuckow, Cuckow: O word of feare, Vnpleaſing to a married eare. When Shepheards pipe on Oaten ſtrawes, And merrie Larkes are Ploughmens clockes: When Turtles tread, and Rookes and Dawes, And Maidens bleach their ſummer ſmockes: The Cuckow then on euerie tree Mockes married men; for thus ſings he, Cuckow. Cuckow, Cuckow: O word of feare, Vnpleaſing to a married eare. Winter. When Iſicles hang by the wall, And Dicke the Sphepheard blowes his naile; And Tom beares Logges into the hall, And Milke comes frozen home in paile: When blood is nipt, and waies be fowle, Then nightly ſings the ſtaring Owle Tu-whit to-who. A merrie note, While greaſie Ione doth keele the pot. When all aloud the winde doth blow, And coſſing drownes the Parſons ſaw: And birds ſit brooding in the ſnow, And Marrians noſe lookes red and raw: When roaſted Crabs hiſſe in the bowle, Then nightly ſings the ſtaring Owle, Tu-whit to who: A merrie note, While greaſie Ione doth keele the pot. Brag. The Words of Mercurie, Are harſh after the ſongs of Apollo: You that way; we this way. Exeunt omnes.
FINIS.
A MIDSOMMER Nights Dreame.
Actus primus. Enter Theſeus, Hippolita, with others. Theſeus. NOw faire Hippolita, our nuptiall houre Drawes on apace: foure happy daies bring in Another Moon: but oh, me thinkes, how ſlow This old Moon wanes; She lingers my deſires Like to a Step-dame, or a Dowager, Long withering out a yong mans reuennew. Hip. Foure daies wil quickly ſteep thēſelues in nights Foure nights wil quickly dreame away the time: And then the Moone, like to a ſiluer bow, Now bent in heauen, ſhal behold the night Of our ſolemnities. The. Go Philoſtrate, Stirre vp the Athenian youth to merriments, Awake the pert and nimble ſpirit of mirth, Turne melancholy forth to Funerals: The pale companion is not for our pompe, Hippolita, I woo'd thee with my ſword, And wonne thy loue, doing thee iniuries: But I will wed thee in another key, With pompe, with triumph, and with reuelling. Enter Egeus and his daughter Hermia, Lyſander, and Demetrius. Ege.

Happy be Theſeus, our renowned Duke.

 The.

Thanks good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

 Ege. Full of vexation, come I, with complaint Againſt my childe, my daughter Hermia. Stand forth Dometrius. My Noble Lord, This man hath my conſent to marrie her. Stand forth Lyſander. And my gracious Duke, This man hath bewitch'd the boſome of my childe: Thou, thou Lyſander, thou haſt giuen her rimes, And interchang'd loue-tokens with my childe: Thou haſt by Moone-light at her window ſung, With faining voice, verſes of faining loue, And ſtolne the impreſſion of her fantaſie, With bracelets of thy haire, rings, gawdes, conceits, Knackes, trifles, Noſe-gaies, ſweet meats (meſſengers Of ſtrong preuailment in vnhardned youth) With cunning haſt thou filch'd my daughters heart, Turn'd her obedience (which is due to me) To ſtubborne harſhneſſe. And my gracious Duke, Be it ſo ſhe will not heere before your Grace, Conſent to marrie with Demetrius, I beg the ancient priuiledge of Athens; As ſhe is mine, I may diſpoſe of her; Which ſhall be either to this Gentleman, Or to her death, according to our Law, Immediately prouided in that caſe. The. What ſay you Hermia? be aduis'd faire Maide, To you your Father ſhould be as a God; One that compos'd your beauties; yea and one To whom you are but as a forme in waxe By him imprinted: and within his power, To leaue the figure, or disfigure it: Demetrius is a worthy Gentleman. Her.

So is Lyſander.

The. In himſelfe he is. But in this kinde, wanting your fathers voyce. The other muſt be held the worthier. Her.

I would my father look'd but with my eyes.

 The.

Rather your eies muſt with his iudgment looke.

 Her. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold, Nor how it may concerne my modeſtie In ſuch a preſence heere to pleade my thoughts: But I beſeech your Grace, that I may know The worſt that may befall me in this caſe, If I refuſe to wed Demetrius. The. Either to dye the death, or to abiure For euer the ſociety of men. Therefore faire Hermia queſtion your deſires, Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether (if you yeeld not to your fathers choice) You can endure the liuerie of a Nunne, For aye to be in ſhady Cloiſter mew'd, To liue a barren ſiſter all your life, Chanting faint hymnes to the cold fruitleſſe Moone, Thrice bleſſed they that maſter ſo their blood, To vndergo ſuch maiden pilgrimage, But earthlier happie is the Roſe diſtil'd, Then that which withering on the virgin thorne, Growes, liues, and dies, in ſingle bleſſedneſſe. Her. So will I grow, ſo liue, ſo die my Lord, Ere I will yeeld my virgin Patent vp Vnto his Lordſhip, whoſe vnwiſhed yoake, My ſoule conſents not to giue ſoueraignty. The. Take time to pauſe, and by the next new Moon The ſealing day betwixt my loue and me, For euerlaſting bond of fellowſhip: Vpon that day either prepare to dye, For diſobedience to your fathers will, Or elſe to wed Demetrius as hee would, Or on Dianaes Altar to proteſt For aie, auſterity, and ſingle life. Dem. Relent ſweet Hermia, and Lyſander, yeelde Thy crazed title to my certaine right. Lyſ. You haue her fathers loue, Demetrius: Let me haue Hermiaes: do you marry him. Egeus. Scornfull Lyſander, true, he hath my Loue; And what is mine, my loue ſhall render him. And ſhe is mine, and all my right of her, I do eſtate vnto Demetrius. Lyſ. I am my Lord, as well deriu'd as he, As well poſſeſt: my loue is more then his: My fortunes euery way as fairely ranck'd (If not with vantage) as Demetrius: And (which is more then all theſe boaſts can be) I am belou'd of beauteous Hermia. Why ſhould not I then proſecute my right? Demetrius, Ile auouch it to his head, Made loue to Nedars daughter, Helena, And won her ſoule: and ſhe (ſweet Ladie) dotes, Deuoutly dotes, dotes in Idolatry, Vpon this ſpotted and inconſtant man. The. I muſt confeſſe, that I haue heard ſo much, And with Demetrius thought to haue ſpoke thereof: But being ouer-full of ſelfe-affaires, My minde did loſe it. But Demetrius come, And come Egeus, you ſhall go with me, I haue ſome priuate ſchooling for you both. For you faire Hermia, looke you arme your ſelfe, To fit your fancies to your Fathers will; Or elſe the Law of Athens yeelds you vp (Which by no meanes we may extenuate) To death, or to a vow of ſingle life. Come my Hippolita▪ what cheare my loue? Demetrius and Egeus go along: I muſt imploy you in ſome buſineſſe Againſt our nuptiall, and conferre with you Of ſomething, neerely that concernes your ſelues. Ege.

With dutie and deſire we follow you.

Exeunt Manet Lyſander and Hermia. Lyſ. How now my loue? Why is your cheek ſo pale? How chance the Roſes there do fade ſo faſt? Her. Belike for want of raine, which I could well Beteeme them, from the tempeſt of mine eyes. Lyſ. For ought that euer I could reade, Could euer heare by tale or hiſtorie, The courſe of true loue neuer did run ſmooth, But either it was different in blood. Her.

O croſſe! too high to be enthral'd to loue.

 Lyſ.

Or elſe miſgraffed, in reſpect of yeares.

 Her.

O ſpight! too old to be ingag'd to yong.

 Lyſ.

Or elſe it ſtood vpon the choiſe of merit.

 Her.

O hell! to chooſe loue by anothers eie.

 Lyſ. Or if there were a ſimpathie in choiſe, Warre, death, or ſickneſſe, did lay ſiege to it; Making it momentarie, as a ſound: Swift as a ſhadow, ſhort as any dreame, Briefe as the lightning in the collied night, That (in a ſpleene) vnfolds both heauen and earth; And ere a man hath power to ſay, behold, The iawes of darkneſſe do deuoure it vp: So quicke bright things come to confuſion. Her. If then true Louers haue beene euer croſt, It ſtands as an edict in deſtinie: Then let vs teach our triall patience, Becauſe it is a cuſtomarie croſſe, As due to loue, as thoughts, and dreames, and ſighes, Wiſhes and teares; poore Fancies followers. Lyſ. A good perſwaſion; therefore heare me Hermia, I haue a Widdow Aunt, a dowager, Of great reuennew, and ſhe hath • o childe, From Athens is her houſe remou • ſeuen leagues, And ſhe reſpects me, as her onely ſonne: There gentle Hermia, may I marrie thee, And to that place, the ſharpe Athenian Law Cannot purſue vs. If thou lou'ſt me, then Steale forth thy fathers houſe to morrow night: And in the wood, a league without the towne, (Where I did meete thee once with Helena, To do obſeruance for a morne of May) There will I ſtay for thee. Her. My good Lyſander, I ſweare to thee, by Cupids ſtrongeſt bow, By his beſt arrow with the golden head, By the ſimplicitie of Venus Doues, By that which knitteth ſoules, and proſpers loue, And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage Queene, When the falſe Troyan vnder ſaile was ſeene, By all the vowes that euer men haue broke, (In number more then euer women ſpoke) In that ſame place thou haſt appointed me, To morrow truly will I meete with thee. Lyſ.

Keepe promiſe loue: looke here comes Helena.

Enter Helena. Her.

God ſpeede faire Helena, whither away?

 Hel. Cal you me faire? that faire againe vnſay, Demetrius loues you faire: O happie faire! Your eyes are loadſtarres, and your tongues ſweet ayre More tuneable then Larke to ſhepheards eare, When wheate is greene, when hauthorne buds appeare, Sickneſſe is catching: O were fauor ſo, Your words I catch, faire Hermia ere I go, My eare ſhould catch your voice, my eye, your eye, My tongue ſhould catch your tongues ſweet melodie, Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The reſt Ile giue to be to you tranſlated.

O teach me how you looke, and with what art you ſway the motion of Demetrius hart.

 Her.

I frowne vpon him, yet he loues me ſtill.

 Hel.

O that your frownes would teach my ſmiles ſuch skil.

 Her.

I giue him curſes, yet he giues me loue.

 Hel.

O that my prayers could ſuch affection mooue.

 Her.

The more I hate, the more he followes me.

 Hel.

The more I loue, the more he hateth me.

 Her.

His folly Helena is none of mine.

 Hel.

None but your beauty, wold that fault wer mine

 Her. Take comfort: he no more ſhall ſee my face, Lyſander and my ſelfe will flie this place. Before the time I did Lyſander ſee, Seem'd Athens like a Paradiſe to mee. O then, what graces in my Loue do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heauen into hell. Lyſ. Helen, to you our mindes we will vnfold, To morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold Her ſiluer viſage, in the watry glaſſe, Decking with liquid pearle, the bladed graſſe (A time that Louers flights doth ſtill conceale) Through Athens gates, haue we deuis'd to ſteale. Her. And in the wood, where often you and I, Vpon faint Primroſe beds, were wont to lye, Emptying our boſomes, of their counſell ſweld: There my Lyſander, and my ſelfe ſhall meete, And thence from Athens turne away our eyes To ſeeke new friends and ſtrange companions, Farwell ſweet play-fellow, pray thou for vs, And good lucke grant thee thy Demetrius. Keepe word Lyſander we muſt ſtarue our ſight, From louers foode, till morrow deepe midnight. Exit Hermia. Lyſ. I will my Hermia. Helena adieu, As you on him, Demetrius dotes on you. Exit Lyſander. Hele. How happy ſome, ore other ſome can be? Through Athens I am thought as faire as ſhe. But what of that? Demetrius thinkes not ſo: He will not know, what all, but he doth know, And as hee erres, doting on Hermias eyes; So I, admiring of his qualities: Things baſe and vilde, holding no quantity, Loue can tranſpoſe to forme and dignity, Loue lookes not with the eyes, but with the minde, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blinde. Nor hath loues minde of any iudgement taſte: Wings and no eyes, figure, vnheedy haſte. And therefore is Loue ſaid to be a childe, Becauſe in choiſe he is often beguil'd, As waggiſh boyes in game themſelues forſweare; So the boy Loue is periur'd euery where. For ere Demetrius lookt on Hermias eyne, He hail'd downe oathes that he was onely mine. And when this Haile ſome heat from Hermia felt, So he diſſolu'd, and ſhowres of oathes did melt, I will goe tell him of faire Hermias flight: Then to the wood will he, to morrow night Purſue her; and for his intelligence, If I haue thankes, it is a deere expence: But heerein meane I to enrich my paine, To haue his ſight thither, and backe againe. Exit. Enter Quince the Carpenter, Snug the Ioyner, Bottome the Weauer, Flute the bellowes-mender, Snout the Tinker, and Starueling the Taylor. Quin.

Is all our company heere?

 Bot.

You were beſt to call them generally, man by man, according to the ſcrip.

 Qui.

Here is the ſcrowle of euery mans name, which is thought fit through all Athens, to play in our Enterlude before the Duke and the Dutches, on his wedding day at night.

 Bot.

Firſt, good Peter Quince, ſay what the play treats on: then read the names of the Actors: and ſo grow on to a point.

 Quin.

Marry our play is the moſt lamentable Comedy, and moſt cruell death of Pyramus and Thisbie.

Bot.

A very good peece of worke I aſſure you, and a merry. Now good Peter Quince, call forth your Actors by the ſcrowle. Maſters ſpread your ſelues.

 Quince.

Anſwere as I call you. Nick Bottome the Weauer.

 Bottome.

Ready; name what part I am for, and proceed.

 Quince.

You Nicke Bottome are ſet downe for Pyramus.

Bot.

What is Pyramus, a louer, or a tyrant?

 Quin.

A Louer that kills himſelfe moſt gallantly for loue.

 Bot.

That will aske ſome teares in the true performing of it: if I do it, let the audience looke to their eies: I will mooue ſtormes; I will condole in ſome meaſure. To the reſt yet, my chiefe humour is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to teare a Cat in, to make all ſplit the raging Rocks; and ſhiuering ſhocks ſhall break the locks of priſon gates, and Phibbus carre ſhall ſhine from farre, and make and marre the fooliſh Fates. This was lofty. Now name the reſt of the Players. This is Ercles vaine, a tyrants vaine: a louer is more condoling.

 Quin.

Francis Flute the Bellowes-mender:

 Flu.

Heere Peter Quince.

Quin.

You muſt take Thisbie on you.

 Flut.

What is Thisbie, a wandring Knight?

 Quin.

It is the Lady that Pyramus muſt loue.

 Flut.

Nay faith, let not mee play a woman, I haue a beard comming.

 Qui.

That's all one, you ſhall play it in a Maske, and you may ſpeake as ſmall as you will.

 Bot.

And I may hide my face, let me play Thisbie too: Ile ſpeake in a monſtrous little voyce; Thiſne, Thiſne, ah Pyramus my louer deare, thy Thisbie deare, and Lady deare.

 Quin.

No no, you muſt play Pyramus, and Flute, you Thuby.

Bot.

Well, proceed.

 Qu.

Robin Starueling the Taylor.

 Star.

Heere Peter Quince.

Quince.

Robin Starueling, you muſt play Thisbies mother?

 Tom Snowt,

the Tinker.

 Snowt.

Heere Peter Quince.

Quin.

You, Pyramus father; my ſelf, Thisbies father; Snugge the Ioyner, you the Lyons part: and I hope there is a play fitted.

 Snug.

Haue you the Lions part written? pray you if be, giue it me, for I am ſlow of ſtudie.

 Quin.

You may doe it extemporie, for it is nothing but roaring.

 Bot.

Let mee play the Lyon too, I will roare that I will doe any mans heart good to heare me. I will roare, that I will make the Duke ſay, Let him roare againe, let him roare againe.

 Quin.

If you ſhould doe it too terribly, you would fright the Dutcheſſe and the Ladies, that they would ſhrike, and that were enough to hang vs all.

 All.

That would hang vs euery mothers ſonne.

 Bottome.

I graunt you friends, if that you ſhould fright the Ladies out of their Wittes, they would haue no more diſcretion but to hang vs: but I will aggrauate my voyce ſo, that I will roare you as gently as any ſucking Doue; I will roare and 'twere any Nightingale.

 Quin.

You can play no part but Piramus, for Piramus is a ſweet-fac'd man, a proper man as one ſhall ſee in a ſummers day; a moſt louely Gentleman-like man, therfore you muſt needs play Piramus.

Bot.

Well, I will vndertake it. What beard were I beſt to play it in?

 Quin.

Why, what you will.

 Bot.

I will diſcharge it, in either your ſtraw-colour beard, your orange tawnie beard, your purple in graine beard, or your French-crowne colour'd beard, your perfect yellow.

 Quin.

Some of your French Crownes haue no haire at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But maſters here are your parts, and I am to intreat you, requeſt you, and deſire you, to con them by too morrow night: and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the Towne, by Moone-light, there we will rehearſe: for if we meete in the Citie, we ſhalbe dog'd with company, and our deuiſes knowne. In the meane time, I wil draw a bil of properties, ſuch as our play wants. I pray you faile me not.

 Bottom.

We will meete, and there we may rehearſe more obſcenely and couragiouſly. Take paines, be perfect, adieu.

 Quin.

At the Dukes oake we meete.

 Bot.

Enough, hold or cut bow-ſtrings.

Exeunt
Actus Secundus. Enter a Fairie at one doore, and Robin good-fellow at another. Rob.

How now ſpirit, whether wander you?

 Fai. Ouer hil, ouer dale, through buſh, through briar, Ouer parke, ouer pale, through flood, through fire, I do wander euerie where, ſwifter then ye Moons ſphere; And I ſerue the Fairy Queene, to dew her o • bs vpon the green. The Cowſlips tall, her penſioners bee; In their gold coats, ſpots you ſee, Thoſe be Rubies, Fairie ſauors, In thoſe freckles, liue their ſauors, I muſt go ſeeke ſome dew drops heere, And hang a pearle in euery cowſlips eare. Farewell thou Lob of ſpirits, Ile be gon, Our Queene and all her Elues come heere anon. Rob. The King doth keepe his Reuels here to night, Take heed the Queene come not within his ſight, For Oberon is paſsing fell and wrath, Becauſe that ſhe, as her attendant, hath A louely boy ſtolne from an Indian King, She neuer had ſo ſweet a changeling, And iealous Oberon would haue the childe Knight of his traine, to trace the Forreſts wilde. But ſhe (perforce) with-holds the loued boy, Crownes him with flowers, and makes him all her ioy. And now they neuer meete in g • oue, or greene, By fountaine cleere, or ſpangled ſtar-light ſheene, But they do ſquare, that all their Elues for feare Creepe into Acorne cups and hide them there. Fai. Either I miſtake your ſhape and making quite, Or elſe you are that ſhrew'd and knauiſh ſpirit Cal'd Robin Good-fellow. Are you not hee, That frights the maidens of the Villagree, Skim milke, and ſometimes labour in the querne, And bootleſſe make the breathleſſe huſwife cherne, And ſometime make the drinke to beare no barme, Miſleade night-wanderers, laughing at their harme, Thoſe that Hobgoblin call you, and ſweet Pucke, You do their worke, and they ſhall haue good lucke. Are not you he? Rob. Thou ſpeak'ſt aright; I am that merrie wanderer of the night: I ieſt to Oberon, and make him ſmile, When I a fat and beane-fed horſe beguile, Neighing in likeneſſe of a ſilly foale, And ſometime lurke I in a Goſſips bole, In very likeneſſe of a roaſted crab: And when ſhe drinkes, againſt her lips I bob, And on her withered dewlop poure the Ale. The wiſeſt Aunt telling the ſaddeſt tale, Sometime for three-foot ſtoole, miſtaketh me, Then ſlip I from her bum, downe topples ſhe, And tailour cries, and fals into a coffe. And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe, And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and ſweare, A merrier houre vvas neuer waſted there. But roome Fairy, heere comes Oberon. Fair. And heere my Miſtris: Would that he vvere gone. Enter the King of Fairies at one doore with his traine, and the Queene at another with hers. Ob. Ill met by Moone-light, Proud Tytania. Qu. What, iealous Oberon? Fairy skip hence. I haue forſworne his bed and companie. Ob.

Tarrie raſh Wanton; am not I thy Lord?

 Qu. Then I muſt be thy Lady: but I know When thou vvaſt ſtolne away from Fairy Land, And in the ſhape of Corin, ſate all day, Playing on pipes of Corne, and verſing loue To amorous Phillida. Why art thou heere Come from the fartheſt ſteepe of India? But that forſooth the bouncing Amazon Your buskin'd Miſtreſſe, and your Warrior loue, To Theſeus muſt be Wedded; and you come, To giue their bed ioy and proſperitie. Ob. How canſt thou thus for ſhame Tytania, Glance at my credite, vvith Hippolita? Knowing I knovv thy loue to Theſeus? Didſt thou not leade him through the glimmering night From Peregenia, whom he rauiſhed? And make him vvith faire Eagles breake his faith With Ariadne, and Atiopa? Que. Theſe are the forgeries of iealouſie, And neuer ſince the middle Summers ſpring Met vve on hil, in dale, forreſt, or mead, By paued fountaine, or by ruſhie brooke, Or in the beached margent of the ſea, To dance our ringlets to the whiſtling Winde, But vvith thy braules thou haſt diſturb'd our ſport. Therefore the Windes, piping to vs in vaine, As in reuenge, haue ſuck'd vp from the ſea Contagious fogges: Which falling in the Land, Hath euerie petty Riuer made ſo proud, That they haue ouer-borne their Continents. The Oxe hath therefore ſtretch'd his yoake in vaine, The Ploughman loſt his ſweat, and the greene Corne Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard: The fold ſtands empty in the drowned field, And Crowes are fatted vvith the murrion flocke, The nine mens Morris is fild vp with mud, And the queint Mazes in the wanton greene, For lacke of tread are vndiſtinguiſhable. The humane mortals want their winter heere, No night is now with hymne or caroll bleſt; Therefore the Moone (the gouerneſſe of floods) Pale in her anger, waſhes all the aire; That Rheumaticke diſeaſes doe abound. And through this diſtemperature, we ſee The ſeaſons alter; hoared headed froſts Fall in the freſh lap of the crimſon Roſe, And on old Hyems chinne and Icie crowne, An odorous Chaplet of ſweet Sommer buds Is as in mockry ſet. The Spring, the Sommer, The childing Autumne, angry Winter change Their wonted Liueries, and the mazed world, By their increaſe, now knowes not which is which; And this ſame progeny of euills, Comes from our debate, from our diſſention, We are their parents and originall. Ober. Do you amend it then, it lies in you, Why ſhould Titania croſſe her Oberon? I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my Henchman. Qu. Set your heart at reſt, The Fairy land buyes not the childe of me, His mother was a Votreſſe of my Order, And in the ſpiced Indian aire, by night Full often hath ſhe goſſipt by my ſide, And ſat with me on Neptunes yellow ſands, Marking th' embarked traders on the flood, When we haue laught to ſee the ſailes conceiue, And grow big bellied with the wanton winde: Which ſhe with pretty and with ſwimming gate, Following (her wombe then rich with my yong ſquire) Would imitate, and ſaile vpon the Land, To fetch me trifles, and returne againe, As from a voyage, rich with merchandize. But ſhe being mortall, of that boy did die, And for her ſake I doe reare vp her boy, And for her ſake I will not part with him. Ob.

How long within this wood intend you ſtay?

 Qu. Perchance till after Theſeus wedding day. If you will patiently dance in our Round, And ſee our Moone-light reuels, goe with vs; If not, ſhun me and I will ſpare your haunts. Ob.

Giue me that boy, and I will goe with thee.

 Qu. Not for thy Fairy Kingdome. Fairies away: We ſhall chide downe right, if I longer ſtay. Exeunt. Ob. Wel, go thy way: thou ſhalt not from this groue, Till I torment thee for this iniury. My gentle Pucke come hither; thou remembreſt Since once I ſat vpon a promontory, And heard a Meare-maide on a Dolphins backe, Vttering ſuch dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude ſea grew ciuill at her ſong, And certaine ſtarres ſhot madly from their Spheares, To heare the Sea-maids muſicke. Puc.

I remember.

 Ob. That very time I ſay (but thou couldſt not) Flying betweene the cold Moone and the earth, Cupid all arm'd; a certaine aime he tooke At a faire Veſtall, throned by the Weſt, And loos'd his loue-ſhaft ſmartly from his bow, As it ſhould pierce a hundred thouſand hearts, But I might ſee young Cupids fiery ſhaft Quencht in the chaſte beames of the watry Moone; And the imperiall Votreſſe paſſed on, In maiden meditation, fancy free. Yet markt I where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell vpon a little weſterne flower; Before, milke-white; now purple with loues wound, And maidens call it, Loue in idleneſſe. Fetch me that flower; the hearb I ſhew'd thee once, The iuyce of it, on ſleeping eye-lids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Vpon the next liue creature that it ſees. Fetch me this hearbe, and be thou heere againe, Ere the Leuiathan can ſwim a league. Pucke.

Ile put a girdle about the earth, in forty minutes.

 Ober. Hauing once this iuyce, Ile watch Titania, when ſhe is aſleepe, And drop the liquor of it in her eyes: The next thing when ſhe waking lookes vpon, (Be it on Lyon, Beare, or Wolfe, or Bull, On medling Monkey, or on buſie Ape) Shee ſhall purſue it, with the ſoule of loue. And ere I take this charme off from her ſight, (As I can take it with another hearbe) Ile make her render vp her Page to me. But who comes heere? I am inuiſible, And I will ouer-heare their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. Deme. I loue thee not, therefore purſue me not, Where is Lyſander, and faire Hermia? The one Ile ſtay, the other ſtayeth me. Thou toldſt me they were ſtolne into this wood; And heere am I, and wood within this wood, Becauſe I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted Adamant, But yet you draw not Iron, for my heart Is true as ſteele. Leaue you your power to draw, And I ſhall haue no power to follow you. Deme. Do I entice you? do I ſpeake you faire? Or rather doe I not in plaineſt truth, Tell you I doe not, nor I cannot loue you? Hel. And euen for that doe I loue thee the more; I am your ſpaniell, and Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawne on you. Vſe me but as your ſpaniell; ſpurne me, ſtrike me, Neglect me, loſe me; onely giue me leaue (Vnworthy as I am) to follow you. What worſer place can I beg in your loue, (And yet a place of high reſpect with me) Then to be vſed as you doe your dogge. Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my ſpirit, For I am ſicke when I do looke on thee. Hel.

And I am ſicke when I looke not on you.

 Dem. You doe impeach your modeſty too much, To leaue the Citty, and commit your ſelfe Into the hands of one that loues you not, To truſt the opportunity of night, And the ill counſell of a deſert place, With the rich worth of your virginity. Hel. Your vertue is my priuiledge: for that It is not night when I doe ſee your face. Therefore I thinke I am not in the night, Nor doth this wood lacke worlds of company, For you in my reſpect are all the world. Then how can it be ſaid I am alone, When all the world is heere to looke on me? Dem. Ile run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, And leaue thee to the mercy of wilde beaſts. Hel. The wildeſt hath not ſuch a heart as you; Runne when you will, the ſtory ſhall be chang'd: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chaſe; The Doue purſues the Griffin, the milde Hinde Makes ſpeed to catch the Tyger. Bootleſſe ſpeede, When cowardiſe purſues, and valour flies. Demet. I will not ſtay thy queſtions, let me go; Or if thou follow me, doe not beleeue, But I ſhall doe thee miſchiefe in the wood. Hel. I, in the Temple, in the Towne, and Field You doe me miſchiefe. Fye Demetrius, Your wrongs doe ſet a ſcandall on my ſexe: We cannot fight for loue, as men may doe; We ſhould be woo'd, and were not made to wooe. I follow thee, and make a heauen of hell, To die vpon the hand I loue ſo well. Exit. Ob. Fare thee well Nymph, ere he do leaue this groue, Thou ſhalt flie him, and he ſhall ſeeke thy loue. Haſt thou the flower there? Welcome wanderer. Enter Pucke. Puck.

I, there it is.

 Ob. I pray thee giue it me. I know a banke where the wilde time blowes, Where Oxſlips and the nodding Violet growes, Quite ouer-cannoped with luſcious woodbine, With ſweet muske roſes, and with Eglantine; There ſleepes Tytania, ſometime of the night, Lul'd in theſe flowers, with dances and delight: And there the ſnake throwes her enammel'd skinne, Weed wide enough to rap a Fairy in. And with the iuyce of this Ile ſtreake her eyes, And make her full of hatefull fantaſies. Take thou ſome of it, and ſeek through this groue; A ſweet Athenian Lady is in loue With a diſdainefull youth: annoint his eyes, But doe it when the next thing he eſpies, May be the Lady. Thou ſhalt know the man, By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with ſome care, that he may proue More fond on her, then ſhe vpon her loue; And looke thou meet me ere the firſt Cocke crow. Pu.

Feare not my Lord, your ſeruant ſhall do ſo.

Exit. Enter Queene of Fairies, with her traine. Queen. Come, now a Roundell, and a Fairy ſong; Then for the third part of a minute hence, Some to kill Cankers in the muske roſe buds, Some warre with Reremiſe, for their leathern wings, To make my ſmall Elues coates, and ſome keepe backe The clamorous Owle that nightly hoots and wonders At our queint ſpirits: Sing me now aſleepe, Then to your offices, and let me reſt. Fairies Sing. You ſpotted Snakes with double tongue, Thorny Hedgehogges be not ſeene, Newts and blinde wormes do no wrong, Come not neere our Fairy Queene. Philomele with melodie, Sing in your ſweet Lullaby▪ Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby, Neuer harme, nor ſpell, nor charme, Come our louely Lady nye, So good night with Lullaby. 2. Fairy. Weauing Spiders come not heere, Hence you long leg'd Spinners, hence: Beetles blacke approach not neere; Worme nor Snayle doe no offence. Philomele with melody, &c. 1. Fairy. Hence away, now all is well; One aloofe, ſtand Centinell. Shee ſleepes. Enter Oberon. Ober. What thou ſeeſt when thou doſt wake, Doe it for thy true Loue take: Loue and languiſh for his ſake. Be it Ounce, or Catte, or Beare, Pard, or Boare with briſtled haire, In thy eye that ſhall appeare, When thou wak'ſt, it is thy deare, Wake when ſome vile thing is neere. Enter Liſander and Hermia. Liſ. Faire loue, you faint with wandring in ye woods, And to ſpeake troth I haue forgot our way: Wee'll reſt vs Hermia, if you thinke it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Her. Be it ſo Lyſander; finde you out a bed, For I vpon this banke will reſt my head. Lyſ. One turfe ſhall ſerue as pillow for vs both, One heart, one bed, two boſomes, and one troth. Her. Nay good Lyſander, for my ſake my deere Lie further off yet, doe not lie ſo neere. Lyſ. O take the ſence ſweet, of my innocence, Loue takes the meaning, in loues conference, I meane that my heart vnto yours is knit, So that but one heart can you make of it. Two boſomes interchanged with an oath, So then two boſomes, and a ſingle troth. Then by your ſide, no bed-roome me deny, For lying ſo, Hermia, I doe not lye. Her. Lyſander riddles very prettily; Now much beſhrew my manners and my pride, If Hermia meant to ſay, Lyſander lied. But gentle friend, for loue and courteſie Lie further off, in humane modeſty, Such ſeparation, as may well be ſaid, Becomes a vertuous batchelour, and a maide, So farre be diſtant, and good night ſweet friend; Thy loue nere alter, till thy ſweet life end. Lyſ. Amen, amen, to that faire prayer, ſay I, And then end life, when I end loyalty: Heere is my bed, ſleepe giue thee all his reſt. Her.

With halfe that wiſh, the wiſhers eyes be preſt.

 Enter Pucke. They ſleepe. Puck Through the Forreſt haue I gone, But Athenian finde I none, One whoſe eyes I might approue This flowers force in ſtirring loue. Night and ſilence: who is heere? Weedes of Athens he doth weare: This is he (my maſter ſaid) Deſpiſed the Athenian maide: And heere the maiden ſleeping ſound, On the danke and durty ground. Pretty ſoule, ſhe durſt not lye Neere this lacke-loue, this kill-curteſie. Churle, vpon thy eyes I throw All the power this charme doth owe: When thou wak'ſt, let loue forbid Sleepe his ſeate on thy eye-lid. So awake when I am gone: For I muſt now to Oberon. Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena running. Hel.

Stay, though thou kill me, ſweete Demetrius.

De.

I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus.

 Hel.

O wilt thou darkling leaue me? do not ſo.

 De.

Stay on thy perill, I alone will goe.

 Exit Demetrius. Hel. O I am out of breath, in this fond chace, The more my prayer, the leſſer is my grace, Happy is Hermia, whereſoere ſhe lies; For ſhe hath bleſſed and attractiue eyes. How came her eyes ſo bright? Not with ſalt teares. If ſo, my eyes are oftner waſht then hers. No, no, I am as vgly as a Beare; For beaſts that meete me, runne away for feare, Therefore no maruaile, though Demetrius Doe as a monſter, flie my preſence thus. What wicked and diſſembling glaſſe of mine, Made me compare with Hermias ſphery eyne? But who is here? Lyſander on the ground; Deade or aſleepe? I ſee no bloud, no wound, Lyſander, if you liue, good ſir awake. Lyſ. And run through fire I will for thy ſweet ſake. Tranſparent Helena, nature her ſhewes art, That through thy boſome makes me ſee thy heart. Where is Demetrius? oh how fit a word Is that vile name, to periſh on my ſword! Hel. Do not ſay ſo Lyſander, ſay not ſo: What though he loue your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia ſtill loues you; then be content. Lyſ. Content with Hermia? No, I do repent The tedious minutes I with her haue ſpent. Not Hermia, but Helena now I loue; Who will not change a Rauen for a Doue? The will of man is by his reaſon ſway'd: And reaſon ſaies you are the worthier Maide. Things growing are not ripe vntill their ſeaſon; So I being yong, till now ripe not to reaſon, And touching now the point of humane skill, Reaſon becomes the Marſhall to my will, And leades me to your eyes, where I orelooke Loues ſtories, written in Loues richeſt booke. Hel. Wherefore was I to this keene mockery borne? When at your hands did I deſerue this ſcorne? Iſt not enough, iſt not enough, yong man, That I did neuer, no nor neuer can, Deſerue a ſweete looke from Demetrius eye, But you muſt flout my inſufficiency? Good troth you do me wrong (good-ſooth you do) In ſuch diſdainfull manner, me to wooe. But fare you well; perforce I muſt confeſſe, I thought you Lord of more true gentleneſſe. Oh, that a Lady of one man refus'd, Should of another therefore be abus'd. Exit. Lyſ. She ſees not Hermia: Hermia ſleepe thou there, And neuer maiſt thou come Lyſander neere; For as a ſurfeit of the ſweeteſt things The deepeſt loathing to the ſtomacke brings: Or as the hereſies that men do leaue, Are hated moſt of thoſe that did deceiue: So thou, my ſurfeit, and my hereſie, Of all be hated; but the moſt of me; And all my powers addreſſe your loue and might, To honour Helen, and to be her Knight. Exit. Her. Helpe me Lyſander, helpe me; do thy beſt To plucke this crawling ſerpent from my breſt. Aye me, for pitty; what a dreame was here? Lyſander looke, how I do quake with feare: Me-thought a ſerpent eate my heart away, And yet ſat ſmiling at his cruell prey. Lyſander, what remoou'd? Lyſander, Lord, What, out of hearing, gone? No ſound, no word? Alacke where are you? ſpeake and if you heare: Speake of all loues; I ſound almoſt with feare. No, then I well perceiue you are not nye, Either death or you Ile finde immediately. Exit.
Actus Tertius. Enter the Clownes. Bot.

Are we all met?

 Quin.

Pat, pat, and here's a maruailous conuenient place for our rehearſall. This greene plot ſhall be our ſtage, this hauthorne brake our tyring houſe, and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the Duke.

 Bot.

Peter quince?

 Peter.

What ſaiſt thou, bully Bottome?

 Bot.

There are things in this Comedy of Piramus and Thisby, that will neuer pleaſe. Firſt, Piraemus muſt draw a ſword to kill himſelfe; which the Ladies cannot abide. How anſwere you that?

 Snout.

Berlaken, a parlous feare.

 Star.

I beleeue we muſt leaue the killing out, when all is done.

 Bot.

Not a whit, I haue a deuice to make all well. Write me a Prologue, and ſet the Prologue ſeeme to ſay, we will do no harme with our ſwords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeede: and for the more better aſſurance, tell them, that I Piramus am not Piramus, but Bottome the Weauer; this will put them out of feare.

 Quin.

Well, we will haue ſuch a Prologue, and it ſhall be written in eight and ſixe.

 Bot.

No, make it two more, let it be written in eight and eight.

 Snout.

Will not the Ladies be afear'd of the Lyon?

 Star.

I feare it, I promiſe you.

 Bot.

Maſters, you ought to conſider with your ſelues, to bring in (God ſhield vs) a Lyon among Ladies, is a moſt dreadfull thing. For there is not a more fearefull wilde foule then your Lyon liuing: and wee ought to looke to it.

 Snout.

Therefore another Prologue muſt tell he is not a Lyon.

 Bot.

Nay, you muſt name his name, and halfe his face muſt be ſeene through the Lyons necke; and he himſelfe muſt ſpeake through, ſaying thus, or to the ſame defect; Ladies, or faire Ladies, I would wiſh you, or I would requeſt you, or I would entreat you, not to feare, not to tremble: my life for yours. If you thinke I come hither as a Lyon, it were pitty of my life. No, I am no ſuch thing, I am a man as other men are; and there indeed let him name his name, and tell him plainly hee is Snug the ioyner.

 Quin.

Well, it ſhall be ſo; but there is two hard things, that is, to bring the Moone-light into a chamber: for you know, Piramus and Thisby meete by Moone-light.

 Sn.

Doth the Moone ſhine that night wee play our play?

 Bot.

A Calender, a Calender, looke in the Almanack, finde out Moone-ſhine, finde out Moone-ſhine.

 Enter Pucke. Quin.

Yes, it doth ſhine that night.

 Bot.

Why then may you leaue a caſement of the great chamber window (where we play) open, and the Moone may ſhine in at the caſement.

 Quin.

I, or elſe one muſt come in with a buſh of thorns and a lanthorne, and ſay he comes to disfigure, or to preſent the perſon of Moone-ſhine. Then there is another thing, we muſt haue a wall in the great Chamber; for Piramus and Thisby (ſaies the ſtory) did talke through the chinke of a wall.

 Sn.

You can neuer bring in a wall. What ſay you Bottome?

 Bot.

Some man or other muſt preſent wall, and let him haue ſome Plaſter, or ſome Lome, or ſome rough caſt about him, to ſignifie wall; or let him hold his fingers thus; and through that cranny, ſhall Piramus and Thisby whiſper.

 Quin.

If that may be, then all is well. Come, ſit downe euery mothers ſonne, and rehearſe your parts. Piramus, you begin; when you haue ſpoken your ſpeech, enter into that Brake, and ſo euery one according to his cue.

 Enter Robin. Rob. What hempen home-ſpuns haue we ſwaggering here, So neere the Cradle of the Faierie Queene? What, a Play toward? Ile be an auditor, An Actor too perhaps, if I ſee cauſe. Quin.

Speake Piramus: Thisby ſtand forth.

 Pir.

Thisby, the flowers of odious fauors ſweete.

 Quin.

Odours, odours.

 Pir. Odours fauors ſweete, So hath thy breath, my deareſt Thisby deare. But harke, a voyce: ſtay thou but here a while, And by and by I will to thee appeare. Exit. Pir. Puck

A ſtranger Piramus, then ere plaid here.

 Thiſ.

Muſt I ſpeake now?

 Pet.

I marry muſt you. For you muſt vnderſtand he goes but to ſee a noyſe that he heard, and is to come againe.

 Thyſ. Moſt radiant Piramus, moſt Lilly white of hue, Of colour like the red roſe on triumphant bryer, Moſt brisky Iuuenall, and eke moſt louely Iew, As true as trueſt horſe, that yet would neuer tyre, Ile meete thee Piramus, at Ninnies toombe. Pet.

Ninus toombe man: why, you muſt not ſpeake that yet; that you anſwere to Piramus: you ſpeake all your part at once, cues and all. Piramus enter, your cue is paſt; it is neuer tyre.

 Thyſ.

O, as true as trueſt horſe, that yet would neuer tyre:

 Pir.

If I were faire, Thisby I were onely thine.

 Pet.

O monſtrous. O ſtrange. We are hanted; pray maſters, flye maſters, helpe.

 The Clownes all Exit. Puk. Ile follow you, Ile leade you about a Round, Through bogge, through buſh, through brake, through bryer, Sometime a horſe Ile be, ſometime a hound: A hogge, a headleſſe beare, ſometime a fire, And neigh, and barke, and grunt, and rore, and burne, Like horſe, hound, hog, beare, fire, at euery turne. Exit. Enter Piramus with the Aſſe head. Bot.

Why do they run away? This is a knauery of them to make me afeard.

Enter Snowt. Sn.

O Bottom, thou art chang'd; What doe I ſee on thee?

 Bot.

What do you ſee? You ſee an Aſſe-head of your owne, do you?

 Enter Peter Quince. Pet.

Bleſſe thee Bottome, bleſſe thee; thou art tranſlated.

Exit. Bot.

I ſee their knauery; this is to make an aſſe of me, to fright me if they could; but I will not ſtirre from this place, do what they can. I will walke vp and downe here, and I will ſing that they ſhall heare I am not afraid.

The Wooſell cocke, ſo blacke of hew, With Orenge-tawny bill. The Throſtle, with his note ſo true, The Wren and little quill. Tyta.

What Angell wakes me from my flowry bed?

 Bot. The Finch, the Sparrow, and the Larke, The plainſong Cuckow gray; Whoſe note full many a man doth marke, And dares not anſwere, nay. For indeede, who would ſet his wit to ſo fooliſh a bird? Who would giue a bird the lye, though he cry Cuckow, neuer ſo? Tyta. I pray thee gentle mortall, ſing againe, Mine eare is much enamored of thy note; On the firſt view to ſay, to ſweare I loue thee. So is mine eye enthralled to thy ſhape▪ And thy faire vertues force (perforce) doth moue me. Bot.

Me-thinkes miſtreſſe, you ſhould haue little reaſon for that: and yet to ſay the truth, reaſon and loue keepe little company together, now-adayes. The more the pittie, that ſome honeſt neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleeke vpon occaſion.

 Tyta.

Thou art as wiſe, as thou art beautifull.

 Bot.

Not ſo neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I haue enough to ſerue mine owne turne.

 Tyta. Out of this wood, do not deſire to goe, Thou ſhalt remaine here, whether thou wilt or no. I am a ſpirit of no common rate: The Summer ſtill doth tend vpon my ſtate, And I doe loue thee; therefore goe with me, Ile giue thee Fairies to attend on thee; And they ſhall fetch thee Iewels from the deepe, And ſing, while thou on preſſed flowers doſt ſleepe: And I will purge thy mortall groſſeneſſe ſo, That thou ſhalt like an airie ſpirit go. Enter Peaſe-bloſſome, Cobweb, Moth, Muſtard-ſeede, and foure Fairies. Fai.

Ready; and I, and I, and I, Where ſhall we go?

 Tita. Be kinde and curteous to this Gentleman, Hop in his walkes, and gambole in his eies, Feede him with Apricocks, and Dewberries, With purple Grapes, greene Figs, and Mulberries, The honie-bags ſteale from the humble Bees, And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighes, And light them at the fierie-Glow-wormes eyes, To haue my loue to bed, and to ariſe: And plucke the wings from painted Butterflies, To fan the Moone-beames from his ſleeping eies. Nod to him Elues, and doe him curteſies. 1. Fai.

Haile mortall, haile.

 2. Fai.

Haile.

 3. Fai.

Haile.

 Bot.

I cry your worſhips mercy hartily; I beſeech your worſhips name.

 Cob.

Cobweb.

Bot.

I ſhall deſire you of more acquaintance, good Maſter Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I ſhall make bold with you.

Your name honeſt Gentleman?

 Peaſ.

Peaſe bloſſome.

Bot.

I pray you commend mee to miſtreſſe Squaſh, your mother, and to maſter Peaſcod your father. Good maſter Peaſe-bloſſome, I ſhal deſire of you more acquaintance to. Your name I beſeech you ſir?

 Muſ.

Muſtard-ſeede.

Peaſ.

Peaſe-bloſſome.

Bot.

Good maſter Muſtard-ſeede, I know your patience well: that ſame cowardly gyant-like Oxe beefe hath deuoured many a gentleman of your houſe. I promiſe you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I deſire you more acquaintance, good Maſter Muſtard-ſeede.

Tita. Come waite vpon him, lead him to my bower. The Moone me-thinks, lookes with a watrie eie, And when ſhe weepes, weepe euerie little flower, Lamenting ſome enforced chaſtitie. Tye vp my louers tongue, bring him ſilently. Exit. Enter King of Pharies, ſolus. Ob. I wonder if Titania be awak't; Then what it was that next came in her eye, Which ſhe muſt dote on, in extremitie. Enter Pucke. Here comes my meſſenger: how now mad ſpirit, What night-rule now about this gaunted groue? Puck. My Miſtris with a monſter is in loue, Neere to her cloſe and conſecrated bower, While ſhe was in her dull and ſleeping hower, A crew of patches, rude Mcehanicals, That worke for bread vpon Athenian ſtals, Were met together to rehearſe a Play, Intended for great Theſeus nuptiall day: The ſhalloweſt thick-skin of that barren ſort, Who Piramus preſented, in their ſport, Forſooke his Scene, and entred in a brake, When I did him at this aduantage take, An Aſſes nole I fixed on his head. Anon his Thisbie muſt be anſwered, And forth my Mimmick comes: when they him ſpie, As Wilde-geeſe, that the creeping Fowler eye, Or ruſſed-pated choughes, many in ſort (Riſing and cawing at the guns report) Seuer themſelues, and madly ſweepe the skye: So at his ſight, away his fellowes flye, And at our ſtampe, here ore and ore one fals; He murther cries, and helpe from Athens cals. Their ſenſe thus weake, loſt with their fears thus ſtrong, Made ſenſeleſſe things begin to do them wrong. For briars and thornes at their apparell ſnatch, Some ſleeues, ſome hats, from yeelders all things catch, I led them on in this diſtracted feare, And left ſweete Piramus tranſlated there: When in that moment (ſo it came to paſſe) Tytania waked, and ſtraightway lou'd an Aſſe. Ob. This fals out better then I could deuiſe: But haſt thou yet lacht the Athenians eyes, With the loue iuyce, as I did bid thee doe? Rob. I tooke him ſleeping (that is finiſht to) And the Athenian woman by his ſide, That when he wak't, of force ſhe muſt be eyde. Enter Demetrius and Hermia. Ob.

Stand cloſe, this is the ſame Athenian.

Rob.

This is the woman, but not this the man.

 Dem. O why rebuke you him that loues you ſo? Lay breath ſo bitter on your bitter foe. Her. Now I but chide, but I ſhould vſe thee worſe. For thou (I feare) haſt giuen me cauſe to curſe, If thou haſt ſlaine Lyſander in his ſleepe, Being ore ſhooes in bloud, plunge in the deepe, and kill me too: The Sunne was not ſo true vnto the day, As he to me. Would he haue ſtollen away, From ſleeping Hermia? Ile beleeue as ſoone This whole earth may be bord, and that the Moone May through the Center creepe, and ſo diſpleaſe Her brothers noonetide, with th' Antipodes. It cannot be but thou haſt murdred him, So ſhould a mutrherer looke, ſo dead, ſo grim. Dem. So ſhould the murderer looke, and ſo ſhould I, Pierſt through the heart with your ſtearne cruelty: Yet you the murderer looks as bright as cleare, As yonder Ʋenus in her glimmering ſpheare. Her. What's this to my Lyſander? where is he? Ah good Demetrius, wilt thou giue him me? Dem.

I'de rather giue his carkaſſe to my hounds.

 Her. Out dog, out cur, thou driu'ſt me paſt the bounds Of maidens patience. Haſt thou ſlaine him then? Henceforth be neuer numbred among men, Oh, once tell true, euen for my ſake, Durſt thou a lookt vpon him, being awake? And haſt thou kill'd him ſleeping? O braue tutch: Could not a worme, an Adder do ſo much? An Adder did it: for with doubler tongue Then thine (thou ſerpent) neuer Adder ſtung. Dem. You ſpend your paſſion on a miſpri'sd mood, I am not guiltie of Lyſanders blood: Nor is he dead for ought that I can tell. Her.

I pray thee tell me then that he is well.

 Dem.

And if I could, what ſhould I get therefore?

 Her. A priuiledge, neuer to ſee me more; And from thy hated preſence part I: ſee me no more Whether he be dead or no. Exit. Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vaine, Here therefore for a while I will remaine. So ſorrowes heauineſſe doth heauier grow: For debt that bankrout ſlip doth ſorrow owe, Which now in ſome ſlight meaſure it will pay, If for his tender here I make ſome ſtay. Lie downe. Ob. What haſt thou done? Thou haſt miſtaken quite And laid the loue iuyce on ſome true loues ſight: Of thy miſpriſion, muſt perforce enſue Some true loue turn'd, and not a falſe turn'd true. Rob. Then fate ore-rules, that one man holding troth, A million faile, confounding oath on oath. Ob. About the wood, goe ſwifter then the winde, And Helena of Athens looke thou finde. All fancy ſicke ſhe is, and pale of cheere, With ſighes of loue, that coſts the freſh bloud deare. By ſome illuſion ſee thou bring her heere, Ile charme his eyes againſt ſhe doth appeare. Robin. I go, I go, looke how I goe, Swifter then arrow from the Tartars bowe. Exit. Ob. Flower of this purple die, Hit with Cupids archery, Sinke in apple of his eye, When his loue he doth eſpie, Let her ſhine as gloriouſly As the Venus of the sky. When thou wak'ſt if ſhe be by, Beg of her for remedy. Enter Pucke. Puck. Captaine of our Fairy band, Helena is heere at hand, And the youth, miſtooke by me, Pleading for a Louers fee. Shall we their fond Pageant ſee? Lord, what fooles theſe mortals be! Ob. Stand aſide: the noyſe they make, Will cauſe Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once wooe one, That muſt needs be ſport alone: And thoſe things doe beſt pleaſe me, That befall prepoſterouſly. Enter Lyſander and Helena. Lyſ. Why ſhould you think yt I ſhould wooe in ſcorn? Scorne and deriſion neuer comes in teares: Looke when I vow I weepe; and vowes ſo borne, In their natiuity all truth appeares. How can theſe things in me, ſeeme ſcorne to you? Bearing the badge of ſaith to proue them true. Hel. You doe aduance your cunning more & more, When truth kils truth, O diueliſh holy f • ay! Theſe vowes are Hermias. Will you giue her ore? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh. Your vowes to her, and me, (put in two ſcales) Will euen weigh, and both as light as tales. Lyſ.

I had no iudgement, when to her I ſwore.

 Hel.

Nor none in my minde, now you giue her ore.

 Lyſ.

Demetrius loues her, and he loues not you.

Awa. Dem. O Helen, goddeſſe, nimph, perfect, diuine, To what my loue, ſhall I compare thine eyne! Chriſtall is muddy. O how ripe in ſhow, Thy lips, thoſe kiſſing cherries, tempting grow! That pure congealed white, high Taurus ſnow, Fan'd with the Eaſterne winde, turnes to a crow▪ When thou holdſt vp thy hand. O let me kiſſe This Princeſſe of pure white, this ſeale of bliſſe. Hell. O ſpight! O hell! I ſee you are all bent To ſet againſt me, for your merriment: If you were ciuill, and knew curteſie, You would not doe me thus much iniury. Can you not hate me, as I know you doe, But you muſt ioyne in ſoules to mocke me to? If you are men, as men you are in ſhow, You would not vſe a gentle Lady ſo; To vow, and ſweare, and ſuperpraiſe my parts, When I am ſure you hate me with your hearts. You both are Riuals, and loue Hermia; And now both R • uals to mocke Helena. A trim exploit, a manly enterprize, To coniure teares vp in a poore maids eyes, With your deriſion; none of noble ſort, Would ſo offend a Virgin, and extort A poore ſoules patience, all to make you ſport. Lyſa. You are vnkind Demetrius; be not ſo, For you loue Hermia; this you know I know; And here with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermias loue I yeeld you vp my part; And yours of Helena, to me bequeath, Whom I do loue, and will do to my death. Hel.

Neuer did mockers waſt more idle breth.

 Dem. Lyſander, keep thy Hermia, I will none: If ere I lou'd her, all that loue is gone. My heart to her, but as gueſt-wiſe ſoiourn'd, And now to Helen it is home return'd, There to remaine. Lyſ.

It is not ſo.

 De. Diſparage not the faith thou doſt not know, Leſt to thy perill thou abide it deare. Looke where thy Loue comes, yonder is thy deare. Enter Hermia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, The eare more quicke of apprehenſion makes, Wherein it doth impaire the ſeeing ſenſe, It paies the hearing double recompence. Thou art not by mine eye, Lyſander found, Mine eare (I thanke it) brought me to that ſound. But why vnkindly didſt thou leaue me ſo? Lyſan.

Why ſhould hee ſtay whom Loue doth preſſe to go?

 Her.

What loue could preſſe Lyſander from my ſide?

 Lyſ. Lyſanders loue (that would not let him bide) Faire Helena; who more engilds the night, Then all you fierie oes, and eies of light. Why ſeek'ſt thou me? Could not this make thee know, The hate I bare thee, made me leaue thee ſo? Her.

You ſpeake not as you thinke; it cannot be.

 Hel. Loe, ſhe is one of this confederacy, Now I perceiue they haue conioyn'd all three, To faſhion this falſe ſport in ſpight of me. Iniurious Hermia, moſt vngratefull maid, Haue you conſpir'd, haue you with theſe contriu'd To baite me, with this foule deriſion? Is all the counſell that we two haue ſhar'd, The ſiſters vowes, the houres that we haue ſpent, When wee haue chid the haſty footed time, For parting vs; O, is all forgot? All ſchooledaies friendſhip, child-hood innocence? We Hermia, like two Artificiall gods, Haue with our needles, created both one flower, Both on one ſampler, ſitting on one cuſhion, Both warbling of one ſong, both in one key; As if our hands, our ſides, voices, and mindes Had beene incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, ſeeming parted, But yet a vnion in partition, Two louely berries molded on one ſtem, So with two ſeeming bodies, but one heart, Two of the firſt life coats in Heraldry, Due but to one and crowned with one creſt. And will you rent our ancient loue aſunder; To ioyne with men in ſcorning your poore friend? It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly. Our ſexe as well as I, may chide you for it, Though I alone doe feele the iniurie. Her. I am amazed at your paſſionate words, I ſcorne you not; It ſeemes that you ſcorne me. Hel. Haue you not ſet Lyſander, as in ſcorne To follow me, and praiſe my eies and face? And made your other loue, Demetrius (Who euen but now did ſpurne me with his foote) To call me goddeſſe, nimph, diuine, and rare, Precious, celeſtiall? Wherefore ſpeakes he this To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lyſander Denie your loue (ſo rich within his ſoule) And tender me (forſooth) affection, But by your ſetting on, by your conſent? What though I be not ſo in grace as you, So hung vpon with loue, ſo fortunate? (But miſerable moſt, to loue vnlou'd) This you ſhould pittie, rather then deſpiſe. Her.

I vnderſtand not what you meane by this.

 Hel. I, doe, perſeuer, counterfeit ſad lookes, Make mouthes vpon me when I turne my backe, Winke each at other, hold the ſweete ieſt vp: This ſport well carried, ſhall be chronicled. If you haue any pittie, grace, or manners, You would not make me ſuch an argument: But fare ye well, 'tis partly mine owne fault, Which death or abſence ſoone ſhall remedie. Lyſ. Stay gentle Helena, heare my excuſe, My loue, my life, my ſoule, faire Helena. Hel.

O excellent!

 Her.

Sweete, do not ſcorne her ſo.

 Dem.

If ſhe cannot entreate, I can compell.

 Lyſ. Thou canſt compell, no more then ſhe entreate. Thy threats haue no more ſtrength then her weak praiſe. Helen, I loue thee, by my life I doe; I ſweare by that which I will loſe for thee, To proue him falſe, tha • ſaies I loue thee not. Dem.

I ſay, I loue thee more then he can do.

 Lyſ.

If thou ſay ſo, with-draw and proue it too.

 Dem.

Quick, come.

 Her.

Lyſander, whereto tends all this?

 Lyſ.

Away, you Ethiope.

Dem. No, no, Sir, ſeeme to breake looſe; Take on as you would follow, But yet come not: you are a tame man, go. Lyſ. Hang off thou cat, thou but: vile thing let looſe, Or I will ſhake thee from me like a ſerpent. Her. Why are you growne ſo rude? What change is this ſweete Loue? Lyſ. Thy loue? out tawny Tartar, out; Out loathed medicine; O hated poiſon hence. Her.

Do you not ieſt?

 Hel.

Yes ſooth, and ſo do you.

 Lyſ.

Demetrius: I will keepe my word with thee.

 Dem. I would I had your bond for I perceiue A weake bond▪ holds you; Ile not truſt your word. Lyſ. What, ſhould I h • t her, ſtrike her, kill her dead▪ Although I hate her, Ile not harme her ſo. Her. What, can you do me greater harme then hate? Hate me, wherefore? O me, what newes my Loue? Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lyſander? I am as faire now, as I was ere while. Since night you lou'd me; yet ſince night you left me. Why then you left me (O the gods forbid In earneſt, ſhall I ſay? Lyſ. I, by my life; And neuer did deſire to ſee thee more. Therefore be out of hope, of queſtion, of doubt; Be certaine, nothing truer: 'tis no ieſt, That I doe hate thee, and loue Helena. Her. O me, you iugler, you canker bloſſome, You theefe of loue; What, haue you come by night, And ſtolne my loues heart from him? Hel. Fine yfaith: Haue you no modeſty, no maiden ſhame, No touch of baſhfulneſſe? What, will you teare Impatient anſwers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you. Her. Puppet? why ſo? I, that way goes the game. Now I perceiue that ſhe hath made compare Betweene our ſtatures, ſhe hath vrg'd her height, And with her perſonage, her tall perſonage, Her height (forſooth) ſhe hath preuail'd with him. And are you growne ſo high in his eſteeme, Becauſe I am ſo dwarfiſh, and ſo low? How low am I, thou painted May-pole? Speake, How low am I? I am not yet ſo low, But that my nailes can reach vnto thine eyes. Hel. I pray you though you mocke me, gentlemen, Let her not hurt me; I was neuer curſt: I haue no gift at all in ſhrewiſhneſſe; I am a right maide for my cowardize; Let her not ſtrike me: you perhaps may thinke, Becauſe ſhe is ſomething lower then my ſelfe, That I can match her. Her.

Lower? harke againe.

 Hel. Good Hermia, do not be ſo bitter with me, I euermore did loue you Hermia, Did euer keepe your counſels, neuer wronged you, Saue that in loue vnto Demetrius, I told him of your ſtealth vnto this wood. He followed you, for loue I followed him, But he hath chid me hence, and threatned me To ſtrike me, ſpurne me, nay to kill me too; And now, ſo you will let me quiet go, To Athens will I beare my folly backe, And follow you no further. Let me go. You ſee how ſimple, and how fond I am. Her.

Why get you gone: who iſt that hinders you?

 Hel.

A fooliſh heart, that I leaue here behinde.

 Her.

What, with Lyſander?

 Her.

With Demetrius.

Lyſ.

Be not afraid, ſhe ſhall not harme thee Helena.

Dem.

No ſir, ſhe ſhall not, though you take her part.

 Hel. O when ſhe's angry, ſhe is keene and ſhrewd, She was a vixen when ſhe went to ſchoole, And though ſhe be but little, ſhe is fierce. Her. Little againe? Nothing but low and little? Why will you ſuffer her to flout me thus? Let me come to her. Lyſ. Get you gone you dwarfe, You minimus, of hindring knot-graſſe made, You bead, you acorne. Dem. You are too officious, In her behalfe that ſcornes your ſeruices. Let her alone, ſpeake not of Helena, Take not her part. For if thou doſt intend Neuer ſo little ſhew of loue to her, Thou ſhalt abide it. Lyſ. Now ſhe holds me not, Now follow if thou dar'ſt, to try whoſe right, Of thine or mine is moſt in Helena. Dem.

Follow? Nay, Ile goe with thee cheeke by iowle.

Exit Lyſander and Demetrius. Her. You Miſtris, all this coyle is long of you. Nay, goe not backe. Hel. I will not truſt you I, Nor longer ſtay in your curſt companie. Your hands then mine, are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though to runne away. Enter Oberon and Pucke. Ob. This is thy negligence, ſtill thou miſtak'ſt, Or elſe committ'ſt thy knaueries willingly. Puck. Beleeue me, King of ſhadowes, I miſtooke, Did not you tell me, I ſhould know the man, By the Athenian garments he hath on? And ſo farre blameleſſe proues my enterprize, That I haue nointed an Athenians eies, And ſo farre am I glad, it ſo did ſort, As this their iangling I eſteeme a ſport. Ob. Thou ſeeſt theſe Louers ſeeke a place to fight, Hie therefore Robin, ouercaſt the night, The ſtarrie Welkin couer thou anon, With drooping fogge as blacke as Acheron, And lead theſe teſtie Riuals ſo aſtray, As one come not within anothers way. Like to Lyſander, ſometime frame thy tongue, Then ſtirre Demetrius vp with bitter wrong; And ſometime raile thou like Demetrius; And from each other looke thou leade them thus, Till ore their browes, death-counterfeiting, ſleepe With leaden legs, and Battie-wings doth creepe; Then cruſh this hearbe into Lyſanders eie, Whoſe liquor hath this vertuous propertie, To take from thence all error, with his might, And make his eie-bals role with wonted ſight. When they next wake, all this deriſion Shall ſeeme a dreame, and fruitleſſe viſion, And backe to Athens ſhall the Louers wend With league, whoſe date till death ſhall neuer end. Whiles I in this affaire do thee imply, Ile to my Queene, and beg her Indian Boy; And then I will her charmed eie releaſe From monſters view, and all things ſhall be peace. Puck. My Fairie Lord, this muſt be done with haſte, For night-ſwift Dragons cut the Clouds full faſt, And yonder ſhines Auroras harbinger; At whoſe approach Ghoſts wandring here and there, Troope home to Church-yards; damned ſpirits all, That in croſſe-waies and flouds haue buriall, Alreadie to their wormie beds are gone; For feare leaſt day ſhould looke their ſhames vpon, They wilfully themſelues dxile from light, And muſt for aye conſort with blacke browd night. Ob. But we are ſpirits of another ſort: I, with the mornings loue haue oft made ſport, And like a Forreſter, the groues may tread, Euen till the Eaſterne gate all fierie red, Opening on Neptune, with faire bleſſed beames, Turnes into yellow gold, his ſalt greene ſtreames. But notwithſtanding haſte, make no delay: We may effect this buſineſſe, yet ere day. Puck.

Vp and downe, vp and downe, I will leade them vp and downe: I am ſear'd in field and towne. Goblin, lead them vp and downe: here comes one.

 Enter Lyſander. Lyſ. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speake thou now. Rob.

Here villaine, drawne & readie. Where art thou?

 Lyſ.

I will be with thee ſtraight.

 Rob.

Follow me then to plainer ground.

 Enter Demetrius. Dem. Lyſander, ſpeake againe; Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Speake in ſome buſh: Where doſt thou hide thy head? Rob. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the ſtars, Telling the buſhes that thou look'ſt for wars, And wilt not come? Come recreant, come thou childe, Ile whip thee with a rod. He is defil'd That drawes a ſword on thee. Dem.

Yea, art thou there?

 Ro.

Follow my voice, we'l try no manhood here.

Exit. Lyſ. He goes before me, and ſtill dares me on, When I come where he cals, then he's gone. The villaine is much lighter heel'd then I: I followed faſt, but faſter he did flye; ſhifting places. That fallen am I in darke vneuen way, And here wil reſt me. Come thou gentle day: lye down. For if but once thou ſhew me thy gray light, Ile finde Demetrius, and reuenge this ſpight. Enter Robin and Demetrius. Rob.

Ho, ho, ho; coward, why com'ſt thou not?

 Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'ſt. For well I wot, Thou runſt before me, ſhifting euery place, And dar'ſt not ſtand, nor looke me in the face. Where art thou? Rob.

Come hither, I am here.

 Dem. Nay then thou mock'ſt me; thou ſhalt buy this deere, If euer I thy face by day-light ſee. Now goe thy way: faintneſſe conſtraineth me, To meaſure out my length on this cold bed, By daies approach looke to be viſited. Enter Helena. Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, Abate thy houres, ſhine comforts from the Eaſt, That I may backe to Athens by day-light, From theſe that my poore companie deteſt; And ſleepe that ſometime ſhuts vp ſorrowes eie, Steale me a while from mine owne companie. Sleepe. Rob. Yet but three? Come one more, Two of both kindes makes vp foure. Here ſhe comes, curſt and ſad, Cupid is a knauiſh lad, Enter Hermia. Thus to make poore females mad. Her. Neuer ſo wearie, neuer ſo in woe, Bedabbled with the dew, and torne with briars, I can no further crawle, no further goe; My legs can keepe no pace with my deſires. Here will I reſt me till the breake of day, Heauens ſhield Lyſander, if they meane a fray. Rob. On the ground ſleepe ſound, Ile apply your eie gentle louer, remedy. When thou wak'ſt, thou tak'ſt True delight in the ſight of thy former Ladies eye, And the Country Prouerb knowne, That euery man ſhould take his owne▪ In your waking ſhall be ſhowne. Iacke ſhall haue Iill, no • ght ſhall goe ill, The man ſhall haue his Mare againe; and all ſhall bee well. They ſleepe all the Act.
Actus Quartus. Enter Queene of Fairies, and Clowne, and Fairies, and the King behinde them. Tita. Come, ſit thee downe vpon this flowry bed, While I thy amiable cheekes doe coy, And ſticke muske roſes in thy ſleeke ſmoothe head, And kiſſe thy faire large eares, my gentle ioy. Clow.

Where's Peaſe bloſſome?

Peaſ.

Ready.

 Clow.

Scratch my head, Peaſe-bloſſome. Wher's Mounſieuer Cobweb.

Cob.

Ready.

 Clowne.

Mounſieur Cobweb, good Mounſier get your weapons in your hand, & kill me a red hipt humble-Bee, on the top of a thiſtle; and good Mounſieur bring mee the hony bag. Doe not fret your ſelfe too much in the action, Mounſieur; and good Mounſieur haue a care the hony bag breake not, I would be loth to haue you ouerflowne with a hony-bag ſigniour. Where's Mounſieur Muſtardſeed?

 Muſ.

Ready.

 Clo. Giue me your neafe, Mounſieur Muſtardſeed. Pray you leaue your courteſie good Mounſieur. Muſ.

What's your will?

 Clo.

Nothing good Mounſieur, but to help Caualery Cobweb to ſcratch. I muſt to the Barbers Mounſieur, for me-thinkes I am maruellous hairy about the face. And I am ſuch a tender aſſe, if my haire do but tickle me, I muſt ſcratch.

 Tita.

What, wilt thou heare ſome muſicke, my ſweet loue.

 Clow.

I haue a reaſonable good eare in muſicke. Let vs haue the tongs and the bones.

 Muſicke Tongs, Rurall Muſicke. Tita.

Or ſay ſweete Loue, what thou deſireſt to eat.

 Clowne.

Truly a pecke of Prouender; I could munch your good dry Oates. Me-thinkes I haue a great deſire to a bottle of hay: good hay, ſweete hay hath no fellow.

 Tita. I haue a venturous Fairy, That ſhall ſeeke the Squirrels hoard, And fetch thee new Nuts. Clown.

I had rather haue a handfull or two of dried peaſe. But I pray you let none of your people ſtirre me, I haue an expoſition of ſleepe come vpon me.

 Tyta. Sleepe thou, and I will winde thee in my arms, Fairies be gone, and be alwaies away. So doth the woodbine, the ſweet Honiſuckle, Gently entwiſt; the female Ioy ſo Enrings the barky fingers of the Elme. O how I loue thee! how I dote on thee! Enter Robin goodfellow and Oberon. Ob. Welcome good Robin: Seeſt thou this ſweet ſight? Her dotage now I doe begin to pitty. For meeting her of late behinde the wood, Seeking ſweet ſauors for this hatefull foole, I did vpbraid her, and fall out with her. For ſhe his hairy temples then had rounded, With coronet of freſh and fragrant flowers. And that ſame dew which ſomtime on the buds, Was wont to ſwell like round and orient pearles; Stood now within the pretty flouriets eyes, Like teares that did their owne diſgrace bewaile. When I had at my pleaſure taunted her, And ſhe in milde termes beg'd my patience, I then did aske of her, her changeling childe, Which ſtraight ſhe gaue me, and her Fairy ſent To beare him to my Bower in Fairy Land. And now I haue the Boy, I will vndoe This hatefull imperfection of her eyes. And gentle Pucke, take this transformed ſcalpe, From off the head of this Athenian ſwaine; That he awaking when the other doe, May all to Athens backe againe repaire, And thinke no more of this nights accidents, But as the fierce vexation of a dreame. But firſt I will releaſe the Fairy Queene. Be thou as thou waſt wont to be; See as thou waſt wont to ſee. Dians bud, or Cupids flower, Hath ſuch force and bleſſed power. Now my Titania wake you my ſweet Queene. Tita. My Oberon, what viſions haue I ſeene! Me-thought I was enamoured of an Aſſe. Ob.

There lies your loue.

 Tita. How came theſe things to paſſe? Oh, how mine eyes doth loath this viſage now! Ob. Silence a while, Robin take off his head: Titania, muſick call, and ſtrike more dead Then common ſleepe; of all theſe, fine the ſenſe. Tita.

Muſicke, he muſicke, ſuch as charmeth ſleepe.

 Muſick ſtill. Rob.

When thou wak'ſt, with thine owne fooles eies peepe.

 Ob. Sound muſick; come my Queen, take hands with me And rocke the ground whereon theſe ſleepers be. Now thou and I are new in amity, And will to morrow midnight, ſolemnly Dance in Duke Theſeus houſe triumphantly, And bleſſe it to all faire poſterity. There ſhall the paires of faithfull Louers be Wedded, with Theſeus, all in iollity. Rob. Faire King attend, and marke, I doe heare the morning Larke. Ob. Then my Queene in ſilence ſad, Trip we after the nights ſhade; We the Globe can compaſſe ſoone, Swifter then the wandring Moone. Tita. Come my Lord, and in our flight, Tell me how it came this night, That I ſleeping heere was found, Sleepers Lye ſtill. With theſe mortals on the ground. Exeunt. Winde Hornes. Enter Theſeus, Egeus, Hippolita and all his traine. Theſ. Goe one of you, finde out the Forreſter, For now our obſeruation is perform'd; And ſince we haue the vaward of the day, My Loue ſhall heare the muſicke of my hounds. Vncouple in the Weſterne valley, let them goe; Diſpatch I ſay, and finde the Forreſter. We will faire Queene, vp to the Mountaines top. And marke the muſicall confuſion Of hounds and eccho in coniunction. Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, When in a wood of Creete they bayed the Beare With hounds of Sparta; neuer did I heare Such gallant chiding. For beſides the groues, The skies, the fountaines, euery region neere, Seeme all one mutuall cry. I neuer heard So muſicall a diſcord, ſuch ſweet thunder. Theſ. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kinde, So flew'd, ſo ſanded, and their heads are hung With eares that ſweepe away the morning dew, Crooke kneed, and dew-lapt, like Theſſalian Buls, Slow in purſuit, but match'd in mouth like bels, Each vnder each. A cry more tuneable Was neuer hallowed to, nor cheer'd with horne, In Creete, in Sparta, nor in Theſſaly; Iudge when you heare. But ſoft, what nimphs are theſe? Egeus. My Lord, this is my daughter heere aſleepe, And this Lyſander, this Demetrius is, This Helena, olde Nedars Helena, I wonder of this being heere together. The. No doubt they roſe vp early, to obſerue The right of May; and hearing our intent, Came heere in grace of our ſolemnity. But ſpeake Egeus, is not this the day That Hermia ſhould giue anſwer of her choice? Egeus.

It is, my Lord.

 Theſ.

Goe bid the huntſ-men wake them with their hornes.

 Hornes and they wake. Shout within, they all ſtart vp. Theſ. Good morrow friends: Saint Ʋalentine is paſt, Begin theſe wood birds but to couple now? Lyſ.

Pardon my Lord.

 Theſ. I pray you all ſtand vp. I know you two are Riuall enemies. How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is is ſo farre from iealouſie, To ſleepe by hate, and feare no enmity. Lyſ. My Lord, I ſhall reply amazedly, Halfe ſleepe, halfe waking. But as yet, I ſweare, I cannot truly ſay how I came heere. But as I thinke (for truly would I ſpeake) And now I doe bethinke me, ſo it is; I came with Hermia hither. Our intent Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be Without the perill of the Athenian Law. Ege. Enough, enough, my Lord: you haue enough; I beg the Law, the Law, vpon his head: They would haue ſtolne away, they would Demetrius, Thereby to haue defeated you and me: You of your wife, and me of my conſent; Of my conſent, that ſhe ſhould be your wife. Dem. My Lord, faire Helen told me of their ſtealth, Of this their purpoſe hither, to this wood, And I in furie hither followed them; Faire Helena, in fancy followed me. But my good Lord, I wot not by what power. (But by ſome power it is) my l • To Hermia (melted as the ſnow) Seems to me now as the remembrance of an idle gaude, Which in my childehood I did doat vpon: And all the faith, the vertue of my heart, The obiect and the pleaſure of mine eye, Is onely Helena. To her, my Lord, Was I betroth'd, ere I ſee Hermia, But like a ſickeneſſe did I loath this food, But as in health, come to my naturall taſte, Now doe I wiſh it, loue it, long for it, And will for euermore be true to it. Theſ. Faire Louers, you are fortunately met; Of this diſcourſe we ſhall heare more anon. Egeus, I will ouer-beare your will; For in the Temple, by and by with vs, Theſe couples ſhall eternally be knit. And for the morning now is ſomething worne, Our purpos'd hunting ſhall be ſet aſide. Away, with vs to Athens; three and three, Wee'll hold a feaſt in great ſolemnitie. Come Hippolitae. Exit Duke and Lords. Dem. Theſe things ſeeme ſmall & vndiſtinguiſhable, Like farre off mountaines turned into Clouds. Her. Me-thinks I ſee theſe things with parted eye, When euery things ſeemes double. Hel. So me-thinkes: And I haue found Demetrius, like a iewell, Mine owne, and not mine owne. Dem. It ſeemes to mee, That yet we ſleepe, we dreame. Do not you thinke, The Duke was heere, and bid vs follow him? Her.

Yea, and my Father.

 Hel.

And Hippolitae.

Lyſ.

And he bid vs follow to the Temple.

 Dem.

Why then we are awake; lets follow him, and by the way let vs recount our dreames.

 Bottome wakes. Exit Louers. Clo.

When my cue comes, call me, and I will anſwer. My next is, moſt faire Piramus. Hey ho. Peter Quince? Flute the bellowes-mender? Snout the tinker? Starueling? Gods my life! Stolne hence, and left me aſleepe: I haue had a moſt rare viſion. I had a dreame, paſt the wit of man, to ſay, what dreame it was. Man is but an Aſſe, if he goe about to expound this dreame. Me-thought I was, there is no man can tell what. Me-thought I was, and me-thought I had. But man is but a patch'd foole, if he will offer to ſay, what me-thought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the eare of man hath not ſeen, mans hand is not able to taſte, his tongue to conceiue, nor his heart to report, what my dreame was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballet of this dreame, it ſhall be called Bottomes Dreame, becauſe it hath no bottome; and I will ſing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I ſhall ſing it at her death.

Exit. Enter Quince, Flute, Thisbie, Snout, and Starueling. Quin.

Haue you ſent to Bottomes houſe? Is he come home yet?

 Staru.

He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt hee i • tranſported.

 Thiſ.

If he come not, then the play is mar'd. It goes not forward, doth it?

 Quin.

It is not poſſible: you haue not a man in all Athens, able to diſcharge Piramus but he.

 Thiſ.

No, hee hath ſimply the beſt wit of any handycraft man in Athens.

Quin.

Yea, and the beſt perſon too, and hee is a very Paramour, for a ſweet voyce.

 Thiſ.

You muſt ſay, Paragon. A Paramour is (God bleſſe vs) a thing of nought.

 Enter Snug the Ioyner. Snug.

Maſters, the Duke is comming from the Temple, and there is two or three Lords & Ladies more married. If our ſport had gone forward, we had all bin made men.

 Thiſ.

O ſweet bully Bottome: thus hath he loſt ſixepence a day, during his life; he could not haue ſcaped ſixpence a day. And the Duke had not giuen him ſixpence a day for playing, Piramus, Ile be hang'd. He would haue deſerued it. Sixpence a day in Piramus, or nothing.

 Enter Bottome. Bot.

Where are theſe Lads? Where are theſe hearts?

 Quin.

Bottome, ô moſt couragious day! O moſt happie houre!

 Bot.

Maſters, I am to diſcourſe wonders; but ask me not what. For if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you euery thing as it fell out.

 Qu.

Let vs heare, ſweet Bottome.

Bot.

Not a word of me: all that I will tell you, is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparell together, good ſtrings to your beards, new ribbands to your pumps, meete preſently at the Palace, euery man looke ore his part: for the ſhort and the long is, our play is preferred: In any caſe let Thisby haue cleane linnen: and let not him that playes the Lion, paire his nailes, for they ſhall hang out for the Lions clawes. And moſt deare Actors, eate no Onions, nor Garlicke; for wee are to vtter ſweete breath, and I doe not doubt but to heare them ſay, it is a ſweet Comedy. No more words: away, go away.

 Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Theſeus, Hippolita, Egeus and his Lords. Hip.

'Tis ſtrange my Theſeus, yt theſe louers ſpeake of.

 The. More ſtrange then true. I neuer may beleeue Theſe anticke fables, nor theſe Fairy toyes, Louers and mad men haue ſuch ſeething braines, Such ſhaping phantaſies, that apprehend more Then coole reaſon euer comprehends. The Lunaticke, the Louer, and the Poet, Are of imagination all compact. One ſees more diuels then vaſte hell can hold; That is the mad man. The Louer, all as franticke, Sees Helens beauty in a brow of Egipt. The Poets eye in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance From heauen to earth, from earth to heauen. And as imagination bodies forth the forms of things Vnknowne; the Poets pen turnes them to ſhapes, And giues to aire nothing, a locall habitation, And a name. Such tricks hath ſtrong imagination, That if it would but apprehend ſome ioy, It comprehends ſome bringer of that ioy. Or in the night, imagining ſome feare, How eaſie is a buſh ſuppos'd a Beare? Hip. But all the ſtorie of the night told ouer, And all their minds transfigur'd ſo together, More witneſſeth than fancies images, And growes to ſomething of great conſtancie; But howſoeuer, ſtrange, and admirable. Enter louers, Lyſander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. The. Heere come the louers, full of ioy and mirth: Ioy, gentle friends, ioy and freſh dayes Of loue accompany your hearts. Lyſ.

More then to vs, waite in your royall walkes, your boord, your bed.

 The. Come now, what maskes, what dances ſhall we haue, To weare away this long age of three houres, Between our after ſupper, and bed-time? Where is our vſuall manager of mirth? What Reuels are in hand? Is there no play, To eaſe the anguiſh of a torturing houre? Call Egeus. Ege.

Heere mighty Theſeus.

The. Say, what abridgement haue you for this euening? What maske? What muſicke? How ſhall we beguile The lazie time, if not with ſome delight? Ege. There is a breefe how many ſports are rife: Make choiſe of which your Highneſſe will ſee firſt. Liſ. The battell with the Centaurs to be ſung By an Athenian Eunuch, to the Harpe. The. Wee'l none of that. That haue I told my Loue In glory of my kinſman Hercules. Liſ. The riot of the tipſie Bachanals, Tearing the Thracian ſinger, in their rage? The. That is an old deuice, and it was plaid When I from Thebes came laſt a Conqueror. Liſ.

The thrice three Muſes, mourning for the death of learning, late deceaſt in beggerie.

 The. That is ſome Satire keene and criticall, Not ſorting with a nuptiall ceremonie. Liſ. A tedious breefe Scene of yong Piramus, And his loue Thisby; very tragicall mirth. The.

Merry and tragicall? Tedious, and briefe? That is, hot ice, and wondrous ſtrange ſnow. How ſhall wee finde the concord of this diſcord?

 Ege. A play there is, my Lord, ſome ten words long, Which is as breefe, as I haue knowne a play; But by ten words, my Lord, it is too long; Which makes it tedious. For in all the play, There is not one word apt, one Player fitted. And tragicall my noble Lord it is: for Piramus Therein doth kill himſelfe. Which when I ſaw Rehearſt, I muſt confeſſe, made mine eyes water: But more metrie teares, the paſſion of loud laughter Neuer ſhed. Theſ.

What are they that do play it?

 Ege. Hard handed men, that worke in Athens heere, Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now; And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memories With this ſame play, againſt your nuptiall. The.

And we will heare it.

 Phi. No, my noble Lord, it is not for you. I haue heard It ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world; Vnleſſe you can finde ſport in their intents, Extreamely ſtretcht, and cond with cruell paine, To doe you ſeruice. Theſ. I will heare that play. For neuer any thing Can be amiſſe, when ſimpleneſſe and duty tender it. Goe bring them in, and take your places, Ladies. Hip. I loue not to ſee wretchedneſſe orecharged; And duty in his ſeruice periſhing. Theſ.

Why gentle ſweet, you ſhall ſee no ſuch thing.

 Hip.

He ſaies, they can doe nothing in this kinde.

 Theſ. The kinder we, to giue them thanks for nothing Our ſport ſhall be, to take what they miſtake; And what poore duty cannot doe, noble reſpect Takes it in might, not merit. Where I haue come, great Clearkes haue purpoſed To greete me with premeditated welcomes; Where I haue ſeene them ſhiuer and looke pale, Make periods in the midſt of ſentences, Throttle their practiz'd accent in their feares, And in concluſion, dumbly haue broke off, Not paying me a welcome. Truſt me ſweete, Out of this ſilence yet, I pickt a welcome: And in the modeſty of fearefull duty, I read as much, as from the ratling tongue Of ſaucy and audacious eloquence. Loue therefore, and tongue-tide ſimplicity, In leaſt, ſpeake moſt, to my capacity. Egeus.

So pleaſe your Grace, the Prologue is addreſt.

 Duke.

Let him approach.

Flor. Trum. Enter the Prologue. Quince. Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you ſhould thinke, we come not to offend, But with good will. To ſhew our ſimple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Conſider then, we come but in deſpight. We do not come, as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not heere. That you ſhould here repent you, The Actors are at hand; and by their ſhow, You ſhall know all, that you are like to know. Theſ.

This fellow doth not ſtand vpon points.

 Lyſ.

He hath rid his Prologue, like a rough Colt: he knowes not the ſtop. A good morall my Lord. It is not enough to ſpeake, but to ſpeake true.

 Hip.

Indeed hee hath plaid on his Prologue, like a childe on a Recorder, a ſound, but not in gouernment.

 Theſ.

His ſpeech was like a tangled chaine: nothing impaired, but all diſordered. Who is next?

 Tawyer with a Trumpet before them. Enter Pyramus and Thisby, Wall, Moone-ſhine, and Lyon. Prol. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this ſhow, But wonder on, till truth make all things plaine. This man is Piramus, if you would know; This beauteous Lady, Thisby is certaine. This man, with lyme and rough-caſt, doth preſent Wall, that vile wall, which did theſe louers ſunder: And through walls chink (poor ſoules) they are content To whiſper. At the which, let no man wonder. This man, with Lanthorne, dog, and buſh of thorne, Preſenteth moone-ſhine. For if you will know, By moone-ſhine did theſe Louers thinke no ſcorne To meet at Ninus toombe, there, there to wooe: This grizy beaſt (which Lyon hight by name) The truſty Thisby, comming firſt by night, Did ſcarre away, or rather did affright: And as ſhe fled, her mantle ſhe did fall; Which Lyon vile with bloody mouth did ſtaine. Anon comes Piramus, ſweet youth and tall, And findes his Thisbies Mantle ſlaine; Whereat, with blade, with bloody blamefull blade, He brauely broacht his boiling bloudy breaſt, And Thisby, tarrying in Mulberry ſhade, His dagger drew, and died. For all the reſt, Let Lyon, Moone-ſhine, Wall, and Louers twaine, At large diſcourſe, while here they doe remaine. Exit all but Wall. Theſ.

I wonder if the Lion be to ſpeake.

 Deme.

No wonder, my Lord: one Lion may, when many Aſſes doe.

 Exit Lyon, Thisbie, and Mooneſhine. Wall. In this ſame Interlude, it doth befall, That I, one Snowt (by name) preſent a wall: And ſuch a wall, as I vvould haue you thinke, That had in it a crannied hole or chinke: Through which the Louers, Piramus and Thisbie Did whiſper often, very ſecretly. This loame, this rough-caſt, and this ſtone doth ſhew, That I am that ſame Wall; the truth is ſo. And this the cranny is, right and ſiniſter, Through which the fearefull Louers are to whiſper. Theſ.

Would you deſire Lime and Haire to ſpeake better?

 Deme.

It is the vvittieſt partition, that euer I heard diſcourſe, my Lord.

 Theſ.

Pyramus drawes neere the Wall, ſilence.

 Enter Pyramus. Pir. O grim lookt night, ô night with hue ſo blacke, O night, which euer art, when day is not: O night, ô night, alacke, alacke, alacke, I feare my Thisbies promiſe is forgot. And thou ô vvall, thou ſweet and louely vvall, That ſtands betweene her fathers ground and mine, Thou vvall, ô vvall, ô ſweet and louely vvall, Shew me thy chinke, to blinke through vvith mine eine. Thankes courteous vvall. Ioue ſhield thee vvell for this. But vvhat ſee I? No Thisbie doe I ſee. O vvicked vvall, through vvhom I ſee no bliſſe, Curſt be thy ſtones for thus deceiuing mee. Theſ.

The vvall me-thinkes being ſenſible, ſhould curſe againe.

 Pir. No in truth ſir, he ſhould not. Deceiuing me, Is Thisbies cue; ſhe is to enter, and I am to ſpy Her through the vvall. You ſhall ſee it vvill fall. Enter Thisbie. Pat as I told you; yonder ſhe comes. Thiſ. O vvall, full often haſt thou heard my mones, For parting my faire Piramus, and me. My cherry lips haue often kiſt thy ſtones; Thy ſtones vvith Lime and Haire knit vp in thee. Pyra. I ſee a voyce; now vvill I to the chinke, To ſpy and I can heare my Thisbies face. Thisbie? Thiſ.

My Loue thou art, my Loue I thinke.

 Pir. Thinke vvhat thou vvilt, I am thy Louers grace, And like Limander am I truſty ſtill. Thiſ.

And like Helen till the Fates me kill.

 Pir.

Not Shafalus to Procrus, was ſo true.

 Thiſ.

As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

 Pir.

O kiſſe me through the hole of this vile wall.

 Thiſ.

I kiſſe the wals hole, not your lips at all.

 Pir.

Wilt thou at Ninnies tombe meete me ſtraight way?

 Thiſ.

Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.

 Wall. Thus haue I Wall, my part diſcharged ſo; And being done, thus Wall away doth go. Exit Clow. Du.

Now is the morall downe betweene the two Neighbors.

 Dem.

No remedie my Lord, when Wals are ſo wilfull, to heare without vvarning.

 Dut.

This is the ſillieſt ſtuffe that ere I heard.

 Du.

The beſt in this kind are but ſhadowes, and the worſt are no worſe, if imagination amend them.

 Dut.

It muſt be your imagination then, & not theirs.

 Duk.

If wee imagine no worſe of them then they of themſelues, they may paſſe for excellent men. Here com two noble beaſts, in a man and a Lion.

 Enter Lyon and Moone-ſhine. Lyon. You Ladies, you (whoſe gentle harts do feare The ſmalleſt monſtrous mouſe that creepes on floore) May now perchance, both quake and tremble heere, When Lion rough in wildeſt rage doth roare. Then know that I, one Snug the Ioyner am A Lion fell, nor elſe no Lions dam: For if I ſhould as Lion come in ſtrife Into this place, 'twere pittie of my life. Du.

A verie gentle beaſt, and of a good conſcience.

 Dem.

The verie beſt at a beaſt, my Lord, yt ere I ſaw.

 Liſ.

This Lion is a verie Fox for his valor.

 Du.

True, and a Gooſe for his diſcretion.

 Dem.

Not ſo my Lord: for his valor cannot carrie his diſcretion, and the Fox carries the Gooſe.

 Du.

His diſcretion I am ſure cannot carrie his valor: for the Gooſe carries not the Fox. It is well; leaue it to his diſcretion, and let vs hearken to the Moone.

 Moon.

This Lanthorne doth the horned Moone preſent.

 De.

He ſhould haue worne the hornes on his head.

 Du.

Hee is no creſcent, and his hornes are inuiſible, within the circumference.

 Moon.

This lanthorne doth the horned Moone preſent: My ſelfe, the man i' th Moone doth ſeeme to be.

 Du.

This is the greateſt error of all the reſt; the man ſhould be put into the Lanthorne. How is it els the man i' th Moone?

 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle. For you ſee, it is already in ſnuffe. Dut.

I am vvearie of this Moone; vvould he would change.

 Du.

It appeares by his ſmal light of diſcretion, that he is in the wane: but yet in courteſie, in all reaſon, vve muſt ſtay the time.

 Lyſ.

Proceed Moone.

 Moon.

All that I haue to ſay, is to tell you, that the Lanthorne is the Moone; I, the man in the Moone; this thorne buſh, my thorne buſh; and this dog, my dog.

 Dem.

Why all theſe ſhould be in the Lanthorne: for they are in the Moone. But ſilence, heere comes Thisby.

Enter Thisby. Thiſ.

This is old Ninnies tombe: where is my loue?

 Lyon.

Oh.

 The Lion roares, Thisby runs off. Dem.

Well roar'd Lion.

 Du.

Well run Thisby.

Dut. Well ſhone Moone. Truly the Moone ſhines with a good grace. Du.

Wel mouz'd Lion.

 Dem.

And then came Piramus.

Lyſ.

And ſo the Lion vaniſht.

 Enter Piramus. Pyr. Sweet Moone, I thank thee for thy ſunny beames, I thanke thee Moone, for ſhining now ſo bright: For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beames, I truſt to taſte of trueſt Thisbies ſight. But ſtay: O ſpight! but marke, poore Knight, What dreadful dole is heere? Eyes do you ſee! How can it be! O dainty Ducke: O Deere! Thy mantle good; what ſtaind with blood! Approch you Furies fell: O Fates! come, come: Cut thred and thrum, Quaile, cruſh, conclude, and quell. Du. This paſſion, and the death of a deare friend, Would go neere to make a man looke ſad. Dut.

Beſhrew my heart, but I pittie the man.

 Pir. O wherefore Nature, did'ſt thou Lions frame? Since Lion vilde hath heere deflour'd my deere: Which is: no, no, which was the faireſt Dame That liu'd, that lou'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheere. Come teares, confound: Out ſword, and wound The pap of Piramus: I, that left pap, where heart doth hop; Thus dye I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, now am I fled, my ſoule is in the sky, Tongue loſe thy light, Moone take thy flight, Now dye, dye, dye, dye, dye. Dem.

No Die, but an ace for him; for he is but one.

 Liſ.

Leſſe then an ace man. For he is dead, he is nothing.

 Du.

With the helpe of a Surgeon, he might yet recouer, and proue an Aſſe.

 Dut. How chance Moone-ſhine is gone before? Thisby comes backe, and findes her Louer. Enter Thisby. Duke. She wil finde him by ſtarre-light. Heere ſhe comes, and her paſſion ends the play. Dut.

Me thinkes ſhee ſhould not vſe a long one for ſuch a Piramus: I hope ſhe will be breefe.

 Dem.

A Moth wil turne the ballance, which Piramus which Thisby is the better.

 Lyſ.

She hath ſpyed him already, with thoſe ſweete eyes.

 Dem.

And thus ſhe meanes, videlicit.

This. Aſleepe my Loue? What, dead my Doue? O Piramus ariſe: Speake. Speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tombe Muſt couer thy ſweet eyes. Theſe Lilly Lips, this cherry noſe, Theſe yellow Cowſlip cheekes Are gone, are gone: Louers make mone: His eyes were greene as Leekes. O ſiſters three, come, come to mee, With hands as pale as Milke, Lay them in gore, ſince you haue ſhore With ſheeres, his thred of ſilke. Tongue not a word: Come truſty ſword: Come blade, my breſt imbrue: And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends; Adieu, adieu, adieu. Duk.

Moon-ſhine & Lion are left to burie the dead.

 Deme.

I, and Wall too.

 Bot.

No, I aſſure you, the wall is downe, that parted their Fathers. Will it pleaſe you to ſee the Epilogue, or to heare a Bergomask dance, betweene two of our company?

 Duk.

No Epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuſe. Neuer excuſe; for when the plaiers are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if hee that writ it had plaid Piramus, and hung himſelfe in Thisbies garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and ſo it is truely, and very notably diſcharg'd. But come, your Burgomaske; let your Epilogue alone.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue. Louers to bed, 'tis almoſt Fairy time. I feare we ſhall out-ſleepe the comming morne, As much as we this night haue ouer-watcht. This palpable groſſe play hath well beguil'd The heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed. A fortnight hold we this ſolemnity. In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie. Exeunt. Enter Pucke. Puck Now the hungry Lyons rores, And the Wolfe beholds the Moone: Whileſt the heauy ploughman ſnores, All with weary taske fore-done. Now the waſted brands doe glow, Whil'ſt the ſcritch-owle, ſcritching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe, In remembrance of a ſhrowd. Now it is the time of night, That the graues, all gaping wide, Euery one lets forth his ſpright, In the Church-way paths to glide And we Fairies, that do runne, By the triple Hecates teame, From the preſence of the Sunne, Following darkeneſſe like a dreame▪ Now are frollicke; not a Mouſe Shall diſturbe this hallowed houſe▪ I am ſent with broome before, To ſweep the duſt behinde the doore. Enter King and Queene of Fairies, with their traine. Ob. Through the houſe giue glimmering light, By the dead and drowſie fier, Euerie Elfe and Fairie ſpright, Hop as light as bird from brier, And this Ditty after me, ſing and dance it trippinglie. Tita. Firſt rehearſe this ſong by roate, To each word a warbling note. Hand in hand, with Fairie grace, Will we ſing and bleſſe this place. The Song. Now vntill the breake of day, Through this houſe each Fairy ſtray. To the beſt Bride-bed will we, Which by vs ſhall bleſſed be: And the iſſue there create, Euer ſhall be fortunate: So ſhall all the couples three, Euer true in louing be: And the blots of Natures hand, Shall not in their iſſue ſtand. Neuer mole, harelip, nor ſcarre, Nor marke prodigious, ſuch as are Deſpiſed in Natiuitie, Shall vpon their children be. With this field dew conſecrate, Euery Fairy take his gate, And each ſeuerall chamber bleſſe, Through this Pallace with ſweet peace, Euer ſhall in ſafety reſt, And the owner of it bleſt. Trip away, make no ſtay; Meet me all by breake of day. Robin. If we ſhadowes haue offended, Thinke but this (and all is mended) That you haue but ſlumbred heere, While theſe viſions did appeare. And this weake and idle theame, No more yeelding but a dreame, Centles, doe not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend. And as I am an honeſt Pucke, If we haue vnearned lucke, Now to ſcape the Serpents tongue, We will make amends ere long: Elſe the Pucke a lyar call. So good night vnto you all. Giue me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin ſhall reſtore amends.
FINIS.
The Merchant of Venice.
Actus primus. Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Anthonio. IN ſooth I know not why I am ſo ſad, It wearies me: you ſay it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What ſtuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne, I am to learne: and ſuch a Want-wit ſadneſſe makes of mee, That I haue much ado to know my ſelfe. Sal. Your minde is toſsing on the Ocean, There where your Argoſies with portly ſaile Like Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood, Or as it were the Pageants of the ſea, Do ouer-peere the pettie Traffiquers That curtſie to them, do them reuerence As they flye by them with their wouen wings. Salar. Beleeue me ſir, had I ſuch venture forth, The better part of my affections, would Be with my hopes abroad. I ſhould be ſtill Plucking the graſſe to know where ſits the winde, Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes: And euery obiect that might make me feare Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt Would make me ſad. Sal. My winde cooling my broth, Would blow me to an Ague, when I thought What harme a winde too great might doe at ſea. I ſhould not ſee the ſandie houre-glaſſe runne, But I ſhould thinke of ſhallows, and of flats, And ſee my wealthy Andrew docks in ſand, Vailing her high top lower then her ribs To kiſſe her buriall; ſhould I goe to Church And ſee the holy edifice of ſtone, And not bethinke me ſtraight of dangerous rocks, Which touching but my gentle Veſſels ſide Would ſcatter all her ſpices on the ſtreame, Enrobe the roring waters with my ſilkes, And in a word, but euen now worth this, And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thought To thinke on this, and ſhall I lacke the thought That ſuch a thing bechaunc'd would make me ſad▪ But tell not me, I know Anthonio Is ſad to thinke vpon his merchandize. Anth. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottome trufted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole eſtate Vpon the fortune of this preſent yeere: Therefore my merchandize makes me not ſad. Sola.

Why then you are in loue.

 Anth.

Fie, fie.

 Sola. Not in loue neither: then let vs ſay you are ſad Becauſe you are not merry; and 'twere as eaſie For you to laugh and leape, and ſay you are merry Becauſe you are not ſad. Now by two-headed Ianus, Nature hath fram'd ſtrange fellowes in her time: Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes, And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper. And other of ſuch vineger aſpect, That they'll not ſhew their teeth in way of ſmile, Though Neſtor ſweare the ieſt be laughable. Enter Baſſanio, Lorenſo, and Gratiano. Sola. Heere comes Baſſanio, Your moſt noble Kinſman, Gratiano, and Lorenſo. Faryewell, We leaue you now with better company. Sala. I would haue ſtaid till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not preuented me. Ant. Your worth is very deere in my regard. I take it your owne buſines calls on you, And you embrace th' occaſion to depart. Sal.

Good morrow my good Lords.

 Baſſ. Good ſigniors both, when ſhall we laugh? ſay, when? You grow exceeding ſtrange: muſt it be ſo? Sal.

Wee'll make our leyſures to attend on yours.

 Exeunt Salarino, and Solanio. Lor. My Lord Baſſanio, ſince you haue found Anthonio We two will leaue you, but at dinner time I pray you haue in minde where we muſt meete. Baſſ.

I will not faile you.

 Grat. You looke not well ſignior Anthonio, You haue too much reſpect vpon the world: They looſe it that doe buy it with much care, Beleeue me you are maruellouſly chang'd. Ant. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano, A ſtage, where euery man muſt play a part, And mine a ſad one. Grati. Let me play the foole, With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come, And let my Liuer rather heate with wine, Then my heart coole with mortifying grones. Why ſhould a man whoſe bloud is warme within, Sit like his Grandſire, cut in Alablaſter? Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies By being peeuiſh? I tell thee what Anthonio, I loue thee, and it is my loue that ſpeakes: There are a ſort of men, whoſe viſages Do creame and mantle like a ſtanding pond, And do a wilfull ſtilneſſe entertaine, With purpoſe to be dreſt in an opinion Of wiſedome, grauity, profound conceit, As who ſhould ſay, I am ſir an Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke. O my Anthonio, I do know of theſe That therefore onely are reputed wiſe, For ſaying nothing; when I am verie ſure If they ſhould ſpeake, would almoſt dam thoſe eares Which hearing them would call their brothers fooles: Ile tell thee more of this another time. But fiſh not with this melancholly baite For this foole Gudgin, this opinion: Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while, Ile end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time. I muſt be one of theſe ſame dumbe wiſe men, For Gratiano neuer let's me ſpeake. Gra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo, Thou ſhalt not know the ſound of thine owne tongue. Ant.

Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geare.

 Gra. Thankes ifaith, for ſilence is onely commendable In a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible. Exit. Ant.

It is that any thing now.

 Baſ.

Gratiano ſpeakes an infinite deale of nothing, more then any man in all Venice, his reaſons are two graines of wheate hid in two buſhels of chaffe: you ſhall ſeeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue them they are not worth the ſearch.

 An. Well: tel me now, what Lady is the ſame To whom you ſwore a ſecret Pilgrimage That you to day promis'd to tel me of? Baſ. Tis not vnknowne to you Anthonio How much I haue diſabled mine eſtate, By ſomething ſhewing a more ſwelling port Then my faint meanes would grant continuance: Nor do I now make mone to be abridg'd From ſuch a noble rate, but my cheefe care Is to come fairely off from the great debts Wherein my time ſomething too prodigall Hath left me gag'd: to you Anthonio I owe the moſt in money, and in loue, And from your loue I haue a warrantie To vnburthen all my plots and purpoſes, How to get cleere of all the debts I owe. An. I pray you good Baſſanio let me know it, And if it ſtand as you your ſelfe ſtill do, Within the eye of honour, be aſſur'd My purſe, my perſon, my extreameſt meanes Lye all vnlock'd to your occaſions. Baſſ. In my ſchoole dayes, when I had loſt one ſhaft I ſhot his fellow of the ſelfeſame flight The ſelfeſame way, with more aduiſed watch To finde the other forth, and by aduenturing both, I oft found both. I vrge this child-hoode proofe, Becauſe what followes is pure innocence. I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth, That which I owe is loſt: but if you pleaſe To ſhoote another arrow that ſelfe way Which you did ſhoot the firſt, I do not doubt, As I will watch the ayme: Or to finde both, Or bring your latter hazard backe againe, And thankfully reſt debter for the firſt. An. You know me well, and herein ſpend but time To winde about my loue with circumſtance, And out of doubt you doe more wrong In making queſtion of my vttermoſt Then if you had made waſte of all I haue: Then doe but ſay to me what I ſhould doe That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am preſt vnto it: therefore ſpeake. Baſſ. In Belmont is a Lady richly left, And ſhe is faire, and fairer then that word, Of wondrous vertues, ſometimes from her eyes I did receiue faire ſpeechleſſe meſſages: Her name is Portia, nothing vndervallewd To Cato's daughter, Brutus Portia, Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, For the foure windes blow in from euery coaſt Renowned ſutors, and her ſunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece, Which makes her ſeat of Belmont Cholchos ſtrond, And many Iaſons come in queſt of her. O my Anthonio, had I but the meanes To hold a riuall place with one of them, I haue a minde preſages me ſuch thrift, That I ſhould queſtionleſſe be fortunate. Anth. Thou knowſt that all my fortunes are at ſea, Neither haue I money, nor commodity To raiſe a preſent ſumme, therefore goe forth Try what my credit can in Venice doe, That ſhall be rackt euen to the vttermoſt, To furniſh thee to Belmont to faire Portia. Goe preſently enquire, and ſo will I Where money is, and I no queſtion make To haue it of my truſt, or for my ſake. Exeunt. Enter Portia with her waiting woman Neriſſa. Portia.

By my troth Nerriſſa, my little body is a wearie of this great world.

 Ner.

You would be ſweet Madam, if your miſeries were in the ſame abundance as your good fortunes are: and yet for ought I ſee, they are as ſicke that ſurfet with too much, as they that ſtarue with nothing; it is no ſmal happineſſe therefore to bee ſeated in the meane, ſuperfluitie comes ſooner by white haires, but competencie liues longer.

 Portia.

Good ſentences, and well pronounc'd.

 Ner.

They would be better if well followed.

 Portia.

If to doe were as eaſie as to know what were good to doe, Chappels had beene Churches, and poore mens cottages Princes Pallaees: it is a good Diuine that followes his owne inſtructions; I can eaſier teach twentie what were good to be done, then be one of the twentie to follow mine owne teaching: the braine may deuiſe lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore a colde decree, ſuch a hare is madneſſe the youth, to skip ore the meſhes of good counſaile the cripple; but this reaſon is not in faſhion to chooſe me a husband: O mee, the word chooſe, I may neither chooſe whom I would, nor refuſe whom I diſlike, ſo is the wil of a liuing daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father: it is not hard Nerriſſa, that I cannot chooſe one, nor refuſe none.

 Ner.

Your father was euer vertuous, and holy men at their death haue good inſpirations, therefore the lotterie that hee hath deuiſ • in theſe three cheſts of gold, ſiluer, and leade, whereof who chooſes his meaning, chooſes you, wil no doubt neuer be choſen by any rightly, but one who you ſhall rightly loue: but what warmth is there in your affection towards any of theſe Princely ſuters that are already come?

 Por.

I pray thee ouer-name them, and as thou nameſt them, I will deſcribe them, and according to my deſcription leuell at my affection.

 Ner.

Firſt there is the Neopolitane Prince.

 Por.

I that's a colt indeede, for he doth nothing but talke of his horſe, and hee makes it a great appropriation to his owne good parts that he can ſhoo him himſelfe: I am much afraid my Ladie his mother plaid falſe with a Smyth.

 Ner.

Than is there the Countie Palentine.

 Por.

He doth nothing but frowne (as who ſhould ſay, and you will not haue me, chooſe: he heares merrie tales and ſmiles not, I feare hee will proue the weeping Phyloſopher when he growes old, being ſo full of vnmannerly ſadneſſe in his youth.) I had rather to be married to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then to either of theſe: God defend me from theſe two.

 Ner.

How ſay you by the French Lord, Mounſier Le Boune?

 Pro.

God made him, and therefore let him paſſe for a man, in truth I know it is a ſinne to be a mocker, but he, why he hath a horſe better then the Neopolitans, a better bad habite of frowning then the Count Palentine, he is euery man in no man, if a Traſſell ſing, he fals ſtraight a capring, he will fence with his own ſhadow. If I ſhould marry him, I ſhould marry twentie husbands: if hee would deſpiſe me, I would forgiue him, for if he loue me to madneſſe, I ſhould neuer requite him.

 Ner.

What ſay you then to Fauconbridge, the yong Baron of England?

 Por.

You know I ſay nothing to him, for hee vnderſtands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the Court & ſweare that I haue a poore pennie-worth in the Engliſh: hee is a proper mans picture, but alas who can conuerſe with a dumbe ſhow? how odly he is ſuited, I thinke he bought his doublet in Italie, his round hoſe in France, his bonnet in Germanie, and his behauiour euery where.

 Ner.

What thinke you of the other Lord his neighbour?

 Por.

That he hath a neighbourly charitie in him, for he borrowed a boxe of the eare of the Engliſhman, and ſwore he would pay him againe when hee was able: I thinke the Frenchman became his ſuretie, and ſeald vnder for another.

 Ner.

How like you the yong Germaine, the Duke of Saxonies Nephew?

 Por.

Very vildely in the morning when hee is ſober, and moſt vildely in the afternoone when hee is drunke: when he is beſt, he is a little worſe then a man, and when he is worſt▪ he is little better then a beaſt: and the worſt fall that euer fell, I hope I ſhall make ſhift to goe without him.

 Ner.

If he ſhould offer to chooſe, and chooſe the right Casket, you ſhould refuſe to performe your Fathers will, if you ſhould refuſe to accept him.

 Por.

Therefore for feare of the worſt, I pray thee ſet a deepe glaſſe of Reiniſh-wine on the contrary Casket, for if the diuell be within, and that temptation without, I know he will chooſe it. I will doe any thing Nerriſſa ere I will be married to a ſpunge.

 Ner.

You neede not feare Lady the hauing any of theſe Lords, they haue acquainted me with their determinations, which is indeede to returne to their home, and to trouble you with no more ſuite, vnleſſe you may be won by ſome other ſort then your Fathers impoſition, depending on the Caskets.

 Por.

If I liue to be as olde as Sibilla, I will dye as chaſte as Diana: vnleſſe I be obtained by the manner of my Fathers will: I am glad this parcell of wooers are ſo reaſonable, for there is not one among them but I doate on his verie abſence: and I wiſh them a faire departure.

 Ner.

Doe you not remember Ladie in your Fathers time, a Venecian, a Scholler and a Souldior that came hither in companie of the Marqueſſe of Mountferrat?

 Por.

Yes, yes, it was Baſſanio, as I thinke, ſo was hee call'd.

 Ner.

True Madam, hee of all the men that euer my fooliſh eyes look'd vpon, was the beſt deſeruing a faire Lady.

 Por.

I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praiſe.

 Enter a Seruingman. Ser.

The foure Strangers ſeeke you Madam to take their leaue: and there is a fore-runner come from a fift, the Prince of Moroco, who brings word the Prince his Maiſter will be here to night.

 Por.

If I could bid the fift welcome with ſo good heart as I can bid the other foure farewell, I ſhould be glad of his approach: if he haue the condition of a Saint, and the complexion of a diuell, I had rather hee ſhould ſhriue me then wiue me. Come Nerriſſa, ſirra go before; whiles wee ſhut the gate vpon one wooer, another knocks at the doore.

Exeunt. Enter Baſſanio with Shylocke the Iew. Shy.

Three thouſand ducates, well.

 Baſſ.

I ſir, for three months.

 Shy.

For three months, well.

 Baſſ. For the which, as I told you, Anthonio ſhall be bound. Shy.

Anthonio ſhall become bound, well.

 Baſſ. May you ſted me? Will you pleaſure me? Shall I know your anſwere. Shy.

Three thouſand ducats for three months, and Anthonio bound.

 Baſſ.

Your anſwere to that.

 Shy.

Anthonio is a good man.

 Baſſ.

Haue you heard any imputation to the contrary.

 Shy.

Ho no, no, no, no: my meaning in ſaying he is a good man, is to haue you vnderſtand me that he is ſuffient, yet his meanes are in ſuppoſition: he hath an Argoſie bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies, I vnderſtand moreouer vpon the Ryalta, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures hee hath ſquandred abroad, but ſhips are but boords, Saylers but men, there be land rats, and water rats, water theeues, and land theeues, I meane Pyrats, and then there is the perrill of waters, windes, and rocks: the man is notwithſtanding ſufficient, three thouſand ducats, I thinke I may take his bond.

 Baſ.

Be aſſured you may.

 Iew.

I will be aſſured I may: and that I may be aſſured, I will bethinke mee, may I ſpeake with Anthonio?

Baſſ.

If it pleaſe you to dine with vs.

 Iew.

Yes, to ſmell porke, to eate of the habitation which your Prophet the Nazarite coniured the diuell into: I will buy with you, ſell with you, talke with you, walke with you, and ſo following: but I will not eate with you, drinke with you, nor pray with you. What newes on the Ryalta, who is he comes here?

 Enter Anthonio. Baſſ.

This is ſignior Anthonio.

Iew. How like a fawning publican he lookes. I hate him for he is a Chriſtian: But more, for that in low ſimplicitie He lends out money gratis, and brings downe The rate of vſance here with vs in Venice. If I can catch him once vpon the hip, I will feede fat the ancient grudge I beare him. He hates our ſacred Nation, and he railes Euen there where Merchants moſt doe congregate On me, my bargaines, and my well-worne thrift, Which he cals interreſt: Curſed be my Trybe If I forgiue him. Baſſ.

Shylock, doe you heare.

 Shy. I am debating of my preſent ſtore, And by the neere geſſe of my memorie I cannot inſtantly raiſe vp the groſſe Of full three thouſand ducats: what of that? Tuball a wealthy Hebrew of my Tribe Will furniſh me; but ſoft, how many months Doe you deſire? Reſt you faire good ſignior, Your worſhip was the laſt man in our mouthes. Ant. Shylocke, albeit I neither lend nor borrow By taking, nor by giuing of exceſſe, Yet to ſupply the ripe wants of my friend, Ile breake a cuſtome: is he yet poſſeſt How much he would? Shy.

I, I, three thouſand ducats

 Ant.

And for three months.

 Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me ſo. Well then, your bond: and let me ſee, but heare you, Me thoughts you ſaid, you neither lend nor borrow Vpon aduantage. Ant.

I doe neuer vſe it.

 Shy. When Iacob graz'd his Vncle Labans ſheepe, This Iacob from our holy Abram was (As his wife mother wrought in his behalfe) The third poſſeſſer; I, he was the third. Ant.

And what of him, did he take interreſt?

 Shy. No, not take intereſt, not as you would ſay Directly intereſt, marke what Iacob did, When Laban and himſelfe were compremyz'd That all the canelings which were ſtreakt and pied Should fall as Iacobs hier, the Ewes being rancke, In end of Autumne turned to the Rammes, And when the worke of generation was Betweene theſe woolly breeders in the act, The skilfull ſhepheard pil'd me certaine wands, And in the dooing of the deede of kinde, He ſtucke them vp before the fulſome Ewes, Who then conceauing, did in eaning time Fall party-colour'd lambs, and thoſe were Iacobs. This was a way to thriue, and he was bleſt: And thrift is bleſſing if men ſteale it not. Ant. This was a venture ſir that Iacob ſeru'd for, A thing not in his power to bring to paſſe, But ſway'd and faſhion'd by the hand of heauen. Was this inſerted to make interreſt good? Or is your gold and ſiluer Ewes and Rams? Shy. I cannot tell, I make it breede as faſt, But note me ſignior. Ant. Marke you this Baſſanio, The diuell can cite Scripture for his purpoſe, An euill ſoule producing holy witneſſe, Is like a villaine with a ſmiling cheeke, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O what a goodly outſide falſehood hath. Shy. Three thouſand ducats, 'tis a good round ſum. Three months from twelue, then let me ſee the rate. Ant.

Well Shylocke, ſhall we be beholding to you?

 Shy. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft In the Ryalto you haue rated me About my monies and my vſances: Still haue I borne it with a patient ſhrug, (For ſuffrance is the badge of all our Tribe.) You call me misbeleeuer, cut-throate dog, And ſpet vpon my Iewiſh gaberdine, And all for vſe of that which is mine owne. Well then, it now appeares you neede my helpe: Goe to then, you come to me, and you ſay, Shylocke, we would haue moneyes, you ſay ſo: You that did voide your rume vpon my beard, And foote me as you ſpurne a ſtranger curre Ouer your threſhold, moneyes is your ſuite. What ſhould I ſay to you? Should I not ſay, Hath a dog money? Is it poſſible A curre ſhould lend three thouſand ducats? or Shall I bend low, and in a bond-mans key With bated breath, and whiſpring humbleneſſe, Say this: Faire ſir, you ſpet on me on Wedneſday laſt; You ſpurn'd me ſuch a day; another time You cald me dog: and for theſe curteſies Ile lend you thus much moneyes. Ant. I am as like to call thee ſo againe, To ſpet on thee againe, to ſpurne thee too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends, for when did friendſhip take A breede of barraine mettall of his friend? But lend it rather to thine enemie, Who if he breake, thou maiſt with better face Exact the penalties. Shy. Why looke you how you ſtorme, I would be friends with you, and haue your loue, Forget the ſhames that you haue ſtaind me with, Supplie your preſent wants, and take no doite Of vſance for my moneyes, and youle not heare me, This is kinde I offer. Baſſ.

This were kindneſſe.

 Shy. This kindneſſe will I ſhowe, Goe with me to a Notarie, ſeale me there Your ſingle bond, and in a merrie ſport▪ If you repaie me not on ſuch a day, In ſuch a place, ſuch ſum or ſums as are Expreſt in the condition, let the forfeite Be nominated for an equall pound Of your faire fleſh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your bodie it pleaſeth me. Ant. Content infaith, Ile ſeale to ſuch a bond, And ſay there is much kindneſſe in the Iew. Baſſ. You ſhall not ſeale to ſuch a bond for me, Ile rather dwell in my neceſſitie. Ant. Why feare not man, I will not forfaite it▪ Within theſe two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I doe expect returne Of thrice three times the valew of this bond. Shy. O father Abram, what theſe Chriſtians are, Whoſe owne hard dealings teaches them ſuſpect The thoughts of others: Praie you tell me this, If he ſhould breake his daie, what ſhould I gaine By the exaction of the forfeiture? A pound of mans fleſh taken from a man, Is not ſo eſtimable, profitable neither As fleſh of Muttons, Beefes, or Goates, I ſay To buy his fauour. I extend this friendſhip, If he will take it, ſo: if not adiew, And for my loue I praie you wrong me not. Ant.

Yes Shylocke, I will ſeale vnto this bond.

 Shy. Then meete me forthwith at the Notaries, Giue him direction for this merrie bond, And I will goe and purſe the ducats ſtraite. See to my houſe left in the fearefull gard Of an vnthriftie knaue: and preſentlie Ile be with you. Exit. Ant.

Hie thee gentle Iew. This Hebrew will turne Chriſtian, he growes kinde.

 Baſſ.

I like not faire teames, and a villaines minde.

 Ant. Come on, in this there can be no diſmaie, My Shippes come home a month before the daie. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Enter Morochus a tawnie Moore all in white, and three or foure followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerriſſa, and their traine. Flo. Cornets. Mor. Miſlike me not for my complexion, The ſhadowed liuerie of the burniſht ſunne, To whom I am a neighbour, and neere bred. Bring me the faireſt creature North-ward borne, Where Phoebus fire ſcarce thawes the yſicles, And let vs make ineiſion for your loue, To proue whoſe blood is reddeſt, his or mine. I tell thee Ladie this aſpect of mine Hath feard the valiant, (by my loue I ſweare) The beſt regarded Virgins of our Clyme Haue lou'd it to: I would not change this hue, Except to ſteale your thoughts my gentle Queene. Por. In tearmes of choiſe I am not ſolie led By nice direction of a maidens eies: Beſides, the lottrie of my deſtenie Bare me the right of voluntarie chooſing: But if my Father had not ſcanted me, And hedg'd me by his wit to yeelde my ſelfe His wife, who wins me by that meanes I told you, Your ſelfe (renowned Prince) than ſtood as faire As any commer I haue look'd on yet For my affection. Mor. Euen for that I thanke you, Therefore I pray you lead me to the Caskets To trie my fortune: By this Sy • tas • That ſlew the Sophie, and a Perſian Prince That won three fields of Sultan-Solyman, I would ore-ſtare the ſterneſt eies that looke: Out-braue the heart moſt daring on the earth: Plucke the yong ſucking Cubs from the ſhe Beare, Yea, mocke the Lion when he rores for pray To win the Ladie: But alas, the while If Hercules and Lychas plaie at dice Which is the better man, the greater throw May turne by fortune from the weaker hand: So is Alcides beaten by his rage, And ſo may I, blinde fortune leading me Miſſe that which one vnworthier may attaine, And die with grieuing. Port. You muſt take your chance, And either not attempt to chooſe at all, Or ſweare before you chooſe, if you chooſe wrong Neuer to ſpeake to Ladie afterward In way of marriage, therefore be aduis'd. Mor.

Nor will not, come bring me vnto my chance.

 Por. Firſt forward to the temple, after dinner Your hazard ſhall be made. Mor. Good fortune then, Cornets. To make me bleſt or curſed'ſt among men. Exeunt. Enter the Clowne alone. Clo.

Certainely, my conſcience will ſerue me to run from this Iew my Maiſter: the fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, ſaying to me, Iobbe, Launcelet Iobbe, good Launcelet, ongood Iobbe, or good Launcelet Iobbe, vſe your legs, take the ſtart, run awaie: my conſcience ſaies no; take heede honeſt Launcelet, take heed honeſt Iobbe, or as afore-ſaid honeſt Launcelet Iobbe, doe not runne, ſcorne running with thy heeles; well, the moſt coragious fiend bids me packe, fia ſaies the fiend, away ſaies the fiend, for the heauens rouſe vp a braue minde ſaies the fiend, and run; well, my conſcience hanging about the necke of my heart, ſaies verie wiſely to me: my honeſt friend Launcelet, being an honeſt mans ſoone, or rather an honeſt womans ſonne, for indeede my Father did ſomething ſmack, ſomething grow too; he had a kinde of taſte; wel, my conſcience ſaies Lancelet bouge not, bouge ſaies the ſiend, bouge not ſaies my conſcience, conſcience ſay I you counſaile well, fiend ſay I you counſaile well, to be rul'd by my conſcience I ſhould ſtay with the Iew my Maiſter, (who God bleſſe the marke) is a kinde of diuell; and to run away from the Iew I ſhould be ruled by the fiend, who ſauing your reuerence is the diuell himſelfe: certainely the Iew is the verie diuell incarnation, and in my conſcience, my conſcience is a kinde of hard conſcience, to offer to counſaile me to ſtay with the Iew; the fiend giues the more friendly counſaile: I will runne fiend, my heeles are at your commandement, I will runne.

 Enter old Gobbo with a Baſket. Gob.

Maiſter yong-man, you I praie you, which is the waie to Maiſter Iewes?

 Lan.

O heauens, this is my true begotten Father, who being more then ſand-blinde, high grauel blinde, knows me not, I will trie confuſions with him.

 Gob.

Maiſter yong Gentleman, I praie you which is the waie to Maiſter Iewes.

Lan.

Turne vpon your right hand at the next turning but at the next turning of all on your left; marrie at the verie next turning, turne of no hand, but turn down indirectlie to the Iewes houſe.

 Gob.

Be Gods ſonties 'twill be a hard waie to hit, can you tell me whether one Launcelet that dwels with him, dwell with him or no.

 Laun.

Talke you of yong Maſter Launcelet, marke me now, now will I raiſe the waters; talke you of yong Maiſter Launcelet?

 Gob.

No Maiſter ſir, but a poore mans ſonne, his Father though I ſay't is an honeſt exceeding poore man, and God be thanked well to liue.

 Lan.

Well, let his Father be what a will, wee talke of yong Maiſter Launcelet.

Gob.

Your worſhips friend and Launcelet.

Laun.

But I praie you ergo old man, ergo I beſeech you, talke you of yong Maiſter Launcelet.

Gob.

Of Launcelet, ant pleaſe your maiſterſhip.

 Lan.

Ergo Maiſter Lancelet, talke not of maiſter Lancelet Father, for the yong gentleman according to fates and deſtinies, and ſuch odde ſayings, the ſiſters three, & ſuch branches of learning, is indeede deceaſed, or as you would ſay in plaine tearmes, gone to heauen.

 Gob.

Marrie God forbid, the boy was the verie ſtaffe of my age, my verie prop.

 Lan.

Do I look like a cudgell or a houell-poſt, a ſtaffe or a prop: doe you know me Father.

 Gob.

Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman, but I praie you tell me, is my boy God reſt his ſoule aliue or dead.

 Lan.

Doe you not know me Father.

 Gob.

Alacke ſir I am ſand blinde, I know you not.

 Lan.

Nay, indeede if you had your eies you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wiſe Father that knowes his owne childe. Well, old man, I will tell you newes of your ſon, giue me your bleſſing, truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a mans ſonne may, but in the end truth will out.

 Gob.

Praie you ſir ſtand vp, I am ſure you are not Lancelet my boy.

 Lan.

Praie you let's haue no more fooling about it, but giue mee your bleſſing: I am Lancelet your boy that was, your ſonne that is, your childe that ſhall be.

 Gob.

I cannot thinke you are my ſonne.

 Lan.

I know not what I ſhall thinke of that: but I am Lancelet the Iewes man, and I am ſure Margerie your wife is my mother.

 Gob.

Her name is Margerie indeede, Ile be ſworne if thou be Lancelet, thou art mine owne fleſh and blood: Lord worſhipt might he be, what a beard haſt thou got; thou haſt got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my philhorſe has on his taile.

 Lan.

It ſhould ſeeme then that Dobbins taile growes backeward. I am ſure he had more haire of his taile then I haue of my face when I loſt ſaw him.

 Gob.

Lord how art thou chang'd: how dooſt thou and thy Maſter agree, I haue brought him a preſent; how gree you now?

 Lan.

Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue ſet vp my reſt to run awaie, ſo I will not reſt till I haue run ſome ground; my Maiſter's a verie Iew, giue him a preſent, giue him a halter, I am famiſht in his ſeruice. You may tell euerie finger I haue with my ribs: Father I am glad you are come, giue me your preſent to one Maiſter Baſſanio, who indeede giues rare new Liuories, if I ſerue not him, I will run as far as God has anie ground. O rare, fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a Iew if I ſerue the Iew anie longer.

 Enter Baſſanio with a follower or two. Baſſ.

You may doe ſo, but let it be ſo haſted that ſupper be readie at the fartheſt by fiue of the clocke: ſee theſe Letters deliuered, put the Liueries to making, and deſire Gratiano to come anone to my lodging.

 Lan.

To him Father.

 Gob.

God bleſſe your worſhip.

 Baſſ.

Gramercie, would'ſt thou ought with me.

 Gob.

Here's my ſonne ſir, a poore boy.

 Lan.

Not a poore boy ſir, but the rich Iewes man that would ſir as my Father ſhall ſpecifie.

 Gob.

He hath a great infection ſir, as one would ſay to ſerue.

 Lan.

Indeede the ſhort and the long is, I ſerue the Iew, and haue a deſire as my Father ſhall ſpecifie.

 Gob.

His Maiſter and he (ſauing your worſhips reuerence) are ſcarce caterconns.

 Lan.

To be briefe, the verie truth is, that the Iew hauing done me wrong, doth cauſe me as my Father being I hope an old man ſhall frutifie vnto you.

 Gob.

I haue here a diſh of Doues that I would beſtow vpon your worſhip, and my ſuite is.

 Lan.

In verie briefe, the ſuite is impertinent to my ſelfe, as your worſhip ſhall know by this honeſt old man, and though I ſay it, though old man, yet poore man my Father.

 Baſſ.

One ſpeake for both, what would you?

 Lan.

Serue you ſir.

 Gob.

That is the verie defect of the matter ſir.

 Baſſ. I know thee well, thou haſt obtain'd thy ſuite, Shylocke thy Maiſter ſpoke with me this daie, And hath prefer'd thee, if it be preferment To leaue a rich Iewes ſeruice, to become The follower of ſo poore a Gentleman, Clo.

The old prouerbe is verie well parted betweene my Maiſter Shylocke and you ſir, you haue the grace of God ſir, and he hath enough.

 Baſſ. Thou ſpeak'ſt it well; go Father with thy Son, Take leaue of thy old Maiſter, and enquire My lodging out, giue him a Liuerie More garded then his fellowes: ſee it done. Clo.

Father in, I cannot get a ſeruice, no, I haue nere a tongue in my head, well: if anie man in Italie haue a fairer table which doth offer to ſweare vpon a booke, I ſhall haue good fortune; goe too, here's a ſimple line of life, here's a ſmall trifle of wiues, alas, fifteene wiues is nothing, a leuen widdowes and nine maides is a ſimple comming in for one man, and then to ſcape drowning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge of a featherbed, here are ſimple ſcapes: well, if Fortune be a woman, ſhe's a good wench for this gere: Father come, Ile take my leaue of the Iew in the twinkling.

 Exit Clowne. Baſſ. I praie thee good Leonardo thinke on this, Theſe things being bought and orderly beſtowed Returne in haſte, for I doe feaſt to night My beſt eſteemd acquaintance, hie thee goe. Leon.

My beſt endeuors ſhall be done herein.

Exit. Le. Enter Gratiano. Gra.

Where's your Maiſter.

 Leon.

Yonder ſir he walkes.

 Gra.

Signior Baſſanio.

Baſ.

Gratiano.

Gra.

I haue a ſute to you.

 Baſſ.

You haue obtain'd it.

 Gra.

You muſt not denie me, I muſt goe with you to Belmont.

 Baſſ. Why then you muſt: but heare thee Gratiano, Thou art to wilde, to rude, and bold of voyce, Parts that become thee happily enough, And in ſuch eyes as ours appeare not faults; But where they are not knowne, why there they ſhow Something too liberall, pray thee take paine To allay with ſome cold drops of modeſtie Thy skipping ſpirit, leaſt through thy wilde behauiour I be miſconſterd in the place I goe to, And looſe my hopes. Gra. Signor Baſſanio, heare me, If I doe not put on a ſober habite, Talke with reſpect, and ſweare but now and than, Weare prayer bookes in my pocket, looke demurely, Nay more, while grace is ſaying hood mine eyes Thus with my hat, and ſigh and ſay Amen: Vſe all the obſeruance of ciuillitie Like one well ſtudied in a ſad oſtent To pleaſe his Grandam, neuer truſt me more. Baſ.

Well, we ſhall ſee your bearing.

 Gra. Nay but I barre to night, you ſhall not gage me By what we doe to night. Baſ. No that were pittie, I would intreate you rather to put on Your boldeſt ſuite of mirth, for we haue friends That purpoſe merriment: but far you well, I haue ſome buſineſſe. Gra. And I muſt to Lorenſo and the reſt, But we will viſite you at ſupper time. Exeunt. Enter Ieſſica and the Clowne. Ieſ. I am ſorry thou wilt leaue my Father ſo, Our houſe is hell, and thou a merrie diuell Did'ſt rob it of ſome taſte of tediouſneſſe; But far thee well, there is a ducat for thee, And Lancelet, ſoone at ſupper ſhalt thou ſee Lorenzo, who is thy new Maiſters gueſt, Giue him this Letter, doe it ſecretly, And ſo farwell: I would not haue my Father See me talke with thee. Clo.

Adue, teares exhibit my tongue, moſt beautifull Pagan, moſt ſweete Iew, if a Chriſtian doe not play the knaue and get thee, I am much deceiued; but adue, theſe fooliſh drops doe ſomewhat drowne my manly ſpirit: adue.

Exit. Ieſ. Farewell good Lancelet. Alacke, what hainous ſinne is it in me To be aſhamed to be my Fathers childe, But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo, If thou keepe promiſe I ſhall end this ſtrife, Become a Chriſtian, and thy louing wife. Exit. Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Slarino, and Salanio. Lor. Nay, we will ſlinke away in ſupper time, Diſguiſe vs at my lodging, and returne all in an houre. Gra.

We haue not made good preparation.

 Sal.

We haue not ſpoke vs yet of Torch-bearers.

 Sol. 'Tis vile vnleſſe it may be quaintly ordered, And better in my minde not vndertooke. Lor. 'Tis now but foure of clock, we haue two houres To furniſh vs; friend Lancelet what's the newes. Enter Lancelet with a Letter. Lan.

And it ſhall pleaſe you to breake vp this, ſhall it ſeeme to ſignifie.

 Lor. I know the hand, in faith 'tis a faire hand And whiter then the paper it writ on, I the faire hand that writ. Gra.

Loue newes in faith:

 Lan.

By your leaue ſir.

 Lor.

Whither goeſt thou?

 Lan.

Marry ſir to bid my old Maſter the Iew to ſup to night with my new Maſter the Chriſtian.

 Lor. Hold here, take this, tell gentle Ieſſica I will not faile her, ſpeake it priuately: Go Gentlemen, will you prepare you for this Maske to night, I am prouided of a Torch-bearer. Exit. Clowne. Sal.

I marry, ile be gone about it ſtrait.

 Sol.

And ſo will I.

 Lor. Meete me and Gratiano at Gratianos lodging Some houre hence. Sal.

'Tis good we do ſo.

Exit. Gra.

Was not that Letter from faire Ieſſica?

 Lor. I muſt needes tell thee all, ſhe hath directed How I ſhall take her from her Fathers houſe, What gold and iewels ſhe is furniſht with, What Pages ſuite ſhe hath in readineſſe: If ere the Iew her Father come to heauen, It will be for his gentle daughters ſake; And neuer dare misfortune croſſe her foote, Vnleſſe ſhe doe it vnder this excuſe, That ſhe is iſſue to a faithleſſe Iew: Come goe with me, pervſe this as thou goeſt, Faire Ieſſica ſhall be my Torch-bearer. Exit. Enter Iew, and his man that was the Clowne. Iew. Well, thou ſhall ſee, thy eyes ſhall be thy iudge, The difference of old Shylocke and Baſſanio; What Ieſſica, thou ſhalt not gurmandize As thou haſt done with me: what Ieſſica? And ſleepe, and ſnore, and rend apparrell out. Why Ieſſica I ſay. Clo.

Why Ieſſica.

Shy.

Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

 Clo. Your worſhip was wont to tell me I could doe nothing without bidding. Enter Ieſſica. Ieſ.

Call you? what is your will?

 Shy. I am bid forth to ſupper Ieſſica, There are my Keyes: but wherefore ſhould I go? I am not bid for loue, they flatttr me, But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vpon The prodigall Chriſtian. Ieſſica my girle, Looke to my houſe, I am right loath to goe, There is ſome ill a bruing towards my reſt, For I did dreame of money bags to night. Clo. I beſeech you ſir goe, my yong Maſter Doth expect your reproach. Shy.

So doe I his.

 Clo.

And they haue conſpired together, I will not ſay you ſhall ſee a Maske, but if you doe, then it was not for nothing that my noſe fell a bleeding on blacke monday laſt, at ſix a clocke ith morning, falling out that yeere on aſhwenſday was foure yeere in th' afternoone.

 Shy. What are their maskes? heare you me Ieſſica, Lock vp my doores, and when you heare the drum And the vile ſquealing of the wry-neckt Fife, Clamber not you vp to the caſements then, Nor thruſt your head into the publique ſtreete To gaze on Chriſtian fooles with varniſht faces: But ſtop my houſes eares, I meane my caſements, Let not the ſound of ſhallow fopperie enter My ſober houſe. By Iacobs ſtaffe I ſweare, I haue no minde of feaſting forth to night: But I will goe: goe you before me ſirra, Say I will come. Clo. I will goe before ſir. Miſtris looke out at window for all this; There will come a Chriſtian by, Will be worth a Iewes eye. Shy.

What ſaies that foole of Hagars off-ſpring? ha.

 Ieſ.

His words were farewell miſtris, nothing elſe.

 Shy. The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder: Snaile-ſlow in profit, but he ſleepes by day More then the wilde-cat: drones hiue not with me, Therefore I part with him, and part with him To one that I would haue him helpe to waſte His borrowed purſe. Well Ieſſica goe in, Perhaps I will returne immediately; Doe as I bid you, ſhut dores after you, faſt binde, faſt finde, A prouerbe neuer ſtale in thriftie minde. Exit. Ieſ. Farewell, and if my fortune be not croſt, I haue a Father, you a daughter loſt. Exit. Enter the Maskers, Gratiano and Salino. Gra. This is the penthouſe vnder which Lorenzo Deſired vs to make a ſtand. Sal.

His houre is almoſt paſt.

 Gra. And it is meruaile he out-dwels his houre, For louers euer run before the clocke. Sal. O ten times faſter Venus Pidgions flye To ſteale loues bonds new made, then they are wont To keepe obliged faith vnforfaited. Gra. That euer holds, who riſeth from a feaſt With that keene appetite that he ſits downe? Where is the horſe that doth vntread againe His tedious meaſures with the vnbated fire, That he did pace them firſt: all things that are, Are with more ſpirit chaſed then enioy'd. How like a yonger or a prodigall The skarfed barke puts from her natiue bay, Hudg'd and embraced by the ſtrumpet winde: How like a prodigall doth ſhe returne With ouer-wither'd ribs and ragged ſailes, Leane, rent, and begger'd by the ſtrumpet winde? Enter Lorenzo. Salino.

Heere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.

 Lor. Sweete friends, your patience for my long abode, Not I, but my affaires haue made you wait: When you ſhall pleaſe to play the theeues for wiues Ile watch as long for you then: approach Here dwels my father Iew. Hoa, who's within? Ieſſica aboue. Ieſſ. Who are you? tell me for more certainty, Albeit Ile ſweare that I do know your tongue. Lor.

Lorenzo, and thy Loue.

 Ieſ. Lorenzo certaine, and my loue indeed, For who loue I ſo much? and now who knowes But you Lorenzo, whether I am yours? Lor.

Heauen and thy thoughts are witneſs that thou art.

 Ieſ. Heere, catch this casket, it is worth the paines, I am glad 'tis night, you do not looke on me, For I am much aſham'd of my exchange: But loue is blinde, and louers cannot ſee The pretty follies that themſelues commit, For if they could, Cupid himſelfe would bluſh To ſee me thus transformed to a boy. Lor.

Deſcend, for you muſt be my torch-bearer.

 Ieſ. What, muſt I hold a Candle to my ſhames? They in themſelues goodſooth are too too light. Why, 'tis an office of diſcouery Loue, And I ſhould be obſcur'd. Lor. So you are ſweet, Euen in the louely garniſh of a boy: but come at once, For the cloſe night doth play the run-away, And we are ſtaid for at Baſſanio's feaſt. Ieſ. I will make faſt the doores and guild my ſelfe With ſome more ducats, and be with you ſtraight. Gra.

Now by my hood, a gentle, and no Iew.

 Lor. Beſhrew me but I loue her heartily. For ſhe is wiſe, if I can iudge of her, And faire ſhe is, if that mine eyes be true, And true ſhe is, as ſhe hath prou'd her ſelfe: And therefore like her ſelfe, wiſe, faire, and true, Shall ſhe be placed in my conſtant ſoule. Enter Ieſſica. What, art thou come? on gentlemen, away, Our masking mates by this time for vs ſtay. Exit. Enter Anthonio. Ant.

Who's there?

 Gra.

Signior Anthonio?

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the reſt? 'Tis nine a clocke, our friends all ſtay for you, No maske to night, the winde is come about, Baſſanio preſently will goe aboord, I haue ſent twenty out to ſeeke for you. Gra. I am glad on't, I deſire no more delight Then to be vnder ſaile, and gone to night. Exeunt. Enter Portia with Morrocho, and both their traines. Por. Goe, draw aſide the curtaines, and diſcouer The ſeuerall Caskets to this noble Prince: Now make your choyſe. Mor. The firſt of gold, who this inſcription beares, Who chooſeth me, ſhall gaine what men deſire. The ſecond ſiluer, which this promiſe carries, Who chooſeth me, ſhall get as much as he deſerues. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, Who chooſeth me, muſt giue and hazard all he hath. How ſhall I know if I doe chooſe the right? How ſhall I know if I doe chooſe the right. Por. The one of them containes my picture Prince, If you chooſe that, then I am yours withall. Mor. Some God direct my iudgement, let me ſee, I will ſuruay the inſcriptions, backe againe: What ſaies this leaden casket? Who chooſeth me, muſt giue and hazard all he hath. Muſt giue, for what? for lead, hazard for-lead? This casket threatens men that hazard all Doe it in hope of faire aduantages: A golden minde ſtoopes not to ſhowes of droſſe, Ile then nor giue nor hazard ought for lead. What ſaies the Siluer with her virgin hue? Who chooſeth me, ſhall get as much as he deſerues. As much as he deſerues; pauſe there Morocho, And weigh thy value with an euen hand, If thou beeſtrated by thy eſtimation Thou dooſt deſerue enough, and yet enough May not extend ſo farre as to the Ladie: And yet to be afeard of my deſeruing, Were but a weake diſabling of my ſelfe. As much as I deſerue, why that's the Lady. I doe in birth deſerue her, and in fortunes, In graces, and in qualities of breeding: But more then theſe, in loue I doe deſerue. What if I ſtrai'd no farther, but choſe here? Let's ſee once more this ſaying grau'd in gold. Who chooſeth me ſhall gaine what many men deſire: Why that's the Lady, all the world deſires her: From the foure corners of the earth they come To kiſſe this ſhrine, this mortall breathing Saint. The Hircanion deſerts, and the vaſte wildes Of wide Arabia are as through fares now For Princes to come view faire Portia. The waterie Kingdome, whoſe ambitious head Spets in the face of heauen, is no barre To ſtop the forraine ſpirits, but they come As ore a brooke to ſee faire Portia. One of theſe three containes her heauenly picture. Is't like that Lead containes her? 'twere damnation To thinke ſo baſe a thought, it were too groſe To rib her ſearecloath in the obſcure graue: Or ſhall I thinke in Siluer ſhe's immur'd Being ten times vndervalued to tride gold; O ſinfull thought, neuer ſo rich a Iem Was ſet in worſe then gold! They haue in England A coyne that beares the figure of an Angell Stampt in gold, but that's inſculpt vpon: But here an Angell in a golden bed Lies all within. Deliuer me the key: Here doe I chooſe, and thriue I as I may. Por. There take it Prince, and if my forme lye there Then I am yours. Mor. O hell! what haue we here, a carrion death, Within whoſe emptie eye there is a written ſcroule; Ile reade the writing. All that gliſters is not gold, Often haue you heard that cold; Many a man his life hath ſold But my outſide to behold; Guilded timber doe wormes infold: Had you beene as wiſe as bold, Yong in limbs, in iudgement old, Your anſwere had not beene inſcrold, Fare you well, your ſuite is cold, Mor. Cold indeede, and labour loſt, Then farewell heate, and welcome froſt: Portia adew, I haue too grieu'd a heart To take a tedious leaue: thus looſers part. Exit. Por. A gentle riddance: draw the curtaines, go: Let all of his complexion chooſe me ſo. Exeunt. Enter Salarino and Solanio. Flo. Cornets. Sal. Why man I ſaw Baſſanio vnder ſayle, With him is Gratiano gone along; And in their ſhip I am ſure Lorenzo is not. Sol. The villaine Iew with outcries raiſd the Duke. Who went with him to ſearch Baſſanios ſhip. Sal. He comes too late, the ſhip was vnderſaile; But there the Duke was giuen to vnderſtand That in a Gondilo were ſeene together Lorenzo and his amorous Ieſſica. Beſides, Anthonio certified the Duke They were not with Baſſanio in his ſhip. Sol. I neuer heard a paſſion ſo confuſd, So ſtrange, outragious, and ſo variable, As the dogge Iew did vtter in the ſtreets; My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter, Fled with a Chriſtian, O my Chriſtian ducats! Iuſtice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter; A ſealed bag, two ſealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, ſtolne from me by my daughter, And iewels, two ſtones, two rich and precious ſtones, Stolne by my daughter: iuſtice, finde the girle, She hath the ſtones vpon her, and the ducats. Sal. Why all the boyes in Venice follow him, Crying his ſtones, his daughter, and his ducats. Sol. Let good Anthonio looke he keepe his day Or he ſhall pay for this. Sal. Marry well remembred, I reaſon'd with a Frenchman yeſterday, Who told me, in the narrow ſeas that part The French and Engliſh, there miſcaried A veſſell of our countrey richly fraught: I thought vpon Anthonio when he told me, And wiſht in ſilence that it were not his. Sol. Yo were beſt to tell Anthonio what you heare. Yet doe not ſuddainely, for it may grieue him. Sal. A kinder Gentleman treads not the earth, I ſaw Baſſanio and Anthonio part, Baſſanio told him he would make ſome ſpeede Of his returne: he anſwered, doe not ſo, Slubber not buſineſſe for my ſake Baſſanio, But ſtay the very riping of the time, And for the Iewes bond which he hath of me, Let it not enter in your minde of loue: Be merry, and imploy your chiefeſt thoughts To courtſhip, and ſuch faire oſtents of loue As ſhall conueniently become you there; And euen there his eye being big with teares, Turning his face, he put his hand behinde him, And with affection wondrous ſencible He wrung Baſſanios hand, and ſo they parted. Sol. I thinke he onely loues the world for him, I pray thee let vs goe and finde him out And quicken his embraced heauineſſe With ſome delight or other. Sal.

Doe we ſo.

Exeunt. Enter Nerriſſa and a Seruiture. Ner. Quick, quick I pray thee, draw the curtain ſtrait, The Prince of Arragon hath tane his oath, And comes to his election preſently. Enter Arragon, his traine, and Portia. Flor. Cornets. Por. Behold, there ſtand the caskets noble Prince, If you chooſe that wherein I am contain'd, Straight ſhall our nuptiall rights be ſolemniz'd: But if thou faile, without more ſpeech my Lord, You muſt be gone from hence immediately. Ar. I am enioynd by oath to obſerue three things; Firſt, neuer to vnfold to any one Which casket 'twas I choſe; next, if I faile Of the right casket, neuer in my life To wooe a maide in way of marriage: Laſtly, if I doe faile in fortune of my choyſe, Immediately to leaue you, and be gone. Por. To theſe iniunctions euery one doth ſweare That comes to hazard for my worthleſſe ſelfe. Ar. And ſo haue I addreſt me, fortune now To my hearts hope: gold, ſiluer, and baſe lead. Who chooſeth me muſt giue and hazard all he hath. You ſhall looke fairer ere I giue or hazard. What ſaies the golden cheſt, ha, let me ſee: Who chooſeth me, ſhall gaine what many men deſire: What many men deſire, that many may be meant By the foole multitude that chooſe by ſhow, Not learning more then the fond eye doth teach, Which pries not to th' interior, but like the Martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Euen in the force and rode of caſualtie. I will not chooſe what many men deſire, Becauſe I will not iumpe with common ſpirits, And ranke me with the barbarous multitudes. Why then to thee thou Siluer treaſure houſe, Tell me once more, what title thou dooſt beare; Who chooſeth me ſhall get as much as he deſerues: And well ſaid too; for who ſhall goe about To coſen Fortune, and be honourable Without the ſtampe of merrit, let none preſume To wear • an vndeſerued dignitie: O that eſtates, degrees, and offices, Were not deriu • d corruptly, and that cleare honour Were purchaſt by the merrit of the wearer; How many then ſhould couer that ſtand bare? How many be commanded that command? How much low pleaſantry would then be gleaned From the true ſeede of honor? And how much honor Pickt from the chaffe and ruine of the times, To be new varniſht: Well, but to my choiſe. Who chooſeth me ſhall get as much as he deſerues. I will aſſume deſert; giue me a key for this, And inſtantly vnlocke my fortunes here. Por.

Too long a pauſe for that which you finde there.

 Ar. What's here, the portrait of a blinking idiot Preſenting me a ſcedule, I will reade it: How much vnlike art thou to Portia? How much vnlike my hopes and my deſeruings? Who chooſeth me, ſhall haue as much as he deſerues. Did I deſerue no more then a fooles head, Is that my prize, are my deſerts no better? Por. To offend and iudge are diſtinct offices, And of oppoſed natures. Ar.

What is here?

The fier ſeauen times tried this, Seauen times tried that iudement is, That did neuer chooſe amis, Some there be that ſhadowes kiſſe, Such haue but a ſhadowes bliſſe: There be fooles aliue Iwis Siluer'd o're, and ſo was this: Take what wife you will to bed, I will euer be your head: So be gone, you are ſped. Ar. Still more foole I ſhall appeare By the time I linger here, With one fooles head I came to woo, But I goe away with two. Sweet adue, Ile keepe my oath, Patiently to beare my wroath. Por. Thus hath the candle ſing'd the moath: O theſe deliberate fooles when they doe chooſe, They haue the wiſdome by their wit to looſe. Ner. The ancient ſaying is no hereſie, Hanging and wiuing goes by deſtinie. Por.

Come draw the curtaine Nerriſſa.

Enter Meſſenger. Meſ.

Where is my Lady?

 Por.

Here, what would my Lord?

 Meſ. Madam, there is a-lighted at your gate A yong Venetian, one that comes before To ſignifie th' approaching of his Lord, From whom he bringeth ſenſible regreets; To wit (beſides commends and curteous breath) Gifts of rich value; yet I haue not ſeene So likely an Embaſſador of loue. A day in Aprill neuer came ſo ſweete To ſhow how coſtly Sommer was at hand, As this fore-ſpurrer comes before his Lord. Por. No more I pray thee, I am halfe a-feard Thou wilt ſay anone he is ſome kin to thee, Thou ſpend'ſt ſuch high-day wit in praiſing him: Come, come Nerryſſa, for I long to ſee Quicke Cupids Poſt, that comes ſo mannerly. Ner.

Baſſanio Lord, loue if thy will it be.

Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Enter Solanio and Salarino. Sol.

Now, what newes on the Ryalto?

 Sal.

Why yet it liues there vncheckt, that Anthonio hath a ſhip of rich lading wrackt on the narrow Seas; the Goodwins I thinke they call the place, a very dangerous flat, and fatall, where the carcaſſes of many a tall ſhip, lye buried, as they ſay, if my goſſips report be an honeſt woman of her word.

 Sol.

I would ſhe were as lying a goſſip in that, as euer knapt Ginger, or made her neighbours beleeue ſhe wept for the death of a third husband: but it is true, without any ſlips of prolixity, or croſſing the plaine high-way of talke, that the good Anthonio, the honeſt Anthonio; ô that I had a title good enough to keepe his name company!

 Sal.

Come, the full ſtop.

 Sol.

Ha, what ſayeſt thou, why the end is, he hath loſt a ſhip.

 Sal.

I would it might proue the end of his loſſes.

 Sol.

Let me ſay Amen betimes, leaſt the diuell croſſe my praier, for here he comes in the iikenes of a Iew. How now Shylocke, what newes among the Merchants?

 Enter Shylocke. Shy.

You knew none ſo well, none ſo well as you, of my daughters flight.

 Sal.

That's certaine, I for my part knew the Tailor that made the wings ſhe flew withall.

 Sol.

And Shylocke for his own part knew the bird was fledg'd, and then it is the complexion of them al to leaue the dam.

 Shy.

She is damn'd for it.

 Sal.

That's certaine, if the diuell may be her Iudge.

 Shy.

My owne fleſh and blood to rebell.

 Sol.

Out vpon it old carrion, rebels it at theſe yeeres.

 Shy.

I ſay my daughter is my fleſh and bloud.

 Sal.

There is more difference betweene thy fleſh and hers, then betweene Iet and Iuorie, more betweene your bloods, then there is betweene red wine and renniſh: but tell vs, doe you heare whether Anthonio haue had anie loſſe at ſea or no?

 Shy.

There I haue another bad match, a bankrout, a prodigall, who dare ſcarce ſhew his head on the Ryalto, a begger that was vſd to come ſo ſmug vpon the Mart: let him look to his bond, he was wont to call me Vſurer, let him looke to his bond, he was wont to lend money for a Chriſtian curtſie, let him looke to his bond.

 Sal.

Why I am ſure if he forfaite, thou wilt not take his fleſh, what's that good for?

 Shy.

To baite fiſh withall, if it will feede nothing elſe, it will feede my reuenge; he hath diſgrac'd me, and hindred me halfe a million, laught at my loſſes, mockt at my gaines, ſcorned my Nation, thwarted my bargaines, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies, and what's the reaſon? I am a Iewe: Hath not a Iew eyes? hath not a Iew hands, organs, dementions, ſences, affections, paſſions, fed with the ſame foode, hurt with the ſame weapons, ſubiect to the ſame diſeaſes, healed by the ſame meanes, warmed and cooled by the ſame Winter and Sommmer as a Chriſtian is: if you pricke vs doe we not bleede? if you tickle vs, doe we not laugh? if you poiſon vs doe we not die? and if you wrong vs ſhall we not reuenge? if we are like you in the reſt, we will reſemble you in that. If a Iew wrong a Chriſtian, what is his humility, reuenge? If a Chriſtian wrong a Iew, what ſhould his ſufferance be by Chriſtian example, why reuenge? The villanie you teach me I will execute, and it ſhall goe hard but I will better the inſtruction.

Enter a man from Anthonio.

Gentlemen, my maiſter Anthonio is at his houſe, and deſires to ſpeake with you both.

 Sal.

We haue beene vp and downe to ſeeke him.

 Enter Tuball. Sol.

Here comes another of the Tribe, a third cannot be matcht, vnleſſe the diuell himſelfe turne Iew.

Exeunt Gentlemen. Shy.

How now Tuball, what newes from Genowa? haſt thou found my daughter?

 Tub.

I often came where I did heare ofſter, but cannot finde her.

 Shy.

Why there, there, there, there, a diamond gone coſt me two thouſand ducats in Franckford, the curſe neuer fell vpon our Nation till now, I neuer felt it till now, two thouſand ducats in that, and other precious, precious iewels: I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the iewels in her care: would ſhe were hearſt at my foote, and the duckets in her coffin: no newes of them, why ſo? and I know not how much is ſpent in the ſearch: why thou loſſe vpon loſſe, the theefe gone with ſo much, and ſo much to finde the theefe, and no ſatisfaction, no reuenge, nor no ill luck ſtirring but what lights a my ſhoulders, no ſighes but a my breathing, no teares but a my ſhedding.

 Tub.

Yes, other men haue ill lucke too, Anthonio as I heard in Genowa?

 Shy.

What, what, what, ill lucke, ill lucke.

 Tub.

Hath an Argoſie caſt away comming from Tripolis.

 Shy.

I thanke God, I thanke God, is it true, is it true?

 Tub.

I ſpoke with ſome of the Saylers that eſcaped the wracke.

 Shy.

I thanke thee good Tuball, good newes, good newes: ha, ha, here in Genowa.

 Tub.

Your daughter ſpent in Genowa, as I heard, one night foureſcore ducats.

 Shy.

Thou ſtick'ſt a dagger in me, I ſhall neuer ſee my gold againe, foureſcore ducats at aſitting, foureſcore ducats.

 Tub.

There came diuers of Anthonios creditors in my company to Venice, that ſweare hee cannot chooſe but breake.

 Shy,

I am very glad of it, ile plague him, ile torture him, I am glad of it,

 Tub.

One of them ſhewed me a ring that hee had of your daughter for a Monkie.

 Shy.

Out vpon her, thou tortureſt me Tuball, it was my Turkies, I had it of Leah when I was a Batcheler: I would not haue giuen it for a wilderneſſe of Monkies.

 Tub.

But Anthonio is certainely vndone.

 Shy.

Nay, that's true, that's very true, goe Tuball, fee me an Officer, beſpeake him a fortnight before, I will haue the heart of him if he forfeit, for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I will: goe Tuball, and meete me at our Sinagogue, goe good Tuball, at our Sinagogue Tuball.

Exeunt. Enter Baſſanio, Portia, Gratiano, and all their traine. Por. I pray you tarrie, pauſe a day or two Before you hazard, for in chooſing wrong I looſe your companie; therefore forbeare a while, There's ſomething tels me (but it is not loue) I would not looſe you, and you know your ſelfe, Hate counſailes not in ſuch a quallitie; But leaſt you ſhould not vnderſtand me well, And yet a maiden hath no tongue, but thought, I would detaine you here ſome month or two Before you venture for me. I could teach you How to chooſe right, but then I am forſworne, So will I neuer be, ſo may you miſſe me, But if you doe, youle make me wiſh a ſinne, That I had beene forſworne: Beſhrow your eyes, They haue ore-lookt me and deuided me, One halfe of me is yours, the other halfe yours, Mine owne I would ſay: but of mine then yours, And ſo all yours; O theſe naughtie times Puts bars betweene the owners and their rights. And ſo though yours, not yours (proue it ſo) Let Fortune goe to hell for it, not I. I ſpeake too long, but 'tis to peize the time, To ich it, and to draw it out in length, To ſtay you from election. Baſſ. Let me chooſe, For as I am, I liue vpon the racke. Por. Vpon the racke Baſſanio, then confeſſe What treaſon there is mingled with your loue. Baſſ. None but that vglie treaſon of miſtruſt. Which makes me feare the enioying of my loue: There may as well be amitie and life, 'Tweene ſnow and fire, as treaſon and my loue▪ Por. I, but I feare you ſpeake vpon the racke, Where men enforced doth ſpeake any thing. Baſſ.

Promiſe me life, and ile confeſſe the truth.

 Por.

Well then, confeſſe and liue.

 Baſſ. Confeſſe and loue Had beene the verie ſum of my confeſſion: O happie torment, when my torturer Doth teach me anſwers for deliuerance: But let me to my fortune and the caskets. Por. Away then, I am lockt in one of them, If you doe loue me, you will finde me out. Nerryſſa and the reſt, ſtand all alooſe, Let muſicke ſound while he doth make his choiſe, Then if he looſe he makes a Swan-like end, Fading in muſique. That the compariſon May ſtand more proper, my eye ſhall be the ſtreame And watrie death-bed for him: he may win, And what is muſique than? Than muſique is Euen as the flouriſh, when true ſubiects howe To a new crowned Monarch: Such it is, As are thoſe dulcet ſounds in breake of day, That creepe into the dreaming bride-groomes eare, And ſummon him to marriage. Now he goes With no leſſe preſence, but with much more loue Then yong Alcides, when he did redeeme The virgine tribute, paied by howling Troy To the Sea-monſter: I ſtand for ſacrifice, The reſt aloofe are the Dardanian wiues: With bleared viſages come forth to view The iſſue of th' exploit: Goe Hercules, Liue thou, I liue with much more diſmay I view the fight, then thou that mak'ſt the fray. Here Muſicke. A Song the whilſt Baſſanio comments on the Caskets to himſelfe. Tell me where is fancie bred, Or in the heart, or in the head: How begot, how nouriſhed. Replie, replie. It is engendred in the eyes, With gazing fed, and Fancie dies, In the cradle where it lies: Let vs all ring Fancies knell. Ile begin it. Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell. Baſſ. So may the outward ſhowes be leaſt themſelues The world is ſtill deceiu'd with ornament. In Law, what Plea ſo tanted and corrupt, But being ſeaſon'd with a gracious voice, Obſcures the ſhow of euill? In Religion, What damned error, but ſome ſober brow Will bleſſe it, and approue it with a text, Hiding the groſeneſſe with faire ornament: There is no voice ſo ſimple, but aſſumes Some marke of vertue on his outward parts; How manie cowards, whoſe hearts are all as falſe As ſtayers of ſand, weare yet vpon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward ſearcht, haue lyuers white as milke, And theſe aſſume but valors excrement, To render them redoubted. Looke on beautie, And you ſhall ſee 'tis purchaſt by the weight, Which therein workes a miracle in nature, Making them lighteſt that weare moſt of it: So are thoſe criſped ſnakie golden locks Which makes ſuch wanton gambols with the winde Vpon ſuppoſed faireneſſe, often knowne To be the dowrie of a ſecond head, The ſcull that bred them in the Sepulcher. Thus ornament is but the guiled ſhore To a moſt dangerous ſea: the beautious ſcarfe Vailing an Indian beautie; In a word, The ſeeming truth which cunning times put on To intrap the wiſeſt. Therefore then thou gaudie gold, Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee, Nor none of thee thou pale and common drudge 'Tweene man and man: but thou, thou meager lead Which rather threatneſt then doſt promiſe ought, Thy paleneſſe moues me more then eloquence, And here chooſe I, ioy be the conſequence. Por. How all the other paſſions fleet to ayre, As doubtfull thoughts, and raſh imbrac'd deſpaire: And ſhuddring feare, and greene-eyed iealouſie. O loue be moderate, allay thy extaſie, In meaſure raine thy ioy, ſcant this exceſſe, I feele too much thy bleſſing, make it leſſe, For feare I ſurfeit. Baſ. What finde I here? Faire Portias counterfeit. What demie God Hath come ſo neere creation? moue theſe eies? Or whether riding on the bals of mine Seeme they in motion? Here are ſeuer'd lips Parted with ſuger breath, ſo ſweet a barre Should ſunder ſuch ſweet friends: here in her haires The Painter plaies the Spider, and hath wouen A golden meſh t' intrap the hearts of men Faſter then gnats in cobwebs: but her eies, How could he ſee to doe them? hauing made one, Me thinkes it ſhould haue power to ſteale both his And leaue it ſelfe vnfurniſht: Yet looke how farre The ſubſtance of my praiſe doth wrong this ſhadow In vnderpriſing it, ſo farre this ſhadow Doth limpe behinde the ſubſtance. Here's the ſcroule, The continent, and ſummarie of my fortune. You that chooſe not by the view Chance as faire, and chooſe as true: Since this fortune fals to you, Be content, and ſeeke no new. If you be well pleaſd with this, And hold your fortune for your bliſſe, Turne you where your Lady is, And claime her with a louing kiſſe. Baſſ. A gentle ſcroule: Faire Lady, by your leaue, I come by note to giue, and to receiue, Like one of two contending in a prize That thinks he hath done well in peoples eies: Hearing applauſe and vniuerſall ſhout, Giddie in ſpirit, ſtill gazing in a doubt Whether thoſe peales of praiſe be his or no. So thrice faire Lady ſtand I euen ſo, As doubtfull whether what I ſee be true, Vntill confirm'd, ſign'd, ratified by you. Por. You ſee my Lord Baſſiano where I ſtand, Such as I am; though for my ſelfe alone I would not be ambitious in my wiſh, To wiſh my ſelfe much better, yet for you, I would be trebled twenty times my ſelfe, A thouſand times more faire, ten thouſand times More rich, that onely to ſtand high in your account, I might in vertues, beauties, liuings, friends, Exceed account: but the full ſumme of me Is ſum of nothing: which to terme in groſſe, Is an vnleſſoned girle, vnſchool'd, vnpractiz'd, Happy in this, ſhe is not yet ſo old But ſhe may learne: happier then this, Shee is not bred ſo dull but ſhe can learne; Happieſt of all, is that her gentle ſpirit Commits it ſelfe to yours to be directed, As from her Lord, her Gouernour, her King. My ſelfe, and what is mine, to you and yours Is now conuerted. But now I was the Lord Of this faire manſion, maſter of my ſeruants, Queene ore my ſelfe: and euen now, but now, This houſe, theſe ſeruants, and this ſame my ſelfe Are yours, my Lord, I giue them with this ring, Which when you part from, looſe, or giue away, Let it preſage the ruine of your loue, And be my vantage to exclaime on you. Baſſ. Maddam, you haue bereft me of all words, Onely my bloud ſpeakes to you in my vaines, And there is ſuch confuſion in my powers, As after ſome oration fairely ſpoke By a beloued Prince, there doth appeare Among the buzzing pleaſed multitude, Where euery ſomething being blent together, Turnes to a wilde of nothing, ſaue of ioy Expreſt, and not expreſt: but when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence, O then be bold to ſay Baſſanio's dead. Ner. My Lord and Lady, it is now our time That haue ſtood by and ſeene our wiſhes proſper, To cry good ioy, good ioy my Lord and Lady. Gra. My Lord Baſſanio, and my gentle Lady, I wiſh you all the ioy that you can wiſh: For I am ſure you can wiſh none from me: And when your Honours meane to ſolemnize The bargaine of your faith: I doe beſeech you Euen at that time I may be married too. Baſſ.

With all my heart, ſo thou canſt get a wife.

 Gra. I thanke your Lordſhip, you gaue got me one. My eyes my Lord can looke as ſwift as yours: You ſaw the miſtres, I beheld the maid: You lou'd, I lou'd for intermiſſion, No more pertaines to me my Lord then you; Your fortune ſtood vpon the caskets there, And ſo did mine too, as the matter falls: For wooing heere vntill I fwet againe, And ſwearing till my very rough was dry With oathes of loue, at laſt, if promiſe laſt, I got a promiſe of this faire one heere To haue her loue: prouided that your fortune Atchieu'd her miſtreſſe. Por.

Is this true Nerriſſa?

 Ner.

Madam it is ſo, ſo you ſtand pleas'd withall.

 Baſſ.

And doe you Gratiano meane good faith?

 Gra.

Yes faith my Lord.

 Baſſ.

Our feaſt ſhall be much honored in your marriage.

 Gra.

Weele play with them the firſt boy for a thouſand ducats.

 Ner.

What and ſtake downe?

 Gra. No, we ſhal nere win at that ſport, and ſtake downe. But who comes heere? Lorenzo and his Infidell? What and my old Venetian friend Salerio? Enter Lorenzo, Ieſſica, and Salerio. Baſ. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hether, If that the youth of my new intereſt heere Haue power to bid you welcome: by your leaue I bid my verie friends and Countrimen Sweet Portia welcome. Por.

So do I my Lord, they are intirely welcome.

 Lor. I thanke your honor; for my part my Lord, My purpoſe was not to haue ſeene you heere, But meeting with Salerio by the way, He did intreate mee paſt all ſaying nay To come with him along. Sal. I did my Lord, And I haue reaſon for it, Signior Anthonio Commends him to you. Baſſ. Ere I ope his Letter I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. Sal. Not ſicke my Lord, vnleſſe it be in minde, Nor wel, vnleſſe in minde: his Letter there Wil ſhew you his eſtate. Opens the Letter. Gra. Nerriſſa, cheere yond ſtranger, bid her welcom. Your hand Salerio, what's the newes from Venice? How doth that royal Merchant good Anthonio; I know he vvil be glad of our ſucceſſe, We are the Iaſons, we haue won the fleece. Sal.

I would you had vvon the fleece that hee hath loſt.

 Por. There are ſome ſhrewd contents in yond ſame Paper, That ſteales the colour from Baſſianos cheeke, Some deere friend dead, elſe nothing in the world Could turne ſo much the conſtitution Of any conſtant man. What, worſe and worſe? With leaue Baſſanio I am halfe your ſelfe, And I muſt freely haue the halfe of any thing That this ſame paper brings you. Baſſ. O ſweet Portia, Heere are a few of the vnpleaſant'ſt words That euer blotted paper. Gentle Ladie When I did firſt impart my loue to you, I freely told you all the wealth I had Ran in my vaines: I was a Gentleman, And then I told you true: and yet deere Ladie, Rating my ſelfe at nothing, you ſhall ſee How much I was a Braggart, when I told you My ſtate was nothing, I ſhould then haue told you That I vvas worſe then nothing: for indeede I haue ingag'd my ſelfe to a deere friend, Ingag'd my friend to his meere enemie To feede my meanes. Heere is a Letter Ladie, The paper as the bodie of my friend, And euerie word in it a gaping wound Iſſuing life blood. But is it true Salerio, Hath all his ventures faild, what not one hit, From Tripolis, from Mexico and England, From Lisbon, Barbary, and India, And not one veſſell ſcape the dreadfull touch Of Merchant-marring rocks? Sal. Not one my Lord. Beſides, it ſhould appeare, that if he had The preſent money to diſcharge the Iew, He would not take it: neuer did I know A creature that did beare the ſhape of man So keene and greedy to confound a man. He plyes the Duke at morning and at night, And doth impeach the freedome of the ſtate If they deny him iuſtice. Twenty Merchants, The Duke himſelfe, and the Magnificoes Of greateſt port haue all perſwaded with him, But none can driue him from the enuious plea Of forfeiture, of iuſtice, and his bond. Ieſſi. When I was with him, I haue heard him ſweare To Tuball and to Chus, his Countri-men, That he would rather haue Anthonio's fleſh, Then twenty times the value of the ſumme That he did owe him: and I know my Lord, If law, authoritie, and power denie not, It will goe hard with poore Anthonio. Por

Is it your deere friend that is thus in trouble?

 Baſſ The deereſt friend to me, the kindeſt man, The beſt condition'd, and vnwearied ſpirit In doing curteſies: and one in whom The ancient Romane honour more appeares Then any that drawes breath in Italie. Por.

What ſumme owes he the Iew?

 Baſſ.

For me three thouſand ducats.

 Por. What, no more? Pay him ſixe thouſand, and deface the bond: Double ſixe thouſand, and then treble that, Before a friend of this deſcription Shall loſe a haire through Baſſano's fault. Firſt goe with me to Church, and call me wife, And then away to Venice to your friend: For neuer ſhall you lie by Portias ſide With an vnquiet ſoule. You ſhall haue gold To pay the petty debt twenty times ouer. When it is payd, bring your true friend along, My maid Nerriſſa, and my ſelfe meane time Will liue as maids and widdowes; come away, For you ſhall hence vpon your wedding day: Bid your friends welcome, ſhow a merry cheere, Since you are deere bought, I will loue you deere. But let me heare the letter of your friend. Sweet Baſſanio, my ſhips haue all miſcarried, my Creditors grow cruell, my eſtate is very low, my bond to the Iew is forfeit, and ſince in paying it, it is impoſſible I ſhould liue, all debts are cleerd betweene you and I, if I might ſee you at my death: notwithſtanding, vſe your pleaſure, if your loue doe not perſwade you to come, let not my letter. Por.

O loue! diſpach all buſines and be gone.

 Baſſ. Since I haue your good leaue to goe away, I will make haſt; but till I come againe, No bed ſhall ere be guilty of my ſtay, Nor reſt be interpoſ • r twixt vs twaine. Exeunt. Enter the Iew, and Solanio, and Anthonio, and the Iaylor. Iew. Iaylor, looke to him, tell not me of mercy, This is the foole that lends out money gratis. Iaylor, looke to him. Ant.

Heare me yet good Shylok.

Iew. Ile haue my bond, ſpeake not againſt my bond, I haue ſworne an oath that I will haue my bond: Thou call'dſt me dog before thou hadſt a cauſe, But ſince I am a dog, beware my phangs, The Duke ſhall grant me iuſtice, I do wonder Thou naughty Iaylor, that thou art ſo fond To come abroad with him at his requeſt. Ant.

I pray thee heare me ſpeake.

 Iew. Ile haue my bond, I will not heare thee ſpeake, Ile haue my bond, and therefore ſpeake no more. Ile not be made a ſoft and dull ey'd foole, To ſhake the head, relent, and ſigh, and yeeld To Chriſtian interceſſors: follow not, Ile haue no ſpeaking, I will haue my bond. Exit Iew. Sol. It is the moſt impenetrable curre That euer kept with men. Ant. Let him alone, Ile follow him no more with bootleſſe prayers: He ſeekes my life, his reaſon well I know; I oft deliuer'd from his forfeitures Many that haue at times made mone to me, Therefore he hates me. Sol.

I am ſure the Duke will neuer grant this forfeiture to hold.

 An. The Duke cannot deny the courſe of law: For the commoditie that ſtrangers haue With vs in Venice, if it be denied, Will much impeach the iuſtice of the State, Since that the trade and profit of the citty Conſiſteth of all Nations. Therefore goe, Theſe greefes and loſſes haue ſo bated mee, That I ſhall hardly ſpare a pound of fleſh To morrow, to my bloudy Creditor. Well Iaylor, on, pray God Baſſanio come To ſee me pay his debt, and then I care not. Exeunt. Enter Portia, Nerriſſa, Lorenzo, Ieſſica, and a man of Portias. Lor. Madam, although I ſpeake it in your preſence, You haue a noble and a true conceit Of god-like amity, which appeares moſt ſtrongly In bearing thus the abſence of your Lord. But if you knew to whom you ſhew this honour, How true a Gentleman you ſend releefe, How deere a louer of my Lord your husband, I know you would be prouder of the worke Then cuſtomary bounty can enforce you. Por. I neuer did repent for doing good, Nor ſhall not now: for in companions That do conuerſe and waſte the time together, Whoſe ſoules doe beare an egal yoke of loue, There muſt be needs a like proportion Of lyniaments, of manners, and of ſpirit; Which makes me thinke that this Anthonio Being the boſome louer of my Lord, Muſt needs be like my Lord. If it be ſo, How little is the coſt I haue beſtowed In purchaſing the ſemblance of my ſoule; From out the ſtate of helliſh cruelty, This comes too neere the praiſing of my ſelfe, Therefore no more of it: heere other things Lorenſo I commit into your hands, The husbandry and mannage of my houſe, Vntill my Lords returne; for mine owne part I haue toward heauen breath'd a ſecret vow, To liue in prayer and contemplation, Onely attended by Nerriſſa heere, Vntill her husband and my Lords returne: There is a monaſtery too miles oft, And there we will abide. I doe deſire you Not to denie this impoſition, The which my loue and ſome neceſſity Now layes vpon you. Lorenſ. Madame, with all my heart, I ſhall obey you in all faire commands. Por. My people doe already know my minde, And will acknowledge you and Ieſſica In place of Lord Baſſanio and my ſelfe. So far you well till we ſhall meete againe. Lor.

Faire thoughts & happy houres attend on you.

 Ieſſi.

I wiſh your Ladiſhip all hearts content.

 Por. I thanke you for your wiſh, and am well pleas'd To wiſh it backe on you: faryouwell Ieſſica. Exeunt. Now Balthaſer, as I haue euer found thee honeſt true, So let me finde thee ſtill: take this ſame letter, And vſe thou all the indeauor of a man, In ſpeed to Mantua, ſee thou render this Into my coſins hand, Doctor Belari • , And looke what notes and garments he doth giue thee, Bring them I pray thee with imagin'd ſpeed Vnto the Tranect, to the common Ferrie Which trades to Venice; waſte no time in words, But get thee gone, I ſhall be there before thee. Balth.

Madam, I goe with all conuenient ſpeed.

 Por. Come on Neriſſa, I haue worke in hand That you yet know not of; wee'll ſee our husbands Before they thinke of vs? Nerriſſa.

Shall they ſee vs?

 Portia. They ſhall Nerriſſa: but in ſuch a habit, That they ſhall thinke we are accompliſhed With that we lacke; Ile hold thee any wager When we are both accoutered like yong men, Ile proue the prettier fellow of the two, And weare my dagger with the brauer grace, And ſpeake betweene the change of man and boy, With a reede voyce, and turne two minſing ſteps Into a manly ſtride; and ſpeake of frayes Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lyes How honourable Ladies ſought my loue, Which I denying, they fell ſicke and died. I could not doe withall: then Ile repent, And wiſh for all that, that I had not kil'd them; And twentie of theſe punie lies Ile tell, That men ſhall ſweare I haue diſcontinued ſchoole Aboue a twelue moneth: I haue within my minde A thouſand raw tricks of theſe bragging Iacks, Which I will practiſe. Nerriſ.

Why, ſhall wee turne to men?

 Portia. Fie, what a queſtions that? If thou wert nere a lewd interpreter: But come, Ile tell thee all my whole deuice When I am in my coach, which ſtayes for vs At the Parke gate; and therefore haſte away, For we muſt meaſure twentie miles to day. Exeunt. Enter Clowne and Ieſſica. Clown.

Yes truly; for looke you, the ſinnes of the Father are to be laid vpon the children, therefore I promiſe you, I feare you, I was alwaies plaine with you, and ſo now I ſpeake my agitation of the matter: therfore be of good cheere, for truly I thinke you are damn'd, there is but one hope in it that can doe you anie good, and that is but a kinde of baſtard hope neither.

 Ieſſica.

And what hope is that I pray thee?

 Clow.

Marrie you may partlie hope that your father got you not, that you are not the Iewes daughter.

 Ieſ.

That were a kinde of baſtard hope indeed, ſo the ſins of my mother ſhould be viſited vpon me.

 Clow.

Truly then I feare you are damned both by father and mother: thus when I ſhun Scilla your father, I fall into Charibdis your mother; well, you are gone both waies.

 Ieſ.

I ſhall be ſau'd by my husband, he hath made me a Chriſtian.

 Clow.

Truly the more to blame he, we were Chriſtians enow before, e • ne as many as could wel liue one by another: this making of Chriſtians will raiſe the price of Hogs, if wee grow all to be porke-eaters, wee ſhall not ſhortlie haue a raſher on the coales for money.

 Enter Lorenzo. Ieſ.

Ile tell my husband Lancelet what you ſay, heere he comes.

 Loren.

I ſhall grow iealous of you ſhortly Lancelet, if you thus get my wife into corners?

 Ieſ.

Nay, you need not feare vs Lorenzo, Launcelet and I are out, he tells me flatly there is no mercy for mee in heauen, becauſe I am a Iewes daughter: and hee ſaies you are no good member of the common wealth, for in conuerting Iewes to Chriſtians, you raiſe the price of Porke.

 Loren.

I ſhall anſwere that better to the Commonwealth, than you can the getting vp of the Negroes bellie: the Moore is with childe by you Launcelet?

 Clow.

It is much that the Moore ſhould be more then reaſon: but if ſhe be leſſe then an honeſt woman, ſhee is indeed more then I tooke her for.

 Loren.

How euerie foole can play vpon the word, I thinke the beſt grace of witte will ſhortly turne into ſilence, and diſcourſe grow commendable in none onely but Parrats: goe in ſirra, bid them prepare for dinner?

 Clow.

That is done ſir, they haue all ſtomacks?

 Loren.

Goodly Lord, what a witte-ſnapper are you, then bid them prepare dinner.

 Clow.

That is done to ſir, onely couer is the word.

 Loren.

Will you couer than ſir?

 Clow.

Not ſo ſir neither, I know my dutie.

 Loren.

Yet more quarrellng with occaſion, wilt thou ſhew the whole wealth of thy wit in an inſtant; I pray thee vnderſtand a plaine man in his plaine meaning: goe to thy fellowes, bid them couer the table, ſerue in the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

 Clow.

For the table ſir, it ſhall be ſeru'd in, for the meat ſir, it ſhall bee couered, for your comming in to dinner ſir, why let it be as humors and conceits ſhall gouerne.

Exit Clowne. Lor. O deare diſcretion, how his words are ſuted, The foole hath planted in his memory An Armie of good words, and I doe know A many fooles that ſtand in better place, Garniſht like him, that for a trickſie word Defie the matter: how cheer'ſt thou Ieſſica, And now good ſweet ſay thy opinion, How doſt thou like the Lord Baſſiano's wife? Ieſſi. Paſt all expreſſing, it is very meete The Lord Baſſanio liue an vpright life For hauing ſuch a bleſſing in his Lady, He findes the ioyes of heauen heere on earth, And if on earth he doe not meane it, it Is reaſon he ſhould neuer come to heauen? Why, if two gods ſhould play ſome heauenly match, And on the wager lay two earthly women, And Portia one: there muſt be ſomething elſe Paund with the other, for the poore rude world Hath not her fellow. Loren. Euen ſuch a husband Haſt thou of me, as ſhe is for a wife. Ieſ.

Nay, but aske my opinion to of that?

 Lor.

I will anone, firſt let vs goe to dinner?

 Ieſ.

Nay, let me praiſe you while I haue a ſtomacke?

 Lor. No pray thee, let it ſerue for table talke, Then how ſom ere thou ſpeakſt 'mong other things, I ſhall digeſt it? Ieſſi.

Well, Ile ſet you forth.

Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Anthonio, Baſſanio, and Gratiano. Duke.

What, is Anthonio heere?

 Ant.

Ready, ſo pleaſe your grace?

 Duke. I am ſorry for thee, thou art come to anſwere A ſtonie aduerſary, an inhumane wretch, Vncapable of pitty, voyd, and empty From any dram of mercie. Ant. I haue heard Your Grace hath tane great paines to qualifie His rigorous courſe: but ſince he ſtands obdurate, And that no lawful meanes can carrie me Out of his enuies reach, I do oppoſe My patience to his fury, and am arm'd To ſuffer with a quietneſſe of ſpirit, The very tiranny and rage of his. Du.

Go one and cal the Iew into the Court.

 Sal.

He is ready at the doore, he comes my Lord.

 Enter Shylocke. Du. Make roome, and let him ſtand before our face. Shylocke the world thinkes, and I thinke ſo to That thou but leadeſt this faſhion of thy mallice To the laſt houre of act, and then 'tis thought Thou'lt ſhew thy mercy and remorſe more ſtrange. Than is thy ſtrange apparant cruelty; And where thou now exact'ſt the penalty, Which is a pound of this poore Merchants fleſh, Thou wilt not onely looſe the forfeiture, But touch'd with humane gentleneſſe and loue: Forgiue a moytie of the principall, Glancing an eye of pitty on his loſſes That haue of late ſo hudled on his backe, Enow to preſſe a royall Merchant downe; And plucke commiſeration of his ſtate From braſſie boſomes, and rough hearts of flints, From ſtubborne Turkes and Tarters neuer traind To offices of tender curteſie, We all expect a gentle anſwer Iew? Iew. I haue poſſeſt your grace of what I purpoſe, And by our holy Sabbath haue I ſworne To haue the due and forfeit of my bond. If you denie it, let the danger light Vpon your Charter, and your Cities freedome. You'l aske me why I rather chooſe to haue A weight of carrion fleſh, then to receiue Three thouſand Ducats? Ile not anſwer that: But ſay it is my humor; Is it anſwered? What if my houſe be troubled with a Rat, And I be pleas'd to giue ten thouſand Ducates To haue it bain'd? What, are you anſwer'd yet? Some men there are loue not a gaping Pigge: Some that are mad, if they behold a Cat: And others, when the bag-pipe ſings i' th noſe, Cannot containe their Vrine for affection. Maſters of paſſion ſwayes it to the moode Of what it likes or loaths, now for your anſwer: As there is no firme reaſon to be rendred Why he cannot abide a gaping Pigge? Why he a harmleſſe neceſſarie Cat? Why he a woollen bag-pipe: but of force Muſt yeeld to ſuch ineuitable ſhame, As to offend himſelfe being offended: So can I giue no reaſon, nor I will not, More then a lodg'd hate, and a certaine loathing I beare Anthonio, that I follow thus A looſing ſuite againſt him? Are you anſwered? Baſſ. This is no anſwer thou vnfeeling man, To excuſe the currant of thy cruelty. Iew.

I am not bound to pleaſe thee with my anſwer.

 Baſſ.

Do all men kil the things they do not loue?

 Iew.

Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

 Baſſ.

Euerie offence is not a hate at firſt.

 Iew.

What wouldſt thou haue a Serpent ſting thee twice?

 Ant. I pray you thinke you queſtion with the Iew: You may as well go ſtand vpon the beach, And bid the maine flood baite his vſuall height, Or euen as well vſe queſtion with the Wolfe, The Ewe bleate for the Lambe: You may as well forbid the Mountaine Pines To wagge their high tops, and to make no noiſe When they are fretted with the guſts of heauen: You may as well do any thing moſt hard, As ſeeke to ſoften that, then which what harder? His Iewiſh heart. Therefore I do beſeech you Make no more offers, vſe no farther meanes, But with all briefe and plaine conueniencie Let me haue iudgement, and the Iew his will. Baſ.

For thy three thouſand Ducates heereis ſix.

 Iew. If euerie Ducat in ſixe thouſand Ducates Were in ſixe parts, and euery part a Ducate, I would not draw them, I would haue my bond? Du.

How ſhalt thou hope for mercie, rendring none?

 Iew. What iudgement ſhall I dread doing no wrong? You haue among you many a purchaſt ſlaue, Which like your Aſſes, and your Dogs and Mules, You vſe in abiect and in ſlauiſh parts, Becauſe you bought them. Shall I ſay to you, Let them be free, marrie them to your heires? Why ſweate they vnder burthens? Let their beds Be made as ſoft as yours: and let their pallats Be ſeaſon'd with ſuch Viands: you will anſwer The ſlaues are ours. So do I anſwer you. The pound of fleſh which I demand of him Is deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will haue it. If you deny me; fie vpon your Law, There is no force in the decrees of Venice; I ſtand for iudgement, anſwer, Shall I haue it? Du. Vpon my power I may diſmiſſe this Court, Vnleſſe Bellario a learned Doctor, Whom I haue ſent for to determine this, Come heere to day. Sal. My Lord, heere ſtayes without A Meſſenger with Letters from the Doctor, New come from Padua. Du.

Bring vs the Letters, Call the Meſſengers.

 Baſſ. Good cheere Anthonio. What man, corage yet: The Iew ſhall haue my fleſh, blood, bones, and all, Ere thou ſhalt looſe for me one drop of blood. Ant. I am a tainted Weather of the flocke, Meeteſt for death, the weakeſt kinde of fruite Drops earlieſt to the ground, and ſo let me; You cannot better be employ'd Baſſanio, Then to liue ſtill, and write mine Epitaph. Enter Nerriſſa. Du.

Came you from Padua from Bellario?

 Ner. From both. My Lord Bellario greets your Grace. Baſ.

Why doſt thou whet thy knife ſo earneſtly?

 Iew.

To cut the forfeiture from that bankrout there.

 Gra. Not on thy ſoale: but on thy ſoule harſh Iew Thou mak'ſt thy knife keene: but no mettall can, No, not the hangmans Axe beare halfe the keenneſſe Of thy ſharpe enuy. Can no prayers pierce thee? Iew.

No, none that thou haſt wit enough to make.

 Gra. O be thou damn'd, inexecrable dogge, And for thy life let iuſtice be accus'd: Thou almoſt mak'ſt me wauer in my faith; To hold opinion with Pythagoras, That ſoules of Animals infuſe themſelues Into the trunkes of men. Thy curriſh ſpirit Gouern'd a Wolfe, who hang'd for humane ſlaughter, Euen from the gallowes did his fell ſoule fleet; And whil'ſt thou layeſt in thy vnhallowed dam, Infus'd it ſelfe in thee: For thy deſires Are Woluiſh, bloody, ſteru'd, and rauenous. Iew. Till thou canſt raile the ſeale from off my bond Thou but offend'ſt thy Lungs to ſpeake ſo loud: Repaire thy wit good youth, or it will fall To endleſſe ruine. I ſtand heere for Law. Du. This Letter from Bellario doth commend A yong and Learned Doctor in our Court; Where is he? Ner. He attendeth heere hard by To know your anſwer, whether you'l admit him. Du. With all my heart. Some three or four of you Go giue him curteous conduct to this place, Meane time the Court ſhall heare Bellarioes Letter. YOur Grace ſhall vnderſtand, that at the receive of your Letter I am very ſicke: but in the inſtant that your meſſenger came, in louing viſitation, was with me a young Doctor of Rome, his name is Balthaſ • n: I acquained him with the cauſe in Controuerſie, betweene the Iew and Anthonio the Merchant: We turn'd ore many Bookes together: hee is furniſhed with my opinion, which 〈◊〉 • ed with his owne learning, the greatneſſe whereof I cannot enough command comes with him at my importunity, to fill vp your Graces requeſt in my ſted. I beſeech you, let his lacke of years be no impediment to let him lacke a reuerend eſtimation: for I neuer knewe ſo yong a body, with ſo old a head. I leaue him to your gracious acceptance, whoſe trial ſhall better publiſh his commendation. Enter Portia for Balthazar. Duke. You heare the learn'd Bellario what he writes, And heere (I take it) is the Doctor come. Giue me your hand: Came you from old Bellario? Por.

I did my Lord.

 Du. You are welcome: take your place; Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this preſent queſtion in the Court. Por. I am enformed throughly of the cauſe. Which is the Merchant heere? and which the Iew? Du.

Anthonio and old Shylocke, both ſtand forth.

 Por.

Is your name Shylocke?

 Iew.

Shylocke is my name.

 Por. Of a ſtrange nature is the ſute you follow, Yet in ſuch rule, that the Venetian Law Cannot impugne you as you do proceed. You ſtand within his danger, do you not? Ant.

I, ſo he ſayes.

 Por.

Do you confeſſe the bond?

 Ant.

I do.

 Por.

Then muſt the Iew be mercifull.

 Iew.

On what compulſion muſt I? Tell me that.

 Por. The quality of mercy is not ſtrain'd, It droppeth as the gentle raine from heauen Vpon the place beneath. It is twice bleſt, It bleſſeth him that giues, and him that takes, 'Tis mightieſt in the mightieſt, it becomes The throned Monarch better then his Crowne. His Scepter ſhewes the force of temporall power, The attribute to awe and Maieſtie, Wherein doth ſit the dread and feare of Kings: But mercy is aboue this ſceptred ſway, It is enthroned in the hearts of Kings, It is an attribute to God himſelfe; And earthly power doth then ſhew likeſt Gods When mercie ſeaſons Iuſtice. Therefore Iew, Though Iuſtice be thy plea, conſider this, That in the courſe of Iuſtice, none of vs Should ſee ſaluation: we do pray for mercie, And that ſame prayer, doth teach vs all to render The deeds of mercie. I haue ſpoke thus much To mittigate the iuſtice of thy plea: Which if thou follow, this ſtrict courſe of Venice Muſt needes giue ſentence 'gainſt the Merchant there. Shy. My deeds vpon my head, I craue the Law, The penaltie and forfeite of my bond. Por.

Is he not able to diſcharge the money?

 Baſ. Yes, heere I tender it for him in the Court, Yea, twice the ſumme, if that will not ſuffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times ore, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: If this will not ſuffice, it muſt appeare That malice beares downe truth. And I beſeech you Wreſt once the Law to your authority. To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curbe this cruell diuell of his will. Por. It muſt not be, there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree eſtabliſhed: 'Twill be recorded for a Preſident, And many an error by the ſame example, Will ruſh into the ſtate: It cannot be. Iew. A Daniel come to iudgement, yea a Daniel. O wiſe young Iudge, how do I honour thee. Por.

I pray you let me looke vpon the bond.

 Iew.

Heere 'tis moſt reuerend Doctor, heere it is.

 Por.

Shylocke, there's thrice thy monie offered thee.

 Shy. An oath, an oath, I haue an oath in heauen: Shall I lay periurie vpon my ſoule? No not for Venice. Por. Why this bond is forfeit, And lawfully by this the Iew may claime A pound of fleſh, to be by him cut off Neereſt the Merchants heart; be mercifull, Take thrice thy money, bid me teare the bond. Iew. When it is paid according to the tenure. It doth appeare you are a worthy Iudge: you know the Law, your expoſition Hath beene moſt ſound. I charge you by the Law, Whereof you are a well-deſeruing pillar, Proceede to iudgement: By my ſoule I ſweare, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me: I ſtay heere on my bond. An. Moſt heartily I do beſeech the Court To giue the iudgement. Por.

Why then thus it is: you muſt prepare your boſome for his knife.

 Iew.

O noble Iudge, O excellent yong man.

 Por. For the intent and purpoſe of the Law Hath full relation to the penaltie, Which heere appeareth due vpon the bond. Iew. 'Tis verie true: O wiſe and vpright Iudge, How much more elder art thou then thy lookes? Por.

Therefore lay bare your boſome.

 Iew. I, his breſt, So ſayes the bond, doth it not noble Iudge? Neereſt his heart, thoſe are the very words. Por.

It is ſo: Are there ballance heere to weigh the fleſh?

 Iew.

I haue them ready.

 Por. Haue by ſome Surgeon Shylock on your charge To ſtop his wounds, leaſt he ſhould bleede to death. Iew.

It is not nominated in the bond?

 Por. It is not ſo expreſt: but what of that? 'Twere good you do ſo much for charitie. Iew.

I cannot finde it, 'tis not in the bond.

 Por.

Come Merchant, haue you any thing to ſay?

 Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd. Giue me your hand Baſſanio, fare you well. Greeue not that I am falne to this for you: For heerein fortune ſhewes her ſelfe more kinde Then is her cuſtome. It is ſtill her vſe To let the wretched man out-liue his wealth, To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow An age of pouerty. From which lingring penance Of ſuch miſerie, doth ſhe cut me off: Commend me to your honourable Wife, Tell her the proceſſe of Anthonio's end: Say how I lou'd you; ſpeake me faire in death: And when the tale is told, bid her be iudge, Whether Baſſanio had not once a Loue: Repent not you that you ſhall looſe your friend, And he repents not that he payes your debt. For if the Iew do cut but deepe enough, Ile pay it inſtantly, with all my heart. Baſ. Anthonio, I am married to a wife, Which is as deere to me as life it ſelfe, But life it ſelfe, my wife, and all the world, Are not with me eſteem'd aboue thy life. I would looſe all, I ſacrifice them all Heere to this deuill, to deliuer you. Por. Your wife would giue you little thanks for that If ſhe were by to heare you make the offer. Gra. I haue a wife whom I proteſt I loue, I would ſhe were in heauen, ſo ſhe could Intreat ſome power to change this curriſh Iew. Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behinde her backe, The wiſh would make elſe an vnquiet houſe. Iew. Theſe be the Chriſtian husbands: I haue a daughter Would any of the ſtocke of Barrabas Had beene her husband, rather then a Chriſtian. We trifle time, I pray thee purſue ſentence. Por. A pound of that ſame marchants fleſh is thine, The Court awards it, and the law doth giue it. Iew.

Moſt rightfull Iudge.

 Por. And you muſt cut this fleſh from off his breaſt, The Law allowes it, and the Court awards it. Iew.

Moſt learned Iudge, a ſentence, come prepare.

 Por. Tarry a little, there is ſomething elſe, This bond doth giue thee heere no iot of bloud, The words expreſly are a pound of fleſh: Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of fleſh, But in the cutting it, if thou doſt ſhed One drop of Chriſtian bloud, thy lands and goods Are by the Lawes of Venice confiſcate Vnto the ſtate of Venice. Gra. O vpright Iudge, Marke Iew, ô learned Iudge. Shy.

Is that the law?

 Por. Thy ſelfe ſhalt ſee the Act: For as thou vrgeſt iuſtice, be aſſur'd Thou ſhalt haue iuſtice more then thou deſireſt. Gra.

O learned Iudge, mark Iew, a learned Iudge.

 Iew. I take this offer then, pay the bond thrice, And let the Chriſtian goe. Baſſ.

Heere is the money.

 Por. Soft, the Iew ſhall haue all iuſtice, ſoft, no haſte, He ſhall haue nothing but the penalty. Gra.

O Iew, an vpright Iudge, a learned Iudge.

 Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the fleſh, Shed thou no bloud, nor cut thou leſſe nor more But iuſt a pound of fleſh: if thou tak'ſt more Or leſſe then a iuſt pound, be it ſo much As makes it light or heauy in the ſubſtance, Or the deuiſion of the twentieth part Of one poore ſcruple, nay if the ſcale doe turne But in the eſtimation of a hayre, Thou dieſt, and all thy goods are confiſcate. Gra A ſecond Daniel, a Daniel Iew, Now infidell I haue thee on the hip. Por.

Why doth the Iew pauſe, take thy forfeiture.

 Shy.

Giue me my principall, and let me goe.

 Baſſ.

I haue it ready for thee, heere it is.

 Por. He hath refus'd, it in the open Court, He ſhall haue meerly iuſtice and his bond. Gra. A Daniel ſtill ſay I, a ſecond Daniel, I thanke thee Iew for teaching me that word. Shy.

Shall I not haue barely my principall?

 Por. Thou ſhalt haue nothihg but the forfeiture, To be taken ſo at thy perill Iew. Shy. Why then the Deuill giue him good of it: Ile ſtay no longer queſtion. Por. Tarry Iew, The Law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the Lawes of Venice, If it be proued againſt an Alien, That by direct, or indirect attempts He ſeeke the life of any Citizen, The party gainſt the which he doth contriue, Shall ſeaze one halfe his goods, the other halfe Comes to the priuie coffer of the State, And the offenders life lies in the mercy Of the Duke onely, gainſt all other voice. In which predicament I ſay thou ſtandſt: For it appeares by manifeſt proceeding, That indirectly, and directly to, Thou haſt contriu'd againſt the very life Of the defendant: and thou haſt incur'd The danger formerly by me rehearſt. Downe therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. Gra. Beg that thou maiſt haue leaue to hang thy ſelfe, And yet thy wealth being forfeit to the ſtate, Thou haſt not left the value of a cord, Therefore thou muſt be hang'd at the ſlates charge. Duk. That thou ſhalt ſee the difference of our ſpirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou aske it: For halfe thy wealth, it is Anthonio's, The other halfe comes to the generall ſtate, Which humbleneſſe may driue vnto a fine. Por.

I for the ſtate, not for Anthonio.

Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that, You take my houſe, when you do take the prop That doth ſuſtaine my houſe: you take my life When you doe take the meanes whereby I liue. Por.

What mercy can you render him Anthonio?

Gra.

A halter gratis, nothing elſe for Gods ſake.

 Ant. So pleaſe my Lord the Duke, and all the Court To quit the fine for one halfe of his goods, I am content: ſo he will let me haue The other halfe in vſe, to render it Vpon his death, vnto the Gentleman That lately ſtole his daughter. Two things prouided more, that for this fauour He preſently become a Chriſtian: The other, that he doe record a gift Heere in the Court of all he dies poſſeſt Vnto his ſonne Lorenzo, and his daughter. Duk. He ſhall doe this, or elſe I doe recant The pardon that I late pronounced heere. Por.

Art thou contented Iew? what doſt thou ſay?

 Shy.

I am content.

 Por.

Clarke, draw a deed of gift.

 Shy. I pray you giue me leaue to goe from hence, I am not well, ſend the deed after me, And I will ſigne it. Duke.

Get thee gone, but doe it.

 Gra. In chriſtning thou ſhalt haue two godfathers, Had I been iudge, thou ſhouldſt haue had ten more, To bring thee to the gallowes, not to the font. Exit. Du.

Sir I intreat you with me home to dinner.

 Por. I humbly doe deſire your Grace of pardon, I muſt away this night toward Padua, And it is meere I preſently ſet forth. Duk. I am ſorry that your leyſure ſerues you not: Anthonio, gratifie this gentlemen, For in my minde, you are much bound to him. Exit Duke and his traine. Baſſ. Moſt worthy gentlemen, I and my friend Haue by your wiſedome beene this day acquitted Of greeuous penalties, in lie • whereof, Three thouſand Ducats due vnto the Iew We freely cope your curteous paines withall. An. And ſtand indebted ouer and aboue In loue and ſeruice to you euermore. Por. He is well paid that is well ſatisfied, And I deliuering you, am ſatisfied, And therein doe account my ſelfe well paid, My minde was neuer yet more mercinarie. I pray you know me when we meete againe, I wiſh you well, and ſo I take my leaue. Baſſ. Deare ſir, of force I muſt attempt you further, Take ſome remembrance of vs as a tribute, Not as fee: grant me two things, I pray you Not to denie me, and to pardon me. Por. You preſſe mee farre, and therefore I will yeeld, Giue me your gloues, Ile weare them for your ſake, And for your loue Ile take this ring from you, Doe not draw backe your hand, ile take no more, And you in loue ſhall not deny me this? Baſſ. This ring good ſir, alas it is a trifle, I will not ſhame my ſelfe to giue you this. Por. I wil haue nothing elſe but onely this, And now methinkes I haue a minde to it. Baſ. There's more depends on this then on the valew, The deareſt ring in Venice will I giue you, And finde it out by proclamation, Onely for this I pray you pardon me. Por. I ſee ſir you are liberall in offers, You taught me firſt to beg, and now me thinkes You teach me how a beggar ſhould be anſwer'd. Baſ. Good ſir, this ring was giuen me by my wife, And when ſhe put it on, ſhe made me vow That I ſhould neither ſoll, nor giue, nor loſe it. Por. That ſcuſe ſerues many men to ſaue their gifts, And if your wife be not a mad woman, And know how well I haue deſeru'd this ring, Shee would not hold out enemy for euer For giuing it to me: well, peace be with you. Exeunt. Ant. My L. Baſſanio, let him haue the ring, Let his deſeruings and my loue withall Be valued againſt your wiues commandement. Baſſ. Goe Gratiano, run and ouer-take him, Giue him the ring, and bring him if thou canſt Vnto Anthonios houſe, away, make haſte. Exit Grati. Come, you and I will thither preſently, And in the morning early will we both Flie toward Belmont, come Anthonio. Exeunt. Enter Portia and Nerriſſa. Por. Enquire the Iewes houſe out, giue him this deed, And let him ſigne it, wee'll away to night, And be a day before our husbands home: This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Faire ſir, you are well ore-tane: My L. Baſſanio vpon more aduice, Hath ſent you heere this ring, and doth intreat Your company at dinner. Por. That cannot be; His ring I doe accept moſt thankfully, And ſo I pray you tell him: furthermore, I pray you ſhew my youth old Shylockes houſe. Gra.

That will I doe.

 Ner. Sir, I would ſpeake with you: Ile ſee if I can get my husbands ring Which I did make him ſweare to keepe for euer. Por. Thou maiſt I warrant, we ſhal haue old ſwearing That they did giue the rings away to men; But weele out-face them, and out-ſweare them to: Away, make haſte, thou know'ſt where I will tarry. Ner.

Come good ſir, will you ſhew me to this houſe.

 Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Lorenzo and Ieſſica. Lor. The moone ſhines bright. In ſuch a night as this, When the ſweet winde did gently kiſſe the trees, And they did make no nuyſe, in ſuch a night Troylus me thinkes mounted the Troian walls, And ſigh'd his ſoule toward the Grecian tents Where Creſſed lay that night. Ieſ. In ſuch a night Did Thisbie fearefully ore-trip the dewe, And ſaw the Lyons ſhadow ere himſelfe, And ranne diſmayed away. Loren. In ſuch a night Stood Dido with a Willow in her hand Vpon the wilde ſea bankes, and waft her Loue To come againe to Carthage. Ieſ. In ſuch a night Medea gathered the inchanted hearbs That did renew old Eſon. Loren. In ſuch a night Did Ieſſica ſteale from the wealthy Iewe, And with an Vnthrift Loue did runne from Venice, As farre as Belmont. Ieſ. In ſuch a night Did young Lorenzo ſweare he lou'd her well, Stealing her ſoule with many vowes of faith, And nere a true one. Loren. In ſuch a night Did pretty Ieſſica (like a little ſhrow) Slander her Loue, and he forgaue it her. Ieſſi I would out-night you did no body come: But harke, I heare the footing of a man. Enter Meſſenger. Lor.

Who comes ſo faſt in ſilence of the night?

 Meſ.

A friend.

 Loren.

A friend, what friend? your name I pray you friend?

 Meſ. Stephano is my name, and I bring word My Miſtreſſe will before the breake of day Be heere at Belmont, ſhe doth ſtray about By holy croſſes where ſhe kneeles and prayes For happy wedlocke houres. Loren.

Who comes with her?

 Meſ. None but a holy Hermit and her maid: I pray you it my Maſter yet rnturn'd? Loren. He is not, nor we haue not heard from him, But goe we in I pray thee Ieſſica, And ceremoniouſly let vs vs prepare Some welcome for the Miſtreſſe of the houſe, Enter Clowne. Clo.

Sola, ſola: wo ha ho, ſola, ſola.

 Loren.

Who calls?

 Clo.

Sola, did you ſee M. Lorenzo, & M. Lorenzo, ſola, ſola.

 Lor.

Leaue hollowing man, heere.

 Clo.

Sola, where, where?

 Lor.

Heere?

 Clo

Tel him ther's a Poſt come from my Maſter, with his horne full of good newes, my Maſter will be here ere morning ſweet ſoule.

 Loren. Let's in, and there expect their comming. And yet no matter: why ſhould we goe in? My friend Stephen, ſignifie pray you Within the houſe, your Miſtreſſe is at hand, And bring your muſique foorth into the ayre. How ſweet the moone-light ſleepes vpon this banke, Heere will we ſit, and let the ſounds of muſicke Creepe in our eares ſoft ſtilnes, and the night Become the tutches of ſweet harmonie: Sit Ieſſica, looke how the floore of heauen Is thicke inlayed with pattens of bright gold, There's not the ſmalleſt or be which thou beholdſt But in his motion like an Angell ſings, Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins; Such harmonie is in immortall ſoules, But whilſt this muddy veſture of decay Doth groſly cloſe in it, we cannot heare it: Come hoe, and wake Diana with a hymne, With ſweeteſt tutches pearce your Miſtreſſe eare, And draw her home with muſicke. Ieſſi.

I am neuer merry when I heare ſweet muſique.

 Play muſicke. Lor. The reaſon is, your ſpirits are attentiue: For doe but note a wilde and wanton heard Or race of youthful and vnhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their bloud, If they but heare perchance a trumpet ſound, Or any ayre of muſicke touch their eares, You ſhall perceiue them make a mutuall ſtand, Their ſauage eyes turn'd to a modeſt gaze, By the ſweet power of muſicke: therefore the Poet Did faine that Orpheus drew trees, ſtones, and floods. Since naught ſo ſtockiſh, hard, and full of rage, But muſicke for time doth change his nature, The man that hath no muſicke in himſelfe, Nor is not moued with concord of ſweet ſounds, Is fit for treaſons, ſtratagems, and ſpoyles, The motions of his ſpirit are dull as night, And his affections darke as Erobus, Let no ſuch man be truſted: marke the muſicke. Enter Portia and Nerriſſa. Por. That light we ſee is burning in my hall: How farre that little candell throwes his beames, So ſhines a good deed in a naughty world. Ner.

When the moone ſhone we did not ſee the candle?

 Por. So doth the greater glory dim the leſſe, A ſubſtitute ſhines brightly as a King Vntill a King be by, and then his ſtate Empties it ſelfe, as doth an inland brooke Into the maine of waters: muſique, harke. Muſicke. Ner.

It is your muſicke Madame of the houſe.

 Por. Nothing is good I ſee without reſpect, Methinkes it ſounds much ſweeter then by day? Ner.

Silence beſtowes that vertue on it Madam.

 Por. The Crow doth ſing as ſweetly as the Larke When neither is attended: and I thinke The Nightingale if ſhe ſhould ſing by day When euery Gooſe is cackling, would be thought No better a Muſitian then the Wren? How many things by ſeaſon, ſeaſon'd are To their right praiſe, and true perfection: Peace, how the Moone ſleepes with Endimion, And would not be awak'd. Muſicke ceaſes. Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiu'd of Portia. Por. He knowes me as the blinde man knowes the Cuckow by the bad voice? Lor.

Deere Lady welcome home?

 Por. We haue bene praying for our husbands welfare Which ſpeed we hope the better for our words, Are they return'd? Lor. Madam, they are not yet: But there is come a Meſſenger before To ſignifie their comming. Por. Go in Nerriſſa, Giue order to my ſeruants, that they take No note at all of our being abſent hence, Nor you Lorenzo, Ieſſica nor you. A Tucket ſounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand, I heare his Trumpet, We are no tell-tales Madam, feare you not. Por. This night methinkes is but the daylight ſicke, It lookes a little paler, 'tis a day, Such as the day is, when the Sun is hid. Enter Baſſanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their Followers. Baſ. We ſhould hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walke in abſence of the ſunne. Por. Let me giue light, but let me not be light, For a light wife doth make a heauie husband, And neuer be Baſſanio ſo for me, But God ſort all: you are welcome home my Lord. Baſſ. I thanke you Madam, giue welcom to my friend This is the man, this is Anthonio, To whom I am ſo infinitely bound. Por. You ſhould in all ſence be much bound to him, For as I heare he was much bound for you. Anth.

No more then I am wel acquitted of.

 Por. Sir, you are verie welcome to our houſe: It muſt appear in other waies then words, Therefore I ſcant this breathing curteſie. Gra. By yonder Moone I ſweare you do me wrong, In faith I gaue it to the Iudges Clearke, Would he were gelt that had it for my part, Since you do take it Loue ſo much at hart. Por.

A quarrel hoe alreadie, what's the matter?

 Gra. About a hoope of Gold, a paltry Ring That ſhe did giue me, whoſe Poeſie was For all the world like Cutlers Poetry Vpon a knife; Loue mee, and leaue mee not. Ner. What talke you of the Poeſie or the valew: You ſwore to me when I did giue it you, That you would weare it til the houre of death, And that it ſhould lye with you in your graue, Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, You ſhould haue beene reſpectiue and haue kept it. Gaue it a Iudges Clearke: but wel I know The Clearke wil nere weare haire on's face that had it. Gra.

He wil, and if he liue to be a man.

 Nerriſſa.

I, if a Woman liue to be a man.

 Gra. Now by this hand I gaue it to a youth, A kinde of boy, a little ſcrubbed boy, No higher then thy ſelfe, the Iudges Clearke, A prating boy that begg'd it as a Fee, I could not for my heart deny it him. Por. You were too blame, I muſt be plaine with you, To part ſo ſlightly with your wiues firſt gift, A thing ſtucke on with oathes vpon your finger, And ſo riueted with faith vnto your fleſh. I gaue my Loue a Ring, and made him ſweare Neuer to part with it, and heere he ſtands: I dare be ſworne for him, he would not leaue it, Nor plucke it from his finger, for the wealth That the world maſters. Now in faith Gratiano, You giue your wife too vnkinde a cauſe of greefe, And 'twere to me I ſhould be mad at it. Baſſ. Why I were beſt to cut my left hand off, And ſweare I loſt the Ring defending it. Gre. My Lord Baſſanio gaue his Ring away Vnto the Iudge that beg'd it, and indeede Deſeru'd it too: and then the Boy his Clearke That tooke ſome paines in writing, he begg'd mine, And neyther man nor maſter would take ought But the two Rings. Por. What Ring gaue you my Lord? Not that I hope which you receiu'd of me. Baſſ. If I could adde a lie vnto a fault, I would deny it: but you ſee my finger Hath not the Ring vpon it, it is gone. Por. Euen ſo voide is your falſe heart of truth. By heauen I wil nere come in your bed Vntil I ſee the Ring. Ner.

Nor I in yours, til I againe ſee mine.

 Baſſ. Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gaue the Ring, If you did know for whom I gaue the Ring, And would conceiue for what I gaue the Ring, And how vnwillingly I left the Ring, When nought would be accepted but the Ring, You would abate the ſtrength of your diſpleaſure? Por. If you had knowne the vertue of the Ring, Or halfe her worthineſſe that gaue the Ring, Or your owne honour to containe the Ring, You would not then haue parted with the Ring: What man is there ſo much vnreaſonable, If you had pleas'd to haue defended it With any termes of Zeale: wanted the modeſtie To vrge the thing held as a ceremonie: Nerriſſa teaches me what to beleeue, Ile die for't, but ſome Woman had the Ring? Baſſ. No by mine honor Madam, by my ſoule No Woman had it, but a ciuill Doctor, Which did refuſe three thouſand Ducates of me, And beg'd the Ring; the which I did denie him, And ſuffer'd him to go diſpleas'd away: Euen he that had held vp the verie life Of my deere friend. What ſhould I ſay ſweete Lady? I was inforc'd to ſend it after him, I was beſet with ſhame and curteſie, My honor would not let ingratitude So much beſmeare it. Pardon me good Lady, And by theſe bleſſed Candles of the night, Had you bene there, I thinke you would haue beg'd The Ring of me, to giue the worthie Doctor? Por. Let not that Doctor ere come neere my houſe, Since he hath got the iewell that I loued, And that which you did ſweare to keepe for me, I will become as liberall as you, Ile not deny him any thing I haue, No, not my body, nor my husbands bed: Know him I ſhall, I am well ſure of it. Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argos, If you doe not, if I be left alone, Now by mine honour which is yet mine owne, Ile haue the Doctor for my bedfellow. Nerriſſa. And I his Clarke: therefore be well aduis'd How you doe leaue me to mine owne protection. Gra. Well, doe you ſo: let not me take him then, For if I doe, ile mar the yong Clarks pen. Ant.

I am th' vnhappy ſubject of theſe quarrels.

 Por. Sir, grieue not you, You are welcome notwithſtanding. Baſ. Portia, forgiue me this enforced wrong, And in the hearing of theſe manie friends I ſweare to thee, euen by thine owne faire eyes Wherein I ſee my ſelfe. Por. Marke you but that? In both my eyes he doubly ſees himſelfe: In each eye one, ſweare by your double ſelfe, And there's an oath of credit. Baſ. Nay, but heare me. Pardon this fault, and by my ſoule I ſweare I neuer more will breake an oath with thee. Anth. I once did lend my bodie for thy wealth, Which but for him that had your husbands ring Had quite miſcarried. I dare be bound againe, My ſoule vpon the forfeit, that your Lord Will neuer more breake faith aduiſedlie. Por. Then you ſhall be his ſuretie: giue him this, And bid him keepe it better then the other. Ant.

Heere Lord Baſſanio, ſwear to keep this ring.

 Baſſ.

By heauen it is the ſame I gaue the Doctor.

 Por. I had it of him: pardon Baſſanio, For by this ring the Doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me my gentle Gratiano, For that ſame ſcrubbed boy the Doctors Clarke In liew of this, laſt night did lye with me. Gra. Why this is like the mending of high waies In Sommer, where the waies are faire enough: What, are we Cuckolds ere we haue deſeru'd it. Por. Speake not ſo groſſely, you are all amaz'd; Heere is a letter, reade it at your leyſure, It comes from Padua from Bellario, There you ſhall finde that Portia was the Doctor, Nerriſſa there her Clarke. Lorenzo heere Shall witneſſe I ſet forth as ſoone as you, And but eu'n now return'd: I haue not yet Entred my houſe. Anthonio you are welcome, And I haue better newes in ſtore for you Then you expect: vnſeale this letter ſoone, There you ſhall finde three of your Argoſies Are richly come to harbour ſo dainlie. You ſhall not know by what ſtrange accident I chanced on this letter. Antho.

I am dumbe.

 Baſſ.

Were you the Doctor, and I knew you not?

 Gra.

Were you the Clark that is to make me cuckold.

 Ner. I, but the Clark that neuer meanes to doe it, Vnleſſe he liue vntill he be a man. Baſſ. (Sweet Doctor) you ſhall be my bedfellow, When I am abſent, then he with my wife. An. (Sweet Ladie) you haue giuen me life & liuing; For heere I reade for certaine that my ſhips Are ſafelie come to Rode. Por. How now Lorenzo? My Clarke hath ſome good comforts to for you. Ner. I, and Ile giue them him without a fee. There doe I giue to you and Ieſſica From the rich Iewe, a ſpeciall deed of gift After his death, of all he dies poſſeſſ'd of. Loren. Faire Ladies you drop Manna in the way Of ſtarued people. Por. It is almoſt morning, And yet I am ſure you are not ſatisfied Of theſe euents at full. Let vs goe in, And charge vs there vpon intergatories, And we will anſwer all things faithfully. Gra. Let it be ſo, the firſt intergatory That my Nerriſſa ſhall be ſworne on, is, Whether till the next night ſhe had rather ſtay, Or goe to bed, now being two houres to day, But were the day come, I ſhould wiſh it darke, Till I were couching with the Doctors Clarke. Well, while I liue, Ile feare no other thing So ſore, as keeping ſafe Nerriſſas ring. Exeunt.
FINIS.
As you Like it.
Actus primus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orlando.

AS I remember Adam, it was vpon this faſhion bequeathed me by will, but poore a thouſand Crownes, and as thou ſaift, charged my brother on his bleſſing to breed mee well: and there begins my ſadneſſe: My brother Iaques he keepes at ſchoole, and report ſpeakes goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keepes me ruſtically at home, or (to ſpeak more properly) ſtaies me heere at home vnkept: for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the ſtalling of an Oxe? his horſes are bred better, for beſides that they are faire with their feeding, they are taught their mannage, and to that end Riders deerely hir'd: but I (his brother) gaine nothing vnder him but growth, for the which his Animals on his dunghils are as much bound to him as I: beſides this nothing that he ſo plentifully giues me, the ſomething that nature gaue mee, his countenance ſeemes to take from me: hee lets mee feede with his Hindes, barres mee the place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it Adam that grieues me, and the ſpirit of my Father, which I thinke is within mee, begins to mutinie againſt this ſeruitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wiſe remedy how to auoid it.

 Enter Oliuer. Adam.

Yonder comes my Maſter, your brother.

 Orlan.

Goe a-part Adam, and thou ſhalt heare how he will ſhake me vp.

 Oli.

Now Sir, what make you heere?

 Orl.

Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

 Oli.

What mar you then ſir?

 Orl.

Marry ſir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poore vnworthy brother of yours with idleneſſe.

 Oliuer.

Marry ſir be better employed, and be naught a while.

 Orlan.

Shall I keepe your hogs, and eat huskes with them? what prodigall portion haue I ſpent, that I ſhould come to ſuch penury?

 Oli.

Know you where you are ſir?

 Orl.

O ſir, very well: heere in your Orchard.

 Oli.

Know you before whom ſir?

 Orl.

I, better then him I am before knowes mee: I know you are my eldeſt brother, and in the gentle condition of bloud you ſhould ſo know me: the courteſie of nations allowes you my better, in that you are the firſt borne, but the ſame tradition takes not away my bloud, were there twenty brothers betwixt vs: I haue as much of my father in mee, as you, albeit I confeſſe your comming before me is neerer to his reuerence.

 Oli.

What Boy.

 Orl.

Come, come elder brother, you are too yong in this.

 Oli.

Wilt thou lay hands on me villaine?

 Orl.

I am no villaine: I am the yongeſt ſonne of Sir Rowland de Boys, he was my father, and he is thrice a villaine that ſaies ſuch a father begot villaines: wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had puld out thy tongue for ſaying ſo, thou haſt raild on thy ſelfe.

 Adam.

Sweet Maſters bee patient, for your Fathers remembrance, be at accord.

 Oli.

Let me goe I ſay.

 Orl.

I will not till I pleaſe: you ſhall heare mee: my father charg'd you in his will to giue me good education: you haue train'd me like a pezant, obſcuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the ſpirit of my father growes ſtrong in mee, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me ſuch exerciſes as may become a gentleman, or giue mee the poore allottery my father left me by teſtament, with that I will goe buy my fortunes.

 Oli.

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

 Orl.

I will no further offend you, then becomes mee for my good.

 Oli.

Get you with him, you olde dogge.

 Adam.

Is old dogge my reward: moſt true, I haue loſt my teeth in your ſeruice: God be with my olde maſter, he would not haue ſpoke ſuch a word. Ex. Orl. Ad.

Oli.

Is it euen ſo, begin you to grow vpon me? I will phyſicke your ranckeneſſe, and yet giue no thouſand crownes neyther: holla Dennis.

Enter Dennis. Den.

Calls your worſhip?

 Oli.

Was not Charles the Dukes Wraſtler heere to ſpeake with me?

 Den.

So pleaſe you, he is heere at the doore, and importunes acceſſe to you.

 Oli.

Call him in: 'twill be a good way: and to morrow the wraſtling is.

 Enter Charles. Cha.

Good morrow to your worſhip.

 Oli.

Good Mounſier Charles: what's the new newes at the new Court?

 Charles.

There's no newes at the Court Sir, but the olde newes: that is, the old Duke is baniſhed by his yonger brother the new Duke, and three or foure louing Lords haue put themſelues into voluntary exile with him, whoſe lands and reuenues enrich the new Duke, therefore he giues them good leaue to wander.

 Oli.

Can you tell if Roſalind the Dukes daughter bee baniſhed with her Father?

 Cha.

O no; for the Dukes daughter her Coſen ſo loues her, being euer from their Cradles bred together, that hee would haue followed her exile, or haue died to ſtay behind her; ſhe is at the Court, and no leſſe beloued of her Vncle, then his owne daughter, and neuer two Ladies loued as they doe.

 Oli.

Where will the old Duke liue?

 Cha.

They ſay hee is already in the Forreſt of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they liue like the old Robin Hood of England: they ſay many yong Gentlemen flocke to him euery day, and fleet the time careleſly as they did in the golden world.

 Oli.

What, you wraſtle to morrow before the new Duke.

 Cha.

Marry doe I ſir: and I came to acquaint you with a matter: I am giuen ſir ſecretly to vnderſtand, that your yonger brother Orlando hath a diſpoſition to come in diſguis'd againſt mee to try a fall: to morrow ſir I wraſtle for my credit, and hee that eſcapes me without ſome broken limbe, ſhall acquit him well: your brother is but young and tender, and for your loue I would bee loth to foyle him, as I muſt for my owne honour if hee come in: therefore out of my loue to you, I came hither to acquaint you withall, that either you might ſtay him from his intendment, or brooke ſuch diſgrace well as he ſhall runne into, in that it is a thing of his owne ſearch, and altogether againſt my will.

 Oli.

Charles, I thanke thee for thy loue to me, which thou ſhalt finde I will moſt kindly require: I had my ſelfe notice of my Brothers purpoſe heerein, and haue by vnder-hand meanes laboured to diſſwade him from it; but he is reſolute. Ile tell thee Charles, it is the ſtubborneſt yong fellow of France, full of ambition, an enuious emulator of euery mans good parts, a ſecret & villanous contriuer againſt mee his naturall brother: therefore vſe thy diſcretion, I had as lieſe thou didſt breake his necke as his finger. And thou wert beſt looke to't; for if thou doſt him any ſlight diſgrace, or if hee doe not mightilie grace himſelfe on thee, hee will practiſe againſt thee by poyſon, entrap thee by ſome treacherous deuiſe, and neuer leaue thee till he hath tane thy life by ſome indirect meanes or other: for I aſſure thee, (and almoſt with teares I ſpeake it) there is not one ſo young, and ſo villanous this day liuing. I ſpeake but brotherly of him, but ſhould I anathomize him to thee, as hee is, I muſt bluſh, and weepe, and thou muſt looke pale and wonder.

 Cha.

I am heartily glad I came hither to you: if hee come to morrow, Ile giue him his payment: if euer hee goe alone againe, Ile neuer wraſtle for prize more: and ſo God keepe your worſhip.

Exit.

Farewell good Charles. Now will I ſtirre this Gameſter: I hope I ſhall ſee an end of him; for my ſoule (yet I know not why) hates nothing more then he: yet hee's gentle, neuer ſchool'd, and yet learned, full of noble deuiſe, of all ſorts enchantingly beloued, and indeed ſo much in the heart of the world, and eſpecially of my owne people, who beſt know him, that I am altogether miſpriſed: but it ſhall not be ſo long, this wraſtler ſhall cleare all: nothing remaines, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now Ile goe about.

Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Roſalind, and Cellia. Cel.

I pray thee Roſalind, ſweet my Coz, be merry.

 Roſ.

Deere Cellia; I ſhow more mirth then I am miſtreſſe of, and would you yet were merrier: vnleſſe you could teach me to forget a baniſhed father, you muſt not learne mee how to remember any extraordinary pleaſure.

 Cel.

Heerein I ſee thou lou'ſt mee not with the full waight that I loue thee; if my Vncle thy baniſhed father had baniſhed thy Vncle the Duke my Father, ſo thou hadſt beene ſtill with mee, I could haue taught my loue to take thy father for mine; ſo wouldſt thou, if the truth of thy loue to me were ſo righteouſly temper'd, as mine is to thee.

 Roſ.

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

 Cel.

You know my Father hath no childe, but I, nor none is like to haue; and truely when he dies, thou ſhalt be his heire; for what hee hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee againe in affection: by mine honor I will, and when I breake that oath, let mee turne monſter: therefore my ſweet Roſe, my deare Roſe, be merry.

 Roſ.

From henceforth I will Coz, and deuiſe ſports: let me ſee, what thinke you of falling in Loue?

 Cel.

Marry I prethee doe, to make ſport withall: but loue no man in good earneſt, nor no further in ſport neyther; then with ſafety of a pure bluſh, thou maiſt in honor come off againe.

 Roſ.

What ſhall be our ſport then?

 Cel.

Let vs ſit and mocke the good houſwife Fortune from her wheele, that her gifts may henceforth bee beſtowed equally.

 Roſ.

I would wee could doe ſo: for her benefits are mightily miſplaced, and the bountifull blinde woman doth moſt miſtake in her gifts to women.

 Cel.

'Tis true, for thoſe that ſhe makes faire, ſhe ſcarce makes honeſt, & thoſe that ſhe makes honeſt, ſhe makes very ill fauouredly.

 Roſ.

Nay now thou goeſt from Fortunes office to Natures: Fortune reignes in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.

 Enter Clowne. Cel.

No; when Nature hath made a faire creature, may ſhe not by Fortune fall into the fire? though nature hath giuen vs wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune ſent in this foole to cut off the argument?

 Roſ.

Indeed there is fortune too hard for nature, when fortune makes natures naturall, the cutter off of natures witte.

 Cel.

Peraduenture this is not Fortunes work neither, but Natures, who perceiueth our naturall wits too dull to reaſon of ſuch goddeſſes, hath ſent this Naturall for our whetſtone▪ for alwaies the dulneſſe of the foole, is the whetſtone of the wits. How now Witte, whether wander you?

 Clow.

Miſtreſſe, you muſt come away to your father.

 Cel.

Were you made the meſſenger?

 Clo.

No by mine honor, but I was bid to come for you

 Roſ.

Where learned you that oath foole?

 Clo.

Of a certaine Knight, that ſwore by his Honour they were good Pan-cakes, and ſwore by his Honor the Muſtard was naught: Now Ile ſtand to it, the Pancakes were naught, and the Muſtard was good, and yet was not the Knight forſworne.

 Cel.

How proue you that in the great heape of your knowledge?

 Roſ.

I marry, now vnmuzzle your wiſedome.

 Clo.

Stand you both forth now: ſtroke your chinnes, and ſweare by your beards that I am a knaue.

 Cel.

By our beards (if we had them) thou art.

 Clo.

By my knauerie (if I had it) then I were: but if you ſweare by that that is not, you are not forſworn: no more was this knight ſwearing by his Honor, for he neuer had anie; or if he had, he had ſworne it away, before euer he ſaw thoſe Pancakes, or that Muſtard.

 Cel.

Prethee, who is't that thou means't?

 Clo.

One that old Fredericke your Father loues.

 Roſ.

My Fathers loue is enough to honor him enough; ſpeake no more of him, you'l be whipt for taxation one of theſe daies.

 Clo.

The more pittie that fooles may not ſpeak wiſely, what Wiſemen do fooliſhly.

 Cel.

By my troth thou ſaieſt true: For, ſince the little wit that fooles haue was ſilenced, the little foolerie that wiſe men haue makes a great ſhew; Heere comes Monſieur the Beu.

Enter le Beau. Roſ.

With his mouth full of newes.

 Cel.

Which he vvill put on vs, as Pigeons feed their young.

 Roſ.

Then ſhal we be newes-cram'd.

 Cel.

All the better: we ſhalbe the more Marketable. Boon-iour Monſieur le Beu, what's the newes?

 Le Beu.

Faire Princeſſe, you haue loſt much good ſport.

 Cel.

Sport: of what colour?

 Le Beu.

What colour Madame? How ſhall I aunſwer you?

 Roſ.

As wit and fortune will.

 Clo.

Or as the deſtinies decrees.

 Cel.

Well ſaid, that was laid on with a trowell.

 Clo.

Nay, if I keepe not my ranke.

 Roſ.

Thou looſeſt thy old ſmell.

 Le Beu.

You amaze me Ladies: I would haue told you of good wraſtling, which you haue loſt the ſight of.

 Roſ.

Yet tell vs the manner of the Wraſtling.

 Le Beu.

I wil tell you the beginning: and if it pleaſe your Ladiſhips, you may ſee the end, for the beſt is yet to doe, and heere where you are, they are comming to performe it.

 Cel.

Well, the beginning that is dead and buried.

 Le Beu.

There comes an old man, and his three ſons.

 Cel.

I could match this beginning with an old tale.

 Le Beu.

Three proper yong men, of excellent growth and preſence.

 Roſ.

With bils on their neckes: Be it knowne vnto all men by theſe preſents.

 Le Beu.

The eldeſt of the three, wraſtled with Charles the Dukes Wraſtler, which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribbes, that there is little hope of life in him: So he ſeru'd the ſecond, and ſo the third: yonder they lie, the poore old man their Father, making ſuch pittiful dole ouer them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

 Roſ.

Alas.

 Clo.

But what is the ſport Monſieur, that the Ladies haue loſt?

 Le Beu.

Why this that I ſpeake of.

 Clo.

Thus men may grow wiſer euery day. It is the firſt time that euer I heard breaking of ribbes was ſport for Ladies.

 Cel.

Or I, I promiſe thee.

 Roſ.

But is there any elſe longs to ſee this broken Muſicke in his ſides? Is there yet another doates vpon rib-breaking? Shall we ſee this wraſtling Coſin?

 Le Beu.

You muſt if you ſtay heere, for heere is the place appointed for the wraſtling, and they are ready to performe it.

 Cel.

Yonder ſure they are comming. Let vs now ſtay and ſee it.

 Flouriſh. Enter Duke, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants. Duke. Come on, ſince the youth will not be intreated His owne perill on his forwardneſſe. Roſ.

Is yonder the man?

 Le Beu.

Euen he, Madam.

 Cel.

Alas, he is too yong: yet he looks ſucceſſefully

 Du. How now daughter, and Couſin: Are you crept hither to ſee the wraſtling? Roſ.

I my Liege, ſo pleaſe you giue vs leaue.

 Du.

You wil take little delight in it, I can tell you there is ſuch oddes in the man: In pitie of the challengers youth, I would faine diſſwade him, but he will not bee entreated. Speake to him Ladies, ſee if you can mooue him.

 Cel.

Call him hether good Monſieuer Le Beu.

Duke.

Do ſo: Ile not be by.

 Le Beu.

Monſieur the Challenger, the Princeſſe cals for you.

 Orl.

I attend them with all reſpect and dutie.

 Roſ.

Young man, haue you challeng'd Charles the Wraſtler?

 Orl.

No faire Princeſſe: he is the generall challenger, I come but in as others do, to try with him the ſtrength of my youth.

 Cel.

Yong Gentleman, your ſpirits are too bold for your yeares: you haue ſeene cruell proofe of this mans ſtrength, if you ſaw your ſelfe with your eies, or knew your ſelfe with your iudgment, the feare of your aduenture would counſel you to a more equall enterpriſe. We pray you for your owne ſake to embrace your own ſafetie, and giue ouer this attempt.

 Roſ.

Do yong Sir, your reputation ſhall not therefore be miſpriſed: we wil make it our ſuite to the Duke, that the wraſtling might not go forward.

 Orl.

I beſeech you, puniſh mee not with your harde thoughts, wherein I confeſſe me much guiltie to denie ſo faire and excellent Ladies anie thing. But let your faire eies, and gentle wiſhes go with mee to my triall; wherein if I bee foil'd, there is but one ſham'd that vvas neuer gracious: if kil'd, but one dead that is willing to be ſo: I ſhall do my friends no wrong, for I haue none to lament me: the world no iniurie, for in it I haue nothing: onely in the world I fil vp a place, which may bee better ſupplied, when I haue made it emptie.

 Roſ.

The little ſtrength that I haue, I would it vvere with you.

 Cel.

And mine to eeke out hers.

 Roſ.

Fare you well: praie heauen I be deceiu'd in you.

 Cel.

Your hearts deſires be with you.

 Char.

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

 Orl.

Readie Sir, but his will hath in it a more modeſt working.

 Duk.

You ſhall trie but one fall.

 Cha.

No, I warrant your Grace you ſhall not entreat him to a ſecond, that haue ſo mightilie perſwaded him from a firſt.

 Orl.

You meane to mocke me after: you ſhould not haue mockt me before: but come your waies.

 Roſ.

Now Hercules, be thy ſpeede yong man.

 Cel.

I would I were inuiſible, to catch the ſtrong fellow by the legge.

Wraſtle. Roſ.

Oh excellent yong man.

 Cel.

If I had a thunderbolt in mine eie, I can tell who ſhould downe.

Shout. Duk.

No more, no more.

 Orl.

Yes I beſeech your Grace, I am not yet well breath'd.

 Duk.

How do'ſt thou Charles?

 Le Beu.

He cannot ſpeake my Lord.

 Duk. Beare him awaie: What is thy name yong man? Orl.

Orlando my Liege, the yongeſt ſonne of Sir Roland de Boys.

Duk. I would thou hadſt beene ſon to ſome man elſe, The world eſteem'd thy father honourable, But I did finde him ſtill mine enemie: Thou ſhould'ſt haue better pleas'd me with this deede, Hadſt thou deſcended from another houſe: But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth, I would thou had'ſt told me of another Father. Exit Duke. Cel.

Were I my Father (Coze) would I do this?

 Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rolands ſonne, His yongeſt ſonne, and would not change that calling To be adopted heire to Fredricke. Roſ. My Father lou'd Sir Roland as his ſoule, And all the world was of my Fathers minde, Had I before knowne this yong man his ſonne, I ſhould haue giuen him teares vnto entreaties, Ere he ſhould thus haue ventur'd. Cel. Gentle Coſen, Let vs goe thanke him, and encourage him: My Fathers rough and enuious diſpoſition Sticks me at heart: Sir, you haue well deſeru'd, If you doe keepe your promiſes in loue; But iuſtly as you haue exceeded all promiſe, Your Miſtris ſhall be happie. Roſ. Gentleman, Weare this for me: one out of ſuites with fortune That could giue more, but that her hand lacks meanes. Shall we goe Coze? Cel.

I: fare you well faire Gentleman.

 Orl. Can I not ſay, I thanke you? My better parts Are all throwne downe, and that which here ſtands vp Is but a quintine, a meere liueleſſe blocke. Roſ. He cals vs back: my pride fell with my fortunes, Ile aske him what he would: Did you call Sir? Sir, you haue wraſtled well, and ouerthrowne More then your enemies. Cel.

Will you goe Coze?

 Roſ.

Haue with you: fare you well.

Exit. Orl. What paſſion hangs theſe waights vpō my toong? I cannot ſpeake to her, yet ſhe vrg'd conference. Enter Le Beu. O poore Orlando! thou art ouerthrowne Or Charles, or ſomething weaker maſters thee. Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendſhip counſaile you Te leaue this place; Albeit you haue deſeru'd High commendation, true applauſe, and loue; Yet ſuch is now the Dukes condition, That he miſconſters all that you haue done: The Duke is humorous, what he is indeede More ſuites you to conceiue, then I to ſpeake of. Orl. I thanke you Sir; and pray you tell me this, Which of the two was daughter of the Duke, That here was at the Wraſtling? Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we iudge by manners, But yet indeede the taller is his daughter, The other is daughter to the baniſh'd Duke, And here detain'd by her vſurping Vncle To keepe his daughter companie, whoſe loues Are deerer then the naturall bond of Siſters: But I can tell you, that of late this Duke Hath tane diſpleaſure 'gainſt his gentle Neece, Grounded vpon no other argument, But that the people praiſe her for her vertues, And pittie her, for her good Fathers ſake; And on my life his malice 'gainſt the Lady Will ſodainly breake forth: Sir, fare you well, Hereafter in a better world then this, I ſhall deſire more loue and knowledge of you. Orl. I reſt much bounden to you: fare you well. Thus muſt I from the ſmoake into the ſmother, From tyrant Duke, vnto a tyrant Brother. But heauenly Roſaline. Exit
Scena Tertius. Enter Celia and Roſaline. Cel. Why Coſen, why Roſaline: Cupid haue mercie, Not a word? Roſ.

Not one to throw at a dog.

 Cel.

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

 Roſ.

Then there were two Coſens laid vp, when the one ſhould be lam'd with reaſons, and the other mad without any.

 Cel.

But is all this for your Father?

 Roſ.

No, ſome of it is for my childes Father: Oh how full of briers is this working day world.

 Cel.

They are but burs, Coſen, throwne vpon thee in holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden paths our very petty-coates will catch them.

 Roſ.

I could ſhake them off my coate, theſe burs are in my heart.

 Cel.

Hem them away.

 Roſ.

I would try if I could cry hem, and haue him.

 Cel.

Come, come, wraſtle with thy affections.

 Roſ.

O they take the part of a better wraſtler then my ſelfe.

 Cel.

O, a good wiſh vpon you: you will trie in time in diſpight of a fall: but turning theſe ieſts out of ſeruice, let vs talke in good earneſt: Is it poſſible on ſuch a ſodaine, you ſhould fall into ſo ſtrong a liking with old Sir Roulands yongeſt ſonne?

 Roſ.

The Duke my Father lou'd his Father deerelie.

 Cel.

Doth it therefore enſue that you ſhould loue his Sonne deerelie? By this kinde of chaſe, I ſhould hate him, for my father hated his father deerely; yet I hate not Orlando.

Roſ.

No faith, hate him not for my ſake.

 Cel.

Why ſhould I not? doth he not deſerue well?

 Enter Duke with Lords. Roſ. Let me loue him for that, and do you loue him Becauſe I doe. Looke, here comes the Duke. Cel.

With his eies full of anger.

 Duk. Miſtris, diſpatch you with your ſafeſt haſte, And get you from our Court. Roſ.

Me Vncle.

 Duk. You Coſen, Within theſe ten daies if that thou beeſt found So neere our publike Court as twentie miles, Thou dieſt ſor it. Roſ. I doe beſeech your Grace Let me the knowledge of my fault beare with me: If with my ſelfe I hold intelligence, Or haue acquaintance with mine owne deſires, If that I doe not dreame, or be not franticke, (As I doe truſt I am not) then deere Vncle, Neuer ſo much as in a thought vnborne, Did I offend your highneſſe. Duk. Thus doe all Traitors, If their purgation did conſiſt in words, They are as innocent as grace it ſelfe; Let it ſuffice thee that I truſt thee not. Roſ. Yet your miſtruſt cannot make me a Traitor; Tell me whereon the likelihoods depends? Duk.

Thou art thy Fathers daughter, there's enough.

 Roſ. So was I when your highnes took his Dukdome, So was I when your highneſſe baniſht him; Treaſon is not inherited my Lord, Or if we did deriue it from our friends, What's that to me, my Father was no Traitor, Then good my Leige, miſtake me not ſo much, To thinke my pouertie is treacherous. Cel.

Deere Soueraigne heare me ſpeake.

 Duk. I Celia, we ſtaid her for your ſake, Elſe had ſhe with her Father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then intreat to haue her ſtay. It was your pleaſure, and your owne remorſe, I was too yong that time to value her, But now I know her: if ſhe be a Traitor, Why ſo am I: we ſtill haue ſlept together, Roſe at an inſtant, learn'd, plaid, eate together, And whereſoere we went, like Iunos Swans, Still we went coupled and inſeperable. Duk. She is too ſubtile for thee, and her ſmoothnes; Her verie ſilence, and per patience, Speake to the people, and they pittie her: Thou art a foole, ſhe robs thee of thy name, And thou wilt ſhow more bright, & ſeem more vertuous When ſhe is gone: then open not thy lips Firme, and irreuocable is my doombe, Which I haue paſt vpon her, ſhe is baniſh'd. Cel. Pronounce that ſentence then on me my Leige, I cannot liue out of her companie. Duk. You are a foole: you Neice prouide your ſelfe, If you out-ſtay the time, vpon mine honor, And in the greatneſſe of my word you die. Exit Duke, &c. Cel. O my poore Roſaline, whether wilt thou goe? Wilt thou change Fathers? I will giue thee mine: I charge thee be not thou more grieu'd then I am. Roſ.

I haue more cauſe.

 Cel. Thou haſt not Coſen, Prethee be cheerefull; know'ſt thou not the Duke Hath baniſh'd me his daughter? Roſ.

That he hath not.

 Cel. No, hath not? Roſaline lacks then the loue Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one, Shall we be ſundred? ſhall we part ſweete girle? No, let my Father ſeeke another heire: Therefore deuiſe with me how we may flie Whether to goe, and what to beare with vs, And doe not ſeeke to take your change vpon you, To beare your griefes your ſelfe, and leaue me out: For by this heauen, now at our ſorrowes pale; Say what thou canſt, Ile goe along with thee. Roſ.

Why, whether ſhall we goe?

 Cel.

To ſeeke my Vncle in the Forreſt of Arden.

Roſ. Alas, what danger will it be to vs, (Maides as we are) to trauell forth ſo farre? Beautie prouoketh theeues ſooner then gold. Cel. Ile put my ſelfe in poore and meane attire, And with a kinde of vmber ſmirch my face, The like doe you, ſo ſhall we paſſe along, And neuer ſtir aſſailants. Roſ. Were it not better, Becauſe that I am more then common tall, That I did ſuite me all points like a man, A gallant curtelax vpon my thigh, A bore-ſpeare in my hand, and in my heart Lye there what hidden womans feare there will, Weele haue a ſwaſhing and a marſhall outſide, As manie other manniſh cowards haue, That doe outface it with their ſemblances. Cel.

What ſhall I call thee when thou art a man?

 Roſ. Ile haue no worſe a name then Ioues owne Page, And therefore looke you call me Ganimed. But what will you by call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my ſtate: No longer Celia, but Aliena. Roſ. But Coſen, what if we aſſaid to ſteale The clowniſh Foole out of your Fathers Court: Would he not be a comfort to our trauaile? Cel. Heele goe along ore the wide world with me, Leaue me alone to woe him; Let's away And get our Iewels and our wealth together, Deuiſe the fitteſt time, and ſafeſt way To hide vs from purſuite that will be made After my flight: now goe in we content To libertie, and not to baniſhment. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Duke Senior: Amyens, and two or three Lords like Forreſters. Duk. Sen. Now my Coe-mates, and brothers in exile: Hath not old cuſtome made this life more ſweete Then that of painted pompe? Are not theſe woods More free from perill then the enuious Court? Heere feele we not the penaltie of Adam, The ſeaſons difference, as the I cie phange And churliſh chiding of the winters winde, Which when it bites and blowes vpon my body Euen till I ſhrinke with cold, I ſmile, and ſay This is no flattery: theſe are counſellors That feelingly perſwade me what I am: Sweet are the vſes of aduerſitie Which like the toad, ougly and venemous, Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head: And this our life exempt from publike haunt, Findes tongues in trees, bookes in the running brookes, Sermons in ſtones, and good in euery thing. Amien. I would not change it, happy is your Grace That can tranſlate the ſtubbornneſſe of fortune Into ſo quiet and ſo ſweet a ſtile. Du. Sen. Come, ſhall we goe and kill vs veniſon? And yet it irkes me the poore dapled fooles Being natiue Burgers of this deſert City, Should in their owne confines with forked heads Haue their round banches goard. 1. Lord. Indeed my Lord The melancholy Iaques grieues at that, And in that kinde ſweares you doe more vſurpe Then doth your brother that hath baniſh'd you: To day my Lord of Amiens, and my ſelfe, Did ſteale behinde him as he lay along Vnder an oake, whoſe anticke roote peepes out Vpon the brooke that brawles along this wood, To the which place a poore ſequeſtred Stag That from the Hunters aime had tane a hurt, Did come to languiſh; and indeed my Lord The wretched annimall heau'd forth ſuch groanes That their diſcharge did ſtretch his leatherne coat Almoſt to burſting, and the big round teares Cours'd one another downe his innocent noſe In pitteous chaſe: and thus the hairie foole, Much marked of the melancholie Iaques, Stood on th' extremeſt verge of the ſwift brooke, Augmenting it with teares. Du. Sen. But what ſaid Iaques? Did he not moralize this ſpectacle? 1. Lord. O yes, into a thouſand ſimilies. Firſt, for his weeping into the needleſſe ſtreame; Poore Deere quoth he, thou mak'ſt a teſtament As worldlings doe, giuing thy ſum of more To that which had too muſt: then being there alone, Left and abandoned of his veluet friend; 'Tis right quoth he, thus miſerie doth part The Fluxe of companie: anon a careleſſe Heard Full of the paſture, iumps along by him And neuer ſtai • to greet him: I quoth Iaques, Sweepe on you fat and greazie Citizens, 'Tis iuſt the faſhion; wherefore doe you looke Vpon that poore and broken bankrupt there? Thus moſt inuectiuely he pierceth through The body of Countrie, Citie, Court, Yea, and of this our life, ſwearing that we Are meere vſurpers, tyrants, and whats worſe To fright the Annimals, and to kill them vp In their aſſign'd and natiue dwelling place. D. Sen.

And did you leaue him in this contemplation?

 2. Lord. We did my Lord, weeping and commenting Vpon the ſobbing Deere. Du. Sen. Show me the place, I loue to cope him in theſe ſullen fits, For then he's full of matter. 1. Lor.

Ile bring you to him ſtrait.

Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Duke, with Lords. Duk. Can it be poſſible that no man ſaw them? It cannot be, ſome villaines of my Court Are of conſent and ſufferance in this. 1. Lo. I cannot heare of any that did ſee her, The Ladies her attendants of her chamber Saw her a bed, and in the morning early, They found the bed vntreaſur'd of their Miſtris. 2. Lor. My Lord, the royniſh Clown, at whom ſo oft, Your Grace was wont to laugh is alſo miſſing, Hiſperia the Princeſſe Gentlewoman Confeſſes that ſhe ſecretly ore-heard Your daughter and her Coſen much commend The parts and graces of the Wraſtler That did but lately foile the ſynowie Charles, And ſhe beleeues where euer they are gone That youth is ſurely in their companie. Duk. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither, If he be abſent, bring his Brother to me, Ile make him finde him: do this ſodainly; And let not ſearch and inquiſition quaile, To bring againe theſe fooliſh runawaies. Exunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orl.

Who's there?

 Ad. What my yong Maſter, oh my gentle maſter, Oh my ſweet maſter, O you memorie Of old Sir Rowland; why, what make you here? Why are you vertuous? Why do people loue you? And wherefore are you gentle, ſtrong, and valiant? Why would you be ſo fond to ouercome The bonnie priſer of the humorous Duke? Your praiſe is come too ſwiftly home before you. Know you not Maſter, to ſeeme kinde of men, Their graces ſerue them but as enemies, No more doe yours: your vertues gentle Maſter Are ſanctified and holy traitors to you: Oh what a world is this, when what is comely Enuenoms him that beares it? Why, what's the matter? Ad. O vnhappie youth, Come not within theſe doores: within this roofe The enemie of all your graces liues Your brother, no, no brother, yet the ſonne (Yet not the ſon, I will not call him ſon) Of him I was about to call his Father, Hath heard your praiſes, and this night he meanes, To burne the lodging where you vſe to lye, And you within it: if he faile of that He will haue other meanes to cut you off; I ouerheard him: and his practiſes: This is no place, this houſe is but a butcherie; Abhorre it, feare it, doe not enter it. Ad.

Why whether Adam would'ſt thou haue me go?

 Ad.

No matter whether, ſo you come not here.

 Orl. What, would'ſt thou haue me go & beg my food, Or with a baſe and boiſtrous Sword enforce A theeuiſh liuing on the common rode? This I muſt do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can, I rather will ſubiect me to the malice Of a diuerted blood, and bloudie brother. Ad. But do not ſo: I haue fiue hundred Crownes, The thriftie hire I ſaued vnder your Father, Which I did ſtore to be my foſter Nurſe, When ſeruice ſhould in my old limbs lie lame, And vnregarded age in corners throwne, Take that, and he that doth the Rauens feede, Yea prouidently caters for the Sparrow, Be comfort to my age: here is the gold, All this I giue you, let me be your ſeruant, Though I looke old, yet I am ſtrong and luſtie; For in my youth I neuer did apply Hot, and rebellious liquors in my bloud, Nor did not with vnbaſhfull forehead woe, The meanes of weakneſſe and debilitie, Therefore my age is as a luſtie winter, Froſtie, but kindely; let me goe with you, Ile doe the ſeruice of a yonger man In all your buſineſſe and neceſſities. Orl. Oh good old man, how well in thee appeares The conſtant ſeruice of the antique world, When ſeruice ſweate for dutie, not for meede: Thou art not for the faſhion of theſe times, Where none will ſweate, but for promotion, And hauing that do choake their ſeruice vp, Euen with the hauing, it is not ſo with thee: But poore old man, thou prun'ſt a rotten tree, That cannot ſo much as a bloſſome yeelde, In lieu of all thy paines and husbandrie, But come thy waies, weele goe along together, And ere we haue thy youthfull wages ſpent, Weele light vpon ſome ſetled low content. Ad. Maſter goe on, and I will follow thee To the laſt gaſpe with truth and loyaltie, From ſeauentie yeeres, till now almoſt foureſcore Here liued I, but now liue here no more At ſeauenteene yeeres, many their fortunes ſeeke But at foureſcore, it is too late a weeke, Yet fortune cannot recompence me better Then to die well, and not my Maſters debter. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Roſaline for Ganimod, Celia for Aliena, and Clowne, alias Touchſtone. Roſ.

O Iupiter, how merry are my ſpirits?

 Clo.

I care not for my ſpirits, if my legges were not wearie.

 Roſ.

I could finde in my heart to diſgrace my mans apparell, and to cry like a woman: but I muſt comfort the weaker veſſell, as doublet and hoſe ought to ſhow it ſelfe coragious to petty-coate; therefore courage, good Aliena.

Cel.

I pray you beare with me, I cannot goe no further.

 Clo.

For my part, I had rather beare with you, then beare you: yet I ſhould beare no croſſe if I did beare you, for I thinke you haue no money in your purſe.

 Roſ.

Well, this is the Forreſt of Arden.

Clo.

I, now am I in Arden, the more foole I, when I was at home I was in a better place, but Trauellers muſt be content.

 Enter Corin and Siluius. Roſ.

I, be ſo good Touchſtone: Look you, who comes here, a yong man and an old in ſolemne talke.

 Cor.

That is the way to make her ſcorne you ſtill.

 Sil.

Oh Corin, that thou knew'ſt how I do loue her.

 Cor.

I partly gueſſe: for I haue lou'd ere now.

 Sil. No Corin, being old, thou canſt not gueſſe, Though in thy youth thou waſt as true a louer As euer ſigh'd vpon a midnight pillow: But if thy loue were euer like to mine, As ſure I thinke did neuer man loue ſo: How many actions moſt ridiculous, Haſt thou beene drawne to by thy fantaſie? Cor.

Into a thouſand that I haue forgotten.

 Sil. Oh thou didſt then neuer loue ſo hartily, If thou remembreſt not the ſlighteſt folly, That euer loue did make thee run into, Thou haſt not lou'd. Or if thou haſt not ſat as I doe now, Wearing thy hearer in thy Miſtris praiſe, Thou haſt not lou'd. Or if thou haſt not broke from companie, Abruptly as my paſſion now makes me, Thou haſt not lou'd. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. Exit. Roſ. Alas poore Shepheard ſearching of they would, I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne. Clo.

And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, I broke my ſword vpon a ſtone, and bid him take that for comming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kiſſing of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettie chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peaſcod inſtead of her, from whom I tooke two cods, and giuing her them againe, ſaid with weeping teares, weare theſe for my ſake: wee that are true Louers, runne into ſtrange capers; but as all is mortall in nature, ſo is all nature in loue, mortall in folly.

 Roſ.

Thou ſpeak'ſt wiſer then thou art ware of.

 Clo. Nay, I ſhall nere be ware of mine owne wit, till I breake my ſhins againſt it. Roſ. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds paſſion, Is much vpon my faſhion. Clo.

And mine, but it growes ſomething ſtale with mee.

 Cel. I pray you, one of you queſtion yon'd man, If he for gold will giue vs any foode, I faint almoſt to death. Clo.

Holla; you Clowne.

 Roſ.

Peace foole, he's not thy kinſman.

 Cor.

Who cals?

 Clo.

Your betters Sir.

 Cor.

Elſe are they very wretched.

 Roſ.

Peace I ſay; good euen to your friend.

 Cor.

And to you gentle Sir, and to you all.

 Roſ. I prethee Shepheard, if that loue or gold Can in this deſert place buy entertainment, Bring vs where we may reſt our ſelues, and feed: Here's a yong maid with trauaile much oppreſſed, And faints for ſuccour. Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her, And wiſh for her ſake more then for mine owne, My fortunes were more able to releeue her; But I am ſhepheard to another man, And do not ſheere the Fleeces that I graze: My maſter is of churliſh diſpoſition, And little wreakes to finde the way to heauen By doing deeds of hoſpitalitie. Beſides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feede Are now on ſale, and at our ſheep-coat now By reaſon of his abſence there is nothing That you will feed on: but what is, come ſee, And in my voice moſt welcome ſhall you be. Roſ.

What is he that ſhall buy his flocke and paſture?

 Cor. That yong Swaine that you ſaw heere but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. Roſ. I pray thee, if it ſtand with honeſtie, Buy thou the Cottage, paſture, and the flocke, And thou ſhalt haue to pay for it of vs. Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, and willingly could Waſte my time in it. Cor. Aſſuredly the thing is to be ſold: Go with me, if you like vpon report, The ſoile, the profit, and this kinde of life, I will your very faithfull Feeder be, And buy it with your Gold right ſodainly. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter, Amyens, Iaques, & others. Song. Vnder the greene wood tree, who loues to lye with mee, And turne his merrie Note, vnto the ſweet Birds throte: Come hither, come hither, come hither: Heere ſhall he ſee no enemie, But Winter and rough Weather. Iaq.

More, more, I pre'thee more.

 Amy.

It will make you melancholly Monſieur Iaques

Iaq. I thanke it: More, I prethee more, I can ſucke melancholly out of a ſong, As a Weazel ſuckes egges: More, I pre'thee more. Amy.

My voice is ragged, I know I cannot pleaſe you.

 Iaq. I do not deſire you to pleaſe me, I do deſire you to ſing: Come, more, another ſtanzo: Cal you 'em ſtanzo's? Amy.

What you wil Monſieur Iaques.

Iaq.

Nay, I care not for their names, they owe mee nothing. Wil you ſing?

 Amy.

More at your requeſt, then to pleaſe my ſelfe.

 Iaq.

Well then, if euer I thanke any man, Ile thanke you: but that they cal complement is like th' encounter of two dog-Apes. And when a man thankes me hartily, me thinkes I haue giuen him a penie, and he renders me the beggerly thankes. Come ſing; and you that wil not hold your tongues.

 Amy.

Wel, Ile end the ſong. Sirs, couer the while, the Duke wil drinke vnder this tree; he hath bin all this day to looke you.

 Iaq. And I haue bin all this day to auoid him: He is too diſputeable for my companie: I thinke of as many matters as he, but I giue Heauen thankes, and make no boaſt of them. Come, warble, come. Song. Altogether heere. Who doth ambition ſhunne, and loues to liue i' th Sunne: Seeking the food he eates, and pleas'd with what he gets: Come hither, come hither, come hither, Heere ſhall he ſee. &c. Iaq. Ile giue you a verſe to this note, That I made yeſterday in deſpight of my Inuention. Amy.

And Ile ſing it.

 Amy. Thus it goes. If it do come to paſſe, that any man turne Aſſe: Leauing his wealth and eaſe, A ſtubborne will to pleaſe, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Heere ſhall he ſee, groſſe fooles as he, And if he will come to me. Amy.

What's that Ducdame?

 Iaq.

'Tis a Greeke inuocation, to call fools into a circle. Ile go ſleepe if I can: if I cannot, Ile raile againſt all the firſt borne of Egypt.

 Amy. And Ile go ſeeke the Duke, His banket is prepar'd. Exeunt
Scena Sexta. Enter Orlando, & Adam. Adam. Deere Maſter, I can go no further: O I die for food. Heere lie I downe, And meaſure out my graue. Farwel kinde maſter. Orl. Why how now Adam? No greater heart in thee: Liue a little, comfort a little, cheere thy ſelfe a little. If this vncouth Forreſt yeeld any thing ſauage, I wil either be food for it, or bring it for foode to thee: Thy conceite is neerer death, then thy powers. For my ſake be comfortable, hold death a while At the armes end: I wil heere be with thee preſently, And if I bring thee not ſomething to eate, I wil giue thee leaue to die: but if thou dieſt Before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Wel ſaid, thou look'ſt cheerely, And Ile be with thee quickly: yet thou lieſt In the bleake aire. Come, I wil beare thee To ſome, ſhelter, and thou ſhalt not die For lacke of a dinner, If there liue any thing in this Deſert. Cheerely good Adam. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Duke Sen. & Lord, like Out-lawes. Du. Sen. I thinke he be transform'd into a beaſt, For I can no where finde him, like a man. 1. Lord. My Lord, he is but euen now gone hence, Heere was he merry, hearing of a Song. Du. Sen. If he compact of iarres, grow Muſicall, We ſhall haue ſhortly diſcord in the Spheares: Go ſeeke him, tell him I would ſpeake with him. Enter Iaques. 1. Lord.

He ſaues my labor by his owne approach.

 Du. Sen. Why how now Monſieur, what a life is this That your poore friends muſt woe your companie, What, you looke merrily. Iaq. A Foole, a foole: I met a foole i' th Forreſt, A motley Foole (a miſerable world:) As I do liue by foode, I met a foole, Who laid him downe, and bask'd him in the Sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good termes, In good ſet termes, and yet a motley foole. Good morrow foole (quoth I:) no Sir, quoth he, Call me not foole, till heauen hath ſent me fortune, And then he drew a diall from his poake, And looking on it, with lacke-luſtre eye, Sayes, very wiſely, it is ten a clocke: Thus we may ſee (quoth he) how the world wagges: 'Tis but an houre agoe, ſince it was nine, And after one houre more, 'twill be eleuen, And ſo from houre to houre, we ripe, and ripe, And then from houre to houre, we rot, and rot, And thereby hangs a tale. When I did heare The motley Foole, thus morall on the time, My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere, That Fooles ſhould be ſo deepe contemplatiue: And I did laugh, ſans intermiſſion An houre by his diall. Oh noble foole, A worthy foole: Motley's the onely weare. Du. Sen.

What foole is this?

 Iaq. O worthie Foole: One that hath bin a Courtier And ſayes, if Ladies be but yong, and faire, They haue the gift to know it: and in his braiue, Which is as drie as the remainder bisket After a voyage: He hath ſtrange places cram'd With obſeruation, the which he vents In mangled formes. O that I were a foole, I am ambitious for a motley coat. Du. Sen.

Thou ſhalt haue one.

 Iaq. It is my onely suite, Prouided that you weed your better iudgements Of all opinion that growes ranke in them, That I am wiſe. I muſt haue liberty Wiithall, as large a Charter as the winde, To blow on whom I pleaſe, for ſo fooles haue: And they that are moſt gauled with my folly, They moſt muſt laugh: And why ſir muſt they ſo? The why is plaine, as way to Pariſh Church: Hee, that a Foole doth very wiſely hit, Doth very fooliſhly, although he ſmart Seeme ſenſeleſſe of the bob. If not, The Wiſe-mans folly is anathomiz'd Euen by the ſquandring glances of the foole. Inueſt me in my motley: Giue me leaue To ſpeake my minde, and I will through and through Cleanſe the foule bodie of th' infected world, If they will patiently receiue my medicine. Du. Sen.

Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldſt do.

 Iaq.

What, for a Counter, would I do, but good?

 Du. Sen. Moſt miſcheeuous foule ſin, in chiding ſin: For thou thy ſelfe haſt bene a Libertine, As ſenſuall as the brutiſh ſting it ſelfe, And all th' imboſſed ſores, and headed euils, That thou with licenſe of free foot haſt caught, Would'ſt thou diſgorge into the generall world. Iaq. Why who cries out on pride, That can therein taxe any priuate party: Doth it not flow as hugely as the Sea, Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe. What woman in the Citie do I name, When that I ſay the City woman beares The coſt of Princes on vnworthy ſhoulders? Who can come in, and ſay that I meane her, When ſuch a one as ſhee, ſuch is her neighbor? Or what is he of baſeſt function, That ſayes his brauerie is not on my coſt, Thinking that I meane him, but therein ſuites His folly to the mettle of my ſpeech, There then, how then, what then, let me ſee wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himſelfe: if he be free, why then my taxing like a wild-gooſe flies Vnclaim'd of any▪ man But who come here? Enter Orlando. Orl.

Forbeare, and eate no more.

 Iaq.

Why I haue eate none yet.

 Orl.

Nor ſhalt not, till neceſſity be ſeru'd.

 Iaq.

Of what kinde ſhould this Cocke come of?

 Du. Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd man by thy diſtres? Or elſe a rude deſpiſer of good manners, That in ciuility thou ſeem'ſt ſo emptie? Orl. You touch'd my veine at firſt, the thorny point Of bare diſtreſſe, hath tane from me the ſhew Of ſmooth ciuility: yet am I in-land bred, And know ſome nourture: But forbeare, I ſay, He dies that touches any of this fruite, Till I, and my affaires are anſwered. Iaq. And you will not be anſwer'd with reaſon, I muſt dye. Du. Sen. What would you haue? Your gentleneſſe ſhall force, more then your force Moue vs to gentleneſſe. Orl.

I almoſt die for food, and let me haue it.

 Du. Sen.

Sit downe and feed, & welcom to our table

 Orl. Speake you ſo gently? Pardon me I pray you, I thought that all things had bin ſauage heere, And therefore put I on the countenance Of ſterne command'ment. But what ere you are That in this deſert inacceſſible, Vnder the ſhade of melancholly boughes, Looſe, and neglect the creeping houres of time: If euer you haue look'd on better dayes: If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church: If euer ſate at any good mans feaſt: If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare, And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied: Let gentleneſſe my ſtrong enforcement be, In the which hope, I bluſh, and hide my Sword. Du. Sen. True is it, that we haue ſeene better dayes, And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church, And ſat at good mens feaſts, and wip'd our eies Of drops, that ſacred pity hath engendred: And therefore ſit you downe in gentleneſſe, And take vpon command, what helpe we haue That to your wanting may be miniſtred. Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while: Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne, And giue it food. There is an old poore man, Who after me, hath many a weary ſteppe Limpt in pure loue: till he be firſt ſuffic'd, Oppreſt with two weake euils, age, and hunger, I will not touch a bit. Duke Sen. Go finde him out. And we will nothing waſte till you returne. Orl.

I thanke ye, and be bleſt for your good comfort.

 Du Sen. Thou ſeeſt, we are not all alone vnhappie: This wide and vniuerſall Theater Preſents more wofull Pageants then the Sceane Wherein we play in. Ia. All the world's a ſtage, And all the men and women, meerely Players; They haue their Exits and their Entrances, And one man in his time playes many parts, His Acts being ſeuen ages. At firſt the Infant, Mewling, and puking in the Nurſes armes: Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his Satchell And ſhining morning face, creeping like ſnaile Vnwillingly to ſchoole. And then the Louer, Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull ballad Made to his Miſtreſſe eye-brow. Then, a Soldier, Full of ſtrange oaths, and bearded like the Pard, Ielous in honor, ſodaine, and quicke in quarrell, Seeking the bubble Reputation Euen in the Canons mouth: And then, the Iuſtice, In faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd, With eyes ſeuere, and beard of formall cut, Full of wiſe ſawes, and moderne inſtances, And ſo he playes his part. The ſixt age ſhifts Into the leane and ſlipper'd Pantaloone, With ſpectacles on noſe, and pouch on ſide, His youthfull hoſe well ſau'd, a world too wide, For his ſhrunke ſhanke, and his bigge manly voice, Turning againe toward childiſh trebble pipes, And whiſtles in his ſound. Laſt Scene of all, That ends this ſtrange euentfull hiſtorie, Is ſecond childiſhneſſe, and meere obliuion, Sans teeth, ſans eyes, ſans taſte, ſans euery thing. Enter Orlando with Adam. Du Sen.

Welcome: ſet downe your venerable burthen, and let him feede.

 Orl.

I thanke you moſt for him.

 Ad. So had you neede, I ſcarce can ſpeake to thanke you for my ſelfe. Du. Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you, As yet to queſtion you about your fortunes: Giue vs ſome Muſicke, and good Cozen, ſing. Song. Blow, blow, thou winter wind • , Thou art not ſo vnkinde, as mans ingratitude Thy tooth is not ſo keene, becauſe thou art not ſeene, although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho, ſing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly, Moſt frendſhip, is fayning; moſt Louing, meere folly: The heigh ho, the holly, This Life is moſt iolly. Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that doſt not bight ſo nigh as benefitts forgot: Though thou the waters warpe, thy ſting is not ſo ſharpe, as freind remembred not. Heigh ho, ſing, &c. Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands ſon, As you haue whiſper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witneſſe, Moſt truly limn'd, and liuing in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke That lou'd your Father, the reſidue of your fortune, Go to my Caue, and tell mee, Good old man, Thou art right welcome, as thy maſters is: Support him by the arme: giue me your hand, And let me all your fortunes vnderſtand. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer. Du. Not ſee him ſince? Sir, ſir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercie, I ſhould not ſeeke an abſent argument Of my reuenge, thou preſent: but looke to it, Finde out thy brother whereſoere he is, Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more To ſeeke a liuing in our Territorie. Thy Lands and all things that thou doſt call thine, Worth ſeizure, do we ſeize into our hands, Till thou canſt quit thee by thy brothers mouth, Of what we thinke againſt thee. Ol. Oh that your Highneſſe knew my heart in this: I neuer lou'd my brother in my life. Duke. More villaine thou. Well puſh him out of dores And let my officers of ſuch a nature Make an extent vpon his houſe and Lands: Do this expediently, and turne him going. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Orlando. Orl. Hang there my verſe, in witneſſe of my loue, And thou thrice crowned Queene of night ſuruey With thy chaſte eye, from thy pale ſpheare aboue Thy Huntreſſe name, that my full life doth ſway. O Roſalind, theſe Trees ſhall be my Bookes, And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter, That euerie eye, which in this Forreſt lookes, Shall ſee thy vertue witneſt euery where. Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree, The faire, the chaſte, and vnexpreſſiue ſhee. Exit Enter Corin & Clowne. Co.

And how like you this ſhepherds life Mr Touchſtone?

 Clow.

Truely Shepheard, in reſpect of it ſelfe, it is a good life; but in reſpect that it is a ſhepheards life, it is naught. In reſpect that it is ſolitary, I like it verie well: but in reſpect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Now in reſpect it is in the fields, it pleaſeth mee well: but in reſpect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a ſpare life (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is no more plentie in it, it goes much againſt my ſtomacke. Has't any Philoſophie in thee ſhepheard?

 Cor.

No more, but that I know the more one ſickens, the worſe at eaſe he is: and that hee that wants money, meanes, and content, is without three good frends. That the propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: That pood paſture makes fat ſheepe: and that a great cauſe of the night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath learned no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

 Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philoſopher: Was't euer in Court, Shepheard? Cor.

No truly.

 Clo.

Then thou art damn'd.

 Cor.

Nay, I hope.

 Clo.

Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roaſted Egge, all on one ſide.

 Cor.

For not being at Court? your reaſon.

 Clo.

Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuer ſaw'ſt good manners: if thou neuer ſaw'ſt good maners, then thy manners muſt be wicked, and wickednes is ſin, and ſinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous ſtate ſhepheard.

 Cor.

Not a whit Touchſtone, thoſe that are good maners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, as the behauiour of the Countrie is moſt mockeable at the Court. You told me, you ſalute not at the Court, but you kiſſe your hands; that courteſie would be vncleanlie if Courtiers were ſhepheards.

 Clo.

Inſtance, briefly: come, inſtance.

 Cor. Why we are ſtill handling our Ewes, and their Fels you know are greaſie. Clo.

Why do not your Courtiers hands ſweate? and is not the greaſe of a Mutton, as wholeſome as the ſweat of a man? Shallow, ſhallow: A better inſtance I ſay: Come.

 Cor.

Beſides, our hands are hard.

 Clo.

Your lips wil feele them the ſooner. Shallow agen: a more ſounder inſtance, come.

 Cor.

And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the ſurgery of our ſheepe: and would you haue vs kiſſe Tarre? The Courtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet.

 Clo.

Moſt ſhallow man: Thou wormes meate in reſpect of a good peece of fleſh indeed: learne of the wiſe and perpend: Ciuet is of a baſer birth then Tarre, the verie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the inſtance Shepheard.

 Cor.

You haue too Courtly a wit for me, Ile reſt.

 Clo.

Wilt thou reſt damn'd? God helpe thee ſhallow man: God make inciſion in thee, thou art raw.

 Cor.

Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: get that I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happineſſe: glad of other mens good content with my harme: and the greateſt of my pride, is to ſee my Ewes graze, & my Lambes ſucke.

 Clo.

That is another ſimple ſinne in you, to bring the Ewes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get your liuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be baw'd to a Belweather, and to betray a ſhee-Lambe of a tweluemonth to a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of all reaſonable match. If thou bee'ſt not damn'd for this, the diuell himſelfe will haue no ſhepherds, I cannot ſee elſe how thou ſhouldſt ſcape.

 Cor.

Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Miſtriſſes Brother.

 Enter Roſalind. Roſ. From the eaſt to weſterne Iude, no iewel is like Roſalinde, Hir worth being mounted on the winde, through all the world beares Roſalinde. All the pictures faireſt Linde, are but blacke to Roſalinde: Let no face bee kept in mind, but the faire of Roſalinde. Clo.

Ile rime you ſo, eight yeares together; dinners, and ſuppers, and ſleeping hours excepted: it is the right Butter-womens ranke to Market.

 Roſ.

Out Foole.

 Clo.

For a taſte.

If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde, Let him ſeeke out Roſalinde: If the Cat will after kinde, ſo be ſure will Roſalinde: Wintred garments muſt be linde, ſo muſt ſlender Roſalinde: They that reap muſt ſheafe and binde, then to cart with Roſalinde. Sweeteſt nut, bath ſowreſt rinde, ſuch a nut is Roſalinde. He that ſweeteſt roſe will finde, muſt finde Loues pricke, & Roſalinde.

This is the verie falſe gallop of Verſes, why doe you infect your ſelfe with them?

 Roſ.

Peace you dull folle, I found them on a tree.

 Clo.

Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite.

 Roſ.

Ile graffe it with you, and then I ſhall graffe it with a Medler: then it will be the earlieſt fruit i' th country: for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that's the right vertue of the Medler.

 Clo.

You haue ſaid: but whether wiſely or no, let the Forreſt iudge.

 Enter Celia with a writing. Roſ.

Peace, here comes my ſiſter reading, ſtand a ſide.

 Cel. Why ſhould this Deſert bee, for it is vnpeopled? Noe: Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree, that ſhall ciuill ſayings ſhoe. Some, how briefe the Life of man runs his erring pilgrimage, That the ſtretching of a ſpan, buckles in his ſumme of age. Some of violated vowes, twixt the ſoules of friend, and friend: But vpon the faireſt bowes, or at euerie ſentence end; Will I Roſalinda write, teaching all that reade, to know The quinteſſence of euerie ſprite, heauen would in little ſhow. Therefore heauen Nature charg'd, that one bodie ſhould be fill'd With all Graces wide enlarg'd, nature preſently diſtill'd Helens cheeke, but not his heart, Cleopatra's Maieſtie: Attalanta's better part, ſad Lucrecia's Modeſtie. Thus Roſalinde of manie parts, by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd, Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts, to haue the touches deereſt pris'd. Heauen would that ſhee theſe gifts ſhould haue, and I to liue and die her ſlaue. Roſ.

O moſt gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie of Loue haue you wearied your pariſhioners withall, and neuer cri'de, haue patience good people.

 Cel.

How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a little: go with him ſirrah.

 Clo •

Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable retreit, though not with bagge and baggage, yet with ſcrip and ſcrippage.

Exit. Cel.

Didſt thou heare theſe verſes?

 Roſ.

O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for ſome of them had in them more feete then the Verſes would beare.

 Cel.

That's no matter: the feet might beare ye verſes.

 Roſ.

I, but the feet were lame, and could not beare themſelues without the verſe, and therefore ſtood lamely in the verſe.

 Cel.

But didſt thou heare without wondering, how thy name ſhould be hang'd and carued vpon theſe trees?

 Roſ.

I was ſeuen of the nine daies out of the wonder, before you came: for looke heere what I found on a Palme tree; I was neuer ſo berim d ſince Pythagoras time that I was an Iriſh Rat, which I can hardly remember.

 Cel.

Tro you, who hath done this?

 Roſ.

Is it a man?

 Cel.

And a chaine that you once wore about his neck: change you colour?

 Roſ.

I, pre'thee who?

 Cel.

O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earthquakes, and ſo encounter.

 Roſ.

Nay, but who is it?

 Cel.

Is it poſſible?

 Roſ.

Nay, I pre'thee now, with moſt petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

 Cel.

O wonderfull, wonderfull, and moſt wonderfull wonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that out of all hooping.

 Roſ.

Good my complection, doſt thou think though I am capariſon'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hoſe in my diſpoſition? One inch of delay more, is a South-ſea of diſcouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, and ſpeake apace: I would thou couldſt ſtammer, that thou might'ſt powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as Wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either too much at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corke out of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings.

 Cel.

So you may put a man in your belly.

 Roſ. Is he of Gods making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard? Cel.

Nay, he hath but a little beard.

 Roſ.

Why God will ſend more, if the man will bee thankful: let me ſtay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

 Cel.

It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wraſtlers heeles, and your heart, both in an inſtant.

 Roſ.

Nay, but the diuell take mocking: ſpeake ſadde brow, and true maid.

 Cel.

I' faith (Coz) tis he.

 Roſ.

Orlando?

Cel.

Orlando.

Roſ.

Alas the day, what ſhall I do with my doublet & hoſe? What did he when thou ſaw'ſt him? What ſayde he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes hee heere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? How parted he with thee? And when ſhalt thou ſee him againe? Anſwer me in one vvord.

 Cel.

You muſt borrow me Gargantuas mouth firſt: 'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages ſize, to ſay I and no, to theſe particulars, is more then to anſwer in a Catechiſme.

 Roſ.

But doth he know that I am in this Forreſt, and in mans apparrell? Looks he as freſhly, as he did the day he Wraſtled?

 Cel.

It is as eaſie to count Atomies as to reſolue the propoſitions of a Louer: but take a taſte of my finding him, and relliſh it with good obſeruance. I found him vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne.

 Roſ.

It may vvel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes forth fruite.

 Cel.

Giue me audience, good Madam.

 Roſ.

Proceed.

 Cel.

There lay hee ſtretch'd along like a Wounded knight.

 Roſ.

Though it be pittie to ſee ſuch a ſight, it vvell becomes the ground.

 Cel.

Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes vnſeaſonably. He was furniſh'd like a Hunter.

 Roſ.

O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart.

 Cel.

I would ſing my ſong without a burthen, thou bring'ſt me out of tune.

 Roſ. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke, I muſt ſpeake: ſweet, ſay on. Enter Orlando & Iaques. Cel.

You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?

 Roſ.

'Tis he, ſlinke by, and note him.

 Iaq I thanke you for your company, but good faith I had as liefe haue beene my ſelfe alone. Orl. And ſo had I: but yet for faſhion ſake I thanke you too, for your ſocietie. Iaq.

God buy you, let's meet as little as we can.

 Orl.

I do deſire we may be better ſtrangers.

 Iaq.

I pray you marre no more trees vvith Writing Loue-ſongs in their barkes.

 Orl.

I pray you marre no moe of my verſes with reading them ill-fauouredly.

 Iaq.

Roſalinde is your loues name?

 Orl.

Yes, Iuſt.

 Iaq.

I do not like her name.

 Orl.

There was no thought of pleaſing you when ſhe was chriſten'd.

 Iaq.

What ſtature is ſhe of?

 Orl.

Iuſt as high as my heart.

 Iaq.

You are ful of prety anſwers: haue you not bin acquainted with goldſmiths wiues, & cond thē out of rings

 Orl.

Not ſo: but I anſwer you right painted cloath, from whence you haue ſtudied your queſtions.

 Iaq.

You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of Attalanta's heeles. Will you ſitte downe with me, and wee two, will raile againſt our Miſtris the world, and all our miſerie.

 Orl.

I wil chide no breather in the world but my ſelfe againſt whom I know moſt faults.

 Iaq.

The worſt fault you haue, is to be in loue.

 Orl.

'Tis a fault I will not change, for your beſt vertue: I am wearie of you.

 Iaq.

By my troth, I was ſeeking for a Foole, when I found you.

 Orl.

He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, and you ſhall ſee him.

 Iaq.

There I ſhal ſee mine owne figure.

 Orl.

Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher.

 Iaq.

Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good ſignior Loue.

 Orl.

I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Monſieur Melancholly.

 Roſ.

I wil ſpeake to him like a ſawcie Lacky▪ and vnder that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forreſter.

 Orl.

Verie wel, what would you?

 Roſ.

I pray you, what i'ſt a clocke?

 Orl.

You ſhould aske me what time o' day: there's no clocke in the Forreſt.

 Roſ.

Then there is no true Louer in the Forreſt, elſe ſighing euerie minute and groaning euerie houre wold detect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke.

 Orl.

And why not the ſwift foote of time? Had not that bin as proper?

 Roſ.

By no meanes ſir; Time trauels in diuers paces, with diuers perſons: Ile tel you who Time ambles withall, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he ſtands ſtil withall.

 Orl.

I prethee, who doth he trot withal?

 Roſ.

Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is ſolemnizd: if the interim be but a ſennight, Times pace is ſo hard, that it ſeemes the length of ſeuen yeare.

 Orl.

Who ambles Time withal?

 Roſ.

With a Prieſt that lacks Latine, and a rich man that hath not the Gowt: for the one ſleepes eaſily becauſe he cannot ſtudy, and the other liues merrily, becauſe he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen of leane and waſteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen of heauie tedious penurie. Theſe Time ambles withal.

 Orl.

Who doth he gallop withal?

 Roſ.

With a theefe to the gallowes: for though hee go as ſoftly as foot can fall, he thinkes himſelfe too ſoon there.

 Orl.

Who ſtaies it ſtil withal?

 Roſ.

With Lawiers in the vacation: for they ſleepe betweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue not how time moues.

 Orl.

Where dwel you prettie youth?

 Roſ.

With this Shepheardeſſe my ſiſter: heere in the skirts of the Forreſt, like fringe vpon a petticoat.

 Orl.

Are you natiue of this place?

 Roſ.

As the Conie that you ſee dwell where ſhee is kindled.

 Orl.

Your accent is ſomething finer, then you could purchaſe in ſo remoued a dwelling.

 Roſ.

I haue bin told ſo of many: but indeed, an olde religious Vnckle of mine taught me to ſpeake, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtſhip too well: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read many Lectors againſt it, and I thanke God, I am not a Woman to be touch'd with ſo many giddie offences as hee hath generally tax'd their whole ſex withal.

 Orl.

Can you remember any of the principall euils, that he laid to the charge of women?

 Roſ.

There were none principal, they were all like one another, as halfe pence are, euerie one fault ſeeming monſtrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it.

 Orl.

I prethee recount ſome of them.

 Roſ.

No: I wil not caſt away my phyſick, but on thoſe that are ſicke. There is a man haunts the Forreſt, that abuſes our yong plants with caruing Roſalinde on their barkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies on brambles; all (forſooth) defying the name of Roſalinde. If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue him ſome good counſel, for he ſeemes to haue the Quotidian of Loue vpon him.

 Orl.

I am he that is ſo Loue-ſhak'd, I pray you tel me your remedie.

 Roſ.

There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you: he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cage of ruſhes, I am ſure you act not priſoner.

 Orl.

What were his markes?

 Roſ.

A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eie and ſunken, which you haue not: an vnqueſtionable ſpirit, which you haue not: a beard neglected, which you haue not: (but I pardon you for that, for ſimply your hauing in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then your hoſe ſhould be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, your ſleeue vnbutton'd, your ſhoo vnti'de, and euerie thing about you, demonſtrating a careleſſe deſolation: but you are no ſuch man; you are rather point deuice in your accouſtrements, as louing your ſelfe, then ſeeming the Louer of any other.

 Orl.

Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue.

 Roſ.

Me beleeue it? You may aſſoone make her that you Loue beleeue it, which I warrant ſhe is apter to do, then to confeſſe ſhe do' • : that is one of the points, in the which women ſtil giue the lie to their conſciences. But in good ſooth, are you he that hangs the verſes on the Trees, wherein Roſalind is ſo admired?

 Orl.

I ſweare to thee youth, by the white hand of Roſalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he.

 Ros.

But are you ſo much in loue, as your rimes ſpeak?

 Orl.

Neither rime nor reaſon can expreſſe how much.

 Roſ:

Loue is meerely a madneſſe, and I tel you, deſerues as wel a darke houſe, and a whip, as madmen do: and the reaſon why they are not ſo puniſh'd and cured, is that the Lunacie is ſo ordinarie, that the whippers are in loue too: yet I profeſſe curing it by counſel.

 Orl.

Did you euer cure any ſo?

 Roſ.

Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to imagine me his Loue, his Miſtris: and I ſet him euerie day to woe me. At which time would I, being but a mooniſh youth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking, proud, fantaſtical, apiſh, ſhallow, inconſtant, ful of teares, full of ſmiles; for euerie paſſion ſomething, and for no paſſion truly any thing, as boyes and women are for the moſt part, cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forſwear him: now weepe for him, then ſpit at him; that I draue my Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humor of madnes, wc was to forſweare the ful ſtream of ye world, and to liue in a nooke meerly Monaſtick: and thus I cur'd him, and this way wil I take vpon mee to waſh your Liuer as cleane as a ſound ſheepes heart, that there ſhal not be one ſpot of Loue in't.

 Orl.

I would not be cured, youth.

 Roſ.

I would cure you, if you would but call me Roſalind, and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me.

 Orlan.

Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel me where it is.

 Roſ.

Go with me to it, and Ile ſhew it you: and by the way, you ſhal tell me, where in the Forreſt you liue: Wil you go?

 Orl.

With all my heart, good youth.

 Roſ.

Nay, you muſt call mee Roſalind: Come ſiſter, will you go?

Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques: Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet? Doth my ſimple feature content you? Aud.

Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features?

 Clo.

I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the moſt capricious Poet honeſt Ouid was among the Gothes.

 Iaq.

O knowledge ill inhabited, worſe then loue in a thatch'd houſe.

 Clo.

When a mans verſes cannot be vnderſtood, nor a mans good wit ſeconded with the forward childe, vnderſtanding: it ſtrikes a man more dead then a great reckoning in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde made thee poeticall.

 Aud.

I do not know what Poetical is: is it honeſt in deed and word: is it a true thing?

 Clo.

No trulie: for the trueſt poetrie is the moſt faining, and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they ſweare in Poetrie, may be ſaid as Louers, they do feigne.

 Aud.

Do you wiſh then that the Gods had made me Poeticall?

 Clow.

I do truly: for thou ſwear'ſt to me thou art honeſt: Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue ſome hope thou didſt feigne.

 Aud.

Would you not haue me honeſt?

 Clo.

No truly, vnleſſe thou wert hard fauour'd: for honeſtie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a ſawce to Sugar.

 Iaq.

A materiall foole.

 Aud.

Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the Gods make me honeſt.

 Clo.

Truly, and to caſt away honeſtie vppon a foule ſlut, were to put good meate into an vncleane diſh.

 Aud.

I am not a ſlut, though I thanke the Goddes I am foule.

 Clo.

Well, praiſed be the Gods, for thy foulneſſe; ſluttiſhneſſe may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee, I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forreſt, and to couple vs.

 Iaq.

I would faine ſee this meeting.

 Aud.

Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy.

 Clo.

Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart, ſtagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple but the wood, no aſſembly but horne-beaſts. But what though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are neceſſarie. It is ſaid, many a man knowes no end of his goods; right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end of them. Well▪ that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none of his owne getting; hornes, euen ſo poore men alone: No, no, the nobleſt Deere hath them as huge as the Raſcall: Is the ſingle man therefore bleſſed? No, as a wall'd Towne is more worthier then a village, ſo is the forehead of a married man, more honourable then the bare brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better then no skill, by ſo much is a horne more precious then to want.

Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.

Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are wel met. Will you diſpatch vs heere vnder this tree, or ſhal we go with you to your Chappell?

 Ol.

Is there none heere to giue the woman?

 Clo.

I wil not take her on guift of any man.

 Ol.

Truly ſhe muſt be giuen, or the marriage is not lawfull.

 Iaq.

Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her.

 Clo.

Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do you Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your laſt companie, I am verie glad to ſee you, euen a toy in hand heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd.

 Iaq.

Wil you be married, Motley?

 Clo.

As the Oxe hath his bow ſir, the horſe his curb, and the Falcon her bels, ſo man hath his deſires, and as Pigeons bill, ſo wedlocke would be nibling.

 Iaq.

And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be married vnder a buſh like a begger? Get you to church, and haue a good Prieſt that can tel you what marriage is, this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne Wainſcot, then one of you wil proue a ſhrunke pannell, and like greene timber, warpe, warpe.

 Clo.

I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good excuſe for me heereafter, to leaue my wife.

 Iaq. Goe thou with mee, And let me counſel thee. Ol. Come ſweete Audrey, We muſt be married, or we muſt liue in baudrey:

Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O ſweet Oliuer, O braue Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee gone I ſay, I wil not to wedding with thee.

 Ol.

'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantaſtical knaue of them all ſhal ſlout me out of my calling.

Exeunt
Scoena Quarta. Enter Roſalind & Celia. Roſ.

Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe.

 Cel.

Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to conſider, that teares do not become a man.

 Roſ.

But haue I not cauſe to weepe?

 Cel. As good cauſe as one would deſire, Therefore weepe. Roſ. His very haire Is of the diſſembling colour. Cel. Something browner then Iudaſſes: Marrie his kiſſes are Iudaſſes owne children. Roſ.

I' faith his haire is of a good colour.

 Cel. An excellent colour: Your Cheſſenut was euer the onely colour: Roſ. And his kiſſing is as ful of ſanctitie, As the touch of holy bread. Cel.

Hee hath bought a paire of caſt lips of Diana: a Nun of winters ſiſterhood kiſſes not more religiouſlie, the very yee of chaſtity is in them.

 Roſa.

But why did hee ſweare hee would come this morning, and comes not?

 Cel.

Nay certainly there is no truth in him.

 Roſ.

Doe you thinke ſo?

 Cel.

Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purſe, nor a horſe-ſtealer, but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut.

 Roſ.

Not true in loue?

 Cel.

Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in.

 Roſ.

You haue heard him ſweare downright he was.

 Cel.

Was, is not is: beſides, the oath of Louer is no ſtronger then the word of a Tapſter, they are both the confirmer of falſe reckonings, he attends here in the forreſt on the Duke your father.

 Roſ.

I met the Duke yeſterday, and had much queſtion with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I told him of as good as he, ſo he laugh'd and let mee goe. But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is ſuch a man as Orlando?

Cel.

O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verſes, ſpeakes braue words, ſweares braue oathes, and breakes them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer, as a puiſny Tilter, yt ſpurs his horſe but on one ſide, breakes his ſtaffe like a noble gooſe; but all's braue that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere?

 Enter Corin. Corin. Miſtreſſe and Maſter, you haue oft enquired After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue, Who you ſaw ſitting by me on the Turph, Praiſing the proud diſdainfull Shepherdeſſe That was his Miſtreſſe. Cel.

Well: and what of him?

 Cor. If you will ſee a pageant truely plaid Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue, And the red glowe of ſcorne and prowd diſdaine, Goe hence a little, and I ſhall conduct you If you will marke it. Roſ. O come, let vs remoue, The ſight of Louers feedeth thoſe in loue: Bring vs to this ſight, and you ſhall ſay Ile proue a buſie actor in their play. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Siluius and Phebe. Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not ſcorne me, do not Phebe Say that you loue me not, but ſay not ſo In bitterneſſe; the common executioner Whoſe heart th' accuſtom'd ſight of death makes hard Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck, But firſt begs pardon: will you ſterner be Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops? Enter Roſalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. I would not be thy executioner, I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee: Thou tellſt me there is murder in mine eye, 'Tis pretty ſure, and very probable, That eyes that are the frailſt, and ſofteſt things, Who ſhut their coward gates on atomyes, Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers. Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to ſwound▪ why now fall downe, Or if thou canſt not, oh for ſhame, for ſhame, Lye not, to ſay mine eyes are murtherers: Now ſhew the wound mine eye hath made in thee, Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines Some ſcarre of it: Leane vpon a ruſh The Cicatrice and capable impreſſure Thy palme ſome moment keepes: but now mine eyes Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor I am ſure there is no force in eyes That can doe hurt. Sil. O deere Phebe, If euer (as that euer may be neere) You meet in ſome freſh cheeke the power of fancie, Then ſhall you know the wounds inuiſible That Loues keene arrows make. Phe. But till that time Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not, As till that time I ſhall not pitty thee. Roſ. And why I pray you? who might be your mother That you inſult, exult, and all at once Ouer the wretched? what though you hau no beauty As by my faith, I ſee no more in you Then without Candle may goe darke to bed: Muſt you be therefore prowd and pittileſſe? Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me? I ſee no more in you then in the ordinary Of Natures ſale-worke? 'ods my little life, I thinke ſhe meanes to tangle my eies too: No faith proud Miſtreſſe, hope not after it, 'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke ſilke haire, Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame That can entame my ſpirits to your worſhip: You fooliſh Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine, You are a thouſand times a properer man Then ſhe a woman. 'Tis ſuch fooles as you That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children: 'Tis not her glaſſe, but you that flatters her, And out of you ſhe ſees her ſelfe more proper Then any of her lineaments can ſhow her: But Miſtris, know your ſelfe downe on your knees And thanke heauen, faſting, for a good mans loue; For I muſt tell you friendly in your eare, Sell when you can, you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer, Foule is moſt foule, being foule to be a ſcoffer. So take her to thee Shepheard, fare you well. Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together, I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe. Roſ. Hee • falne in loue with your foulneſſe, & ſhee'll Fall in loue with my anger. If it be ſo, as faſt As ſhe anſweres thee with frowning lookes, ile ſauce Her with bitter words: why looke you ſo vpon me? Phe.

For no ill will I beare you.

 Roſ. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee, For I am falſer then vowes made in wine: Beſides, I like you not: if you will know my houſe, 'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by: Will you goe Siſter? Shepheard ply her hard: Come Siſter: Shepheardeſſe, looke on him better And be not proud, though all the world could ſee, None could be ſo abus'd in ſight as hee. Come, to our flocke. Exit. Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I ſind thy ſaw of might, Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at firſt ſight? Sil.

Sweet Phebe.

Phe.

Hah: what ſaiſt thou Siluius?

 Sil.

Sweet Phebe pitty me.

 Phe.

Why I am ſorry for thee gentle Siluius.

Sil. Where euer ſorrow is, reliefe would be: If you doe ſorrow at my griefe in loue, By giuing loue your ſorrow, and my griefe Were both extermin'd. Phe.

Thou haſt my loue, is not that neighbourly?

 Sil.

I would haue you.

 Phe. Why that were couetouſneſſe: Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue, But ſince that thou canſt talke of loue ſo well, Thy company, which erſt was irkeſome to me I will endure; and Ile employ thee too: But doe not looke for further recompence Then thine owne gladneſſe, that thou art employd. Sil. So holy, and ſo perfect is my loue, And I in ſuch a pouerty of grace, That I ſhall thinke it a moſt plenteous crop To gleane the broken eares after the man That the maine harueſt reapes: looſe now and then A ſcattred ſmile, and that Ile liue vpon. Phe.

Knowſt thou the youth that ſpoke to mee yere-while?

 Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft, And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds That the old Carlot once was Maſter of. Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him, 'Tis but a peeuiſh boy, yet he talkes well, But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that ſpeakes them pleaſes thoſe that heare: It is a pretty youth, not very prettie, But ſure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him; Hee'll make a proper man: the beſt thing in him Is his complexion: and faſter then his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp: He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall: His leg is but ſo ſo, and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redneſſe in his lip, A little riper, and more luſtie red Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iuſt the difference Betwixt the conſtant red, and mingled Damaske. There be ſome women Siluius, had they markt him In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere To fall in loue with him: but for my part I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet Haue more cauſe to hate him then to loue him, For what had he to doe to chide at me? He ſaid mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke, And now I am remembred, ſcorn'd at me: I maruell why I anſwer'd not againe, But that's all one: omittance is no quittance: Ile write to him a very tanting Letter, And thou ſhalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius? Sil.

Phebe, with all my heart.

 Phe. Ile write it ſtrait: The matter's in my head, and in my heart, I will be bitter with him, and paſſing ſhort; Goe with me Siluius. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima. Enter Roſalind, and Celia, and Iaques. Iaq.

I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted with thee.

 Roſ

They ſay you are a melancholly fellow.

 Iaq.

I am ſo: I doe loue it better then laughing.

 Roſ

Thoſe that are in extremity of either, are abhominable fellowes, and betray themſelues to euery moderne cenſure, worſe then drunkards.

 Iaq.

Why, 'tis good to be ſad and ſay nothing.

 Roſ

Why then 'tis good to be a poſte.

 Iaq.

I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which is emulation: nor the Muſitians, which is fantaſticall; nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers, which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick: nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which is all theſe: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded of many ſimples, extracted from many obiects, and indeed the ſundrie contemplation of my trauells, in which by often rumination, wraps me in a moſt humorous ſadneſſe.

 Roſ.

A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reaſon to be ſad: I feare you haue ſold your owne Lands, to ſee other mens; then to haue ſeene much, and to haue nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands.

 Iaq.

Yes, I haue gain'd my experience.

 Enter Orlando. Roſ.

And your experience makes you ſad: I had rather haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to make me ſad, and to trauaile for it too.

 Orl.

Good day, and happineſſe, deere Roſalind.

Iaq.

Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke verſe.

 Roſ.

Farewell Mounſieur Trauellor: looke you liſpe, and weare ſtrange ſuites; diſable all the benefits of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your natiuitie, and almoſt chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will ſcarce thinke you haue ſwam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you ſerue me ſuch another tricke, neuer come in my ſight more.

 Orl.

My faire Roſalind, I come within an houre of my promiſe.

 Roſ.

Breake an houres promiſe in loue? hee that will diuide a minute into a thouſand parts, and breake but a part of the thouſand part of a minute in the affairs of loue, it may be ſaid of him that Cupid hath clapt him oth' ſhoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole.

 Orl.

Pardon me deere Roſalind.

Roſ.

Nay, and you be ſo tardie, come no more in my ſight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile.

 Orl.

Of a Snaile?

 Roſ.

I, of a Snaile: for though he comes ſlowly, hee carries his houſe on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke then you make a woman: beſides, he brings his deſtinie with him.

 Orl.

What's that?

 Roſ.

Why hornes: wr ſuch as you are faine to be beholding to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and preuents the ſlander of his wife.

 Orl.

Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Roſalind is vertuous.

 Roſ.

And I am your Roſalind.

Cel.

It pleaſes him to call you ſo: but he hath a Roſalind of a better leere then you.

 Roſ.

Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in a holy-day humor, and like enough to conſent: What would you ſay to me now, and I were your verie, verie Roſalind?

 Orl.

I would kiſſe before I ſpoke.

 Roſ.

Nay, you were better ſpeake firſt, and when you were grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take occaſion to kiſſe: verie good Orators when they are out, they will ſpit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs) matter, the cleanlieſt ſhift is to kiſſe.

 Orl.

How if the kiſſe be denide?

 Roſ.

Then ſhe puts you to entreatie, and there begins new matter.

 Orl.

Who could be out, being before his beloued Miſtris?

 Roſ.

Marrie that ſhould you if I were your Miſtris, or I ſhould thinke my honeſtie ranker then my wit.

 Orl.

What, of my ſuite?

 Roſ. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of your ſuite: Am not I your Roſalind? Orl.

I take ſome ioy to ſay you are, becauſe I would be talking of her.

 Roſ.

Well, in her perſon, I ſay I will not haue you.

 Orl.

Then in mine owne perſon, I die.

 Roſ.

No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world is almoſt ſix thouſand yeeres old, and in all this time there was not anie man died in his owne perſon (videlicet) in a loue cauſe: Trotlous had his braines daſh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before, and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he would haue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'd Nun; if it had not bin for a hot Midſomer-night, for (good youth) he went but forth to waſh him in the Helleſpont, and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd, and the fooliſh Chronoclers of that age, found it was Hero of Ceſtos. But theſe are all lies, men haue died from time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but not for loue.

 Orl.

I would not haue my right Roſalind of this mind, for I proteſt her frowne might kill me.

 Roſ.

By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come, now I will be your Roſalind in a more comming-on diſpoſition: and aske me what you will, I will grant it.

 Orl.

Then loue me Roſalind.

Roſ.

Yes faith will I, fridaies and ſaterdaies, and all.

 Orl.

And wilt thou haue me?

 Roſ.

I, and twentie ſuch.

 Orl.

What ſaieſt thou?

 Roſ.

Are you not good?

 Orl.

I hope ſo.

 Roſalind.

Why then, can one deſire too much of a good thing: Come ſiſter, you ſhall be the Prieſt, and marrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe you ſay ſiſter?

 Orl.

Pray thee marrie vs.

 Cel.

I cannot ſay the words.

 Roſ.

You muſt begin, will you Orlando.

Cel.

Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Roſalind?

 Orl.

I will.

 Roſ.

I, but when?

 Orl.

Why now, as faſt as ſhe can marrie vs.

 Roſ.

Then you muſt ſay, I take thee Roſalind for wife.

 Orl.

I take thee Roſalind for wife.

 Roſ.

I might aske you for your Commiſſion, But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girle goes before the Prieſt, and certainely a Womans thought runs before her actions.

 Orl.

So do all thoughts, they are wing'd.

 Roſ.

Now tell me how long you would haue her, after you haue poſſeſt her?

 Orl.

For euer, and a day.

 Roſ.

Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, men are Aprill when they woe, December when they wed: Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky changes when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous of thee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, more clamorous then a Parrat againſt raine, more new-fangled then an ape, more giddy in my deſires, then a monkey: I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Fountaine, & I wil do that when you are diſpos'd to be merry: I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'd to ſleepe.

 Orl.

But will my Roſalind doe ſo?

 Roſ.

By my life, ſhe will doe as I doe.

 Orl.

O but ſhe is wiſe.

 Ros.

Or elſe ſhee could not haue the wit to doe this: the wiſer, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a womans wit, and it will out at the caſement: ſhut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole: ſtop that, 'twill flie with the ſmoake out at the chimney.

 Orl.

A man that had a wife with ſuch a wit, he might ſay, wit whether wil't?

 Roſ.

Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till you met your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed.

 Orl.

And what wit could wit haue, to excuſe that?

 Roſa.

Marry to ſay, ſhe came to ſeeke you there: you ſhall neuer take her without her anſwer, vnleſſe you take her without her tongue: ô that woman that cannot make her fault her huſbands occaſion, let her neuer nurſe her childe her ſelfe, for ſhe will breed it like a foole.

 Orl.

For theſe two houres Roſalinde, I wil leaue thee.

 Roſ.

Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres.

 Orl.

I muſt attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clock I will be with thee againe.

 Roſ.

I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew what you would proue, my friends told mee as much, and I thought no leſſe: that flattering tongue of yours wonne me: 'tis but one caſt away: and ſo come death: two o'clocke is your howre.

 Orl.

I, ſweet Roſalind.

Roſ.

By my troth, and in good earneſt, and ſo God mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous, if you breake one iot of your, promiſe, or come one minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the moſt patheticall breake-promiſe, and the moſt hollow louer, and the moſt vnworthy of her you call Roſalinde, that may bee choſen out of the groſſe band of the vnfaithfull: therefore beware my cenſure, and keep your promiſe.

 Orl.

With no leſſe religion, then if thou wert indeed my Roſalind: ſo adieu.

 Roſ.

Well, Time is the olde Iuſtice that examines all ſuch offenders, and let time try: adieu.

Exit. Cel.

You haue ſimply miſus'd our ſexe in your loue-prate: we muſt haue your doublet and hoſe pluckt ouer your head, and ſhew the world what the bird hath done to her owne neaſt.

 Roſ.

O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou didſt know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but it cannot bee ſounded: my affection hath an vnknowne bottome, like the Bay of Portugall.

 Cel.

Or rather bottomleſſe, that as faſt as you poure affection in, in runs out.

 Roſ.

No, that ſame wicked Baſtard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiu'd of ſpleene, and borne of madneſſe, that blinde raſcally boy, that abuſes euery ones eyes, becauſe his owne are out, let him bee iudge, how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be out of the ſight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a ſhadow, and ſigh till he come.

 Cel.

And Ile ſleepe.

Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Iaques and Lords, Forreſters. Iaq.

Which is he that killed the Deare?

 Lord.

Sir, it was I.

 Iaq.

Let's preſent him to the Duke like a Romane Conquerour, and it would doe well to ſet the Deares horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you no ſong Forreſter for this purpoſe?

 Lord.

Yes Sir.

 Iaq.

Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, ſo it make noyſe enough.

 Muſicke, Song. What ſhall he haue that kild the Deare? His Leather skin, and bornes to weare: Then ſing him home, the reſt ſhall beare this burthen; Take thou no ſcorne to weare the horne, It was a creſt ere thou waſt borne, Thy fathers father wore it, And thy father bore it, The horne, the horne, the luſty horne, Is not a thing to laugh to ſcorne. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Roſalind and Celia. Roſ. How ſay you now, is it not paſt two a clock? And heere much Orlando. Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain, Enter Siluius. He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth To ſleepe: looke who comes heere. Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth, My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this: I know not the contents, but as I gueſſe By the ſterne brow, and waſpiſh action Which ſhe did vſe, as ſhe was writing of it, It beares an angry tenure; pardon me, I am but as a guiltleſſe meſſenger. Roſ. Patience her ſelfe would ſtartle at this letter, And play the ſwaggerer, beare this, beare all: Shee ſaies I am not faire, that I lacke manners, She calls me proud, and that ſhe could not loue me Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will, Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt, Why writes ſhe ſo to me? well Shepheard, well, This is a Letter of your owne deuice. Sil. No, I proteſt, I know not the contents, Phebe did write it. Roſ. Come, come, you are a foole, And turn'd into the extremity of loue. I ſaw her hand, ſhe has a leatherne hand, A freeſtone coloured hand: I verily did thinke That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands: She has a huſwiues hand, but that's no matter: I ſay ſhe neuer did inuent this letter, This is a mans inuention, and his hand. Sil.

Sure it is hers.

 Roſ. Why, tis a boyſterous and a cruell ſtile, A ſtile for challengers: why, ſhe defies me, Like Turke to Chriſtian: vvomens gentle braine Could not drop forth ſuch giant rude inuention, Such Ethiop vvords, blacker in their effect Then in their countenance: vvill you heare the letter? Sil. So pleaſe you, for I neuer heard it yet: Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie. Roſ. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant vvrites. Read. Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd? That a maidens heart hath burn'd. Can a vvoman raile thus? Sil.

Call you this railing?

 Roſ. Read. Why, thy godhead laid a part, War'ſt thou with a womans heart? Did you euer heare ſuch railing? Whiles the eye of man did wooe me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beaſt. If the ſcorne of your bright cine Haue power to raiſe ſuch loue in mine, Alacke, in me, what ſtrange effect Would they worke in milde aſpect? Whiles you chid me, I did loue, How then might your praiers moue? He that brings this loue to thee, Little knowes this Loue in me▪ And by him ſeale vp thy minde, Whether that thy youth and kinde Will the faithfull offer take Of me, and all that I can make, Or elſe by him my loue denie, And then Ile ſtudie how to die. Sil.

Call you this chiding?

 Cel.

Alas poore Shepheard.

 Roſ.

Doe you pitty him? No, he deſerues no pitty: wilt thou loue ſuch a woman? what to make thee an inſtrument, and play falſe ſtraines vpon thee? not to be endur'd. Well, goe your way to her; (for I ſee Loue hath made thee a tame ſnake) and ſay this to her; That if ſhe loue me, I charge her to loue thee: if ſhe will not, I will neuer haue her, vnleſſe thou intreat for her: if you bee a true louer hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

Exit. Sil. Enter Oliuer. Oliu. Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you know) Where in the Purlews of this Forreſt, ſtands A ſheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees. Cel. Weſt of this place, down in the neighbor bottom The ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring ſtreame Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: But at this howre, the houſe doth keepe it ſelfe, There's none within. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then ſhould I know you by deſcription, Such garments, and ſuch yeeres: the boy is faire, Of femall fauour, and beſtowes himſelfe Like a ripe ſiſter: the woman low And browner then her brother: are not you The owner of the houſe I did enquire for? Cel.

It is no boaſt, being ask'd, to ſay we are.

 Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth hee calls his Roſalind, He ſends this bloudy napkin; are you he? Roſ.

I am: what muſt we vnderſtand by this?

 Oli. Some of my ſhame, if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was ſtain'd. Cel.

I pray you tell it.

 Oli. When laſt the yong Orlando parted from you, He left a promiſe to returne againe Within an houre, and pacing through the Forreſt, Chewing the food of ſweet and bitter fancie, Loe vvhat befell: he threw his eye aſide, And marke vvhat obiect did preſent it ſelfe Vnder an old Oake, whoſe bows were moſs'd with age And high top, bald with drie antiquitie: A wretched ragged man, ore-gowne with haire Lay ſleeping on his back; about his necke A greene and guilded ſnake had wreath'd it ſelfe, Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth: but ſodainly Seeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it ſelfe, And with indented glides, did ſlip away Into a buſh, vnder which buſhes ſhade A Lyonneſſe, with vdders all drawne drie, Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watch When that the ſleeping man ſhould ſtirre; for 'tis The royall diſpoſition of that beaſt To prey on nothing, that doth ſeeme as dead: This ſeene, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O I haue heard him ſpeake of that ſame brother, And he did render him the moſt vnnaturall That liu'd amongſt men. Oli. And well he might ſo doe, For well I know he was vnnaturall. Roſ. But to Orlando: did he leaue him there Food to the ſuck'd and hungry Lyonneſſe? Oli. Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd ſo: But kindneſſe, nobler euer then reuenge, And Nature ſtronger then his iuſt occaſion, Made him giue battell to the Lyonneſſe: Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling From miſerable ſlumber I awaked. Cel.

Are you his brother?

 Roſ.

Was't you he reſcu'd?

 Cel.

Was't you that did ſo oft contriue to kill him?

 Oli. 'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not ſhame To tell you what I was, ſince my conuerſion So ſweeetly taſtes, being the thing I am. Roſ.

But for the bloody napkin?

 Oli. By and by: When from the firſt to laſt betwixt vs two, Teares our recountments had moſt kindely bath'd, As how I came into that Deſert place. I briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke, Who gaue me freſh aray, and entertainment, Committing me vnto my brothers loue, Who led me inſtantly vnto his Caue, There ſtript himſelfe, and heere vpon his arme The Lyonneſſe had torne ſome fleſh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cride in fainting vpon Roſalinde. Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp his wound, And after ſome ſmall ſpace, being ſtrong at heart, He ſent me hither, ſtranger as I am To tell this ſtory, that you might excuſe His broken promiſe, and to giue this napkin Died in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth, That he in ſport doth call his Roſalind. Cel.

Why how now Ganimed, ſweet Ganimed.

Oli.

Many will ſwoon when they do look on bloud.

 Cel.

There is more in it; Coſen Ganimed.

Oli.

Looke, he recouers.

 Roſ.

I would I were at home.

 Cel. Wee'll lead you thither: I pray you will you take him, by the arme. Oli. Be of good cheere youth: you a man? You lacke a mans heart. Roſ.

I doe ſo, I confeſſe it:

Ah, ſirra, a body would thinke this was well counterfeited, I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited: heigh-ho.

 Oli.

This was not counterfeit, there is too great teſtimony in your complexion, that it was a paſſion of earneſt.

 Roſ.

Counterfeit, I aſſure you.

 Oli.

Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.

 Roſ.

So I doe: but yfaith, I ſhould haue beene a woman by right.

 Cel.

Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you draw homewards: good ſir, goe with vs.

 Oli. That will I: for I muſt beare anſwere backe How you excuſe my brother, Roſalind. Roſ.

I ſhall deuiſe: ſomething: but I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him: will you goe?

 Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima. Enter Clowne and Awdrie. Clow.

We ſhall finde a time Awdrie, patience gentle Awdrie.

Awd.

Faith the Prieſt was good enough, for all the olde gentlemans ſaying.

 Clow.

A moſt wicked Sir Oliuer, Awdrie, a moſt vile Mar-text. But Awdrie, there is a youth heere in the Forreſt layes claime to you.

 Awd.

I, I know who 'tis: he hath no intereſt in mee in the world: here comes the man you meane.

 Enter William. Clo.

It is meat and drinke to me to ſee a Clowne, by my troth, we that haue good wits, haue much to anſwer for: we ſhall be flouting: we cannot hold.

 Will.

Good eu'n Audrey.

Aud.

God ye good eu'n William.

Will.

And good eu'n to you Sir.

 Clo.

Good eu'n gentle friend. Couer thy head, couer thy head: Nay prethee bee eouer'd. How olde are you Friend?

 Will.

Fiue and twentie Sir.

 Clo.

A ripe age: Is thy name William?

 Will.

William, ſir.

 Clo.

A faire name. Was't borne i' th Forreſt heere?

 Will.

I ſir, I thanke God.

 Clo. Thanke God: A good anſwer: Art rich? Will.

'Faith ſir, ſo, ſo.

 Cle. So, ſo, is good, very good, very excellent good: and yet it is not, it is but ſo, ſo: Art thou wiſe? Will.

I ſir, I haue a prettie wit.

 Clo.

Why, thou ſaiſt well. I do now remember a ſaying: The Foole doth thinke he is wiſe, but the wiſeman knowes himſelfe to be a Foole. The Heathen Philoſopher, when he had a deſire to eate a Grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby, that Grapes were made to eate, and lippes to open. You do loue this maid?

 Will.

I do ſit.

 Clo.

Giue me your hand: Art thou Learned?

 Will.

No ſir.

 Clo.

Then learne this of me, To haue, is to haue. For it is a figure in Rhetoricke, that drink being powr'd out of a cup into a glaſſe, by filling the one, doth empty the other. For all your Writers do conſent, that ipſe is hee: now you are not ipſe, for I am he.

 Will.

Which he ſir?

 Clo.

He ſir, that muſt marrie this woman: Therefore you Clowne, abandon: which is in the vulgar, leaue the ſocietie: which in the booriſh, is companie, of this female: which in the common, is woman: which together, is, abandon the ſociety of this Female, or Clowne thou periſheſt: or to thy better vnderſtanding, dyeſt; or (to wit) I kill thee, make thee away, tranſlate thy life into death, thy libertie into bondage: I will deale in poyſon with thee, or in baſtinado, or in ſteele: I will bandy with thee in faction, I will ore-run thee with police: I will kill thee a hundred and fifty wayes, therefore tremble and depart.

 Aud.

Do good William.

Will.

God reſt you merry ſir.

Exit Enter Corin. Cor.

Our Maſter and Miſtreſſe ſeekes you: come away, away.

 Clo.

Trip Audry, trip Audry, I attend, I attend.

Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Orlando & Oliuer. Orl.

Is't poſſible, that on ſo little acquaintance you ſhould like her? that, but ſeeing, you ſhould loue her? And louing woo? and wooing, ſhe ſhould graunt? And will you perſeuer to enioy her?

 Ol.

Neither call the giddineſſe of it in queſtion; the pouertie of her, the ſmall acquaintance, my ſodaine woing, nor ſodaine conſenting: but ſay with mee, I loue Aliena: ſay with her, that ſhe loues mee; conſent with both, that we may enioy each other: it ſhall be to your good: for my fathers houſe, and all the reuennew, that was old Sir Rowlands will I eſtate vpon you, and heere liue and die a Shepherd.

 Enter Roſalind. Orl. You haue my conſent. Let your Wedding be to morrow: thither will I Inuite the Duke, and all's contented followers: Go you, and prepare Aliena; for looke you, Heere comes my Roſalinde. Roſ.

God ſaue you brother.

 Ol.

And you faire ſiſter.

 Roſ.

Oh my deere Orlando, how it greeues me to ſee thee weare thy heart in a ſcarfe.

 Orl.

It is my arme.

 Roſ.

I thought thy heart had beene wounded with the clawes of a Lion.

 Orl.

Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a Lady.

 Roſ.

Did your brother tell you how I counterfeyted to ſound, when he ſhew'd me your handkercher?

 Orl.

I, and greater wonders then that.

 Roſ.

O, I know where you are: nay, tis true: there was neuer any thing ſo ſodaine, but the fight of two Rammes, and Ceſars Thraſonicall bragge of I came, ſaw, and ouercome. For your brother, and my ſiſter, no ſooner met, but they look'd: no ſooner look'd, but they lou'd; no ſooner lou'd, but they ſigh'd: no ſooner ſigh'd but they ask'd one another the reaſon: no ſooner knew the reaſon, but they ſought the remedie: and in theſe degrees, haue they made a paire of ſtaires to marriage, which they will climbe incontinent, or elſe bee incontinent before marriage; they are in the verie wrath of loue, and they will together. Clubbes cannot part them.

 Orl.

They ſhall be married to morrow: and I will bid the Duke to the Nuptiall. But O, how bitter a thing it is, to looke into happines through another mans eies: by ſo much the more ſhall I to morrow be at the height of heart heauineſſe▪ by how much I ſhal thinke my brother happie, in hauing what he wiſhes for.

 Roſ.

Why then to morrow, I cannot ſerue your turne for Roſalind?

 Orl.

I can liue no longer by thinking.

 Roſ.

I will wearie you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then (for now I ſpeake to ſome purpoſe) that I know you are a Gentleman of good conceit: I ſpeake not this, that you ſhould beare a good opinion of my knowledge: inſomuch (I ſay) I know you arc:neither do I labor for a greater eſteeme then may in ſome little meaſure draw a beleefe from you, to do your ſelfe good, and not to grace me. Beleeue then, if you pleaſe, that I can do ſtrange things: I haue ſince I was three yeare old conuerſt with a Magitian, moſt profound in his Art, and yet not damnable. If you do loue Roſalinde ſo neere the hart, as your geſture cries it out: when your brother marries Aliena, ſhall you marrie her. I know into what ſtraights of Fortune ſhe is driuen, and it is not impoſſible to me, if it appeare not inconuenient to you, to ſet her before your eyes to morrow, humane as ſhe is, and without any danger.

 Orl.

Speak'ſt thou in ſober meanings?

 Roſ.

By my life I do, which I tender deerly, though I ſay I am a Magitian: Therefore put you in your beſt aray, bid your friends: for if you will be married to morrow, you ſhall: and to Roſalind if you will.

Enter Siluius & Phebe. Looke, here comes a Louer of mine, and a louer of hers. Phe. Youth, you haue done me much vngentleneſſe, To ſhew the letter that I writ to you. Roſ. I care not if I haue: it is my ſtudie To ſeeme deſpightfull and vngentle to you: you are there followed by a faithful ſhepheard, Looke vpon him, loue him: he worſhips you. Phe.

Good ſhepheard, tell this youth what 'tis to loue

 Sil. It is to be all made of ſighes and teares, And ſo am I for Phebe. Phe.

And I for Ganimed.

Orl.

And I for Roſalind.

Roſ

And I for no woman.

 Sil. It is to be all made of faith and ſeruice, And ſo am I for Phebe. Phe.

And I for Ganimed.

Orl.

And I for Roſalind.

Roſ.

And I for no woman.

 Sil. It is to be all made of fantaſie▪ All made of paſſion, and all made o • • hes, All adoration, dutie, and obſeruan • , All humbleneſſe, all patience, and impatience, All puritie, all triall, all obſeruance: And ſo am I for Phebe. Phe.

And ſo am I for Ganimed.

Orl.

And ſo am I for Roſalind.

Roſ.

And ſo am I for no woman.

 Phe.

If this be ſo, why blame you me to loue you?

 Sil.

If this be ſo, why blame you me to loue you?

 Orl.

If this be ſo, why blame you me to loue you?

 Roſ.

Why do you ſpeake too. Why blame you mee to loue you.

 Orl.

To her, that is not heere, nor doth not heare.

 Roſ.

Pray you no more of this, 'tis like the howling of Iriſh Wolues againſt the Moone: I will helpe you if I can: I would loue you if I could: To morrow meet me altogether: I wil marrie you, if euer I marrie Woman, and Ile be married to morrow: I will ſatisfie you▪ if euer I ſatisfi'd man, and you ſhall bee married to morrow. I wil content you, if what pleaſes you contents you, and you ſhal be married to morrow: As you loue Roſalind meet, as you loue Phebe meet, and as I loue no woman, Ile meet: ſo fare you wel: I haue left you commands.

 Sil.

Ile not faile, if I liue.

 Phe.

Nor I.

 Orl.

Nor I.

Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Clowne and Audrey. Cl •

To morrow is the ioyfull day Audrey, to morow will we be married.

 Aud.

I do deſire it with all my heart: and I hope it is no diſhoneſt deſire, to deſire to be a woman of ye world? Heere come two of the baniſh'd Dukes Pages.

 Enter two Pages. 1. Pa.

Wel met honeſt Gentleman.

 Clo.

By my troth well met: come, ſit, ſit, and a ſong.

 2. Pa.

We are for you, ſit i' th middle.

 1. Pa.

Shal we clap into't roundly, without hauking, or ſpitting, or ſaying we are hoarſe, which are the onely prologues to a bad voice.

 2. Pa.

I faith, y' faith, and both in a tune like two gipſies on a horſe.

 Song. It was a Louer, and his laſſe, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o're the greene corne feild did paſſe, In the ſpring time, the onely pretty rang time. When Birds do ſing, hey ding a ding, ding. Sweet Louers loue the ſpring, And therefore take the preſent time. With a hey, & a ho, and a hey nonino, For loue is crowned with the prime. In ſpring time, &c. Betweene the acres of the Rie, With a hey, and a ho, & a hey nonino: Theſe prettie Country folks would lie. In ſpring time, &c. This Carroll they began that houre, With a hey and a ho, & a hey nonino: How that a life was but a Flower, In ſpring time, &c. Clo.

Truly yong Gentlemen, though there vvas no great matter in the dittie, yet ye note was very vntunable

 1. Pa.

you are deceiu'd Sir, we kept time, we loſt not our time.

 Clo.

By my troth yes: I count it but time loſt to heare ſuch a fooliſh ſong. God buy you, and God mend your voices. Come Audrie.

Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke Senior, Amyens, Iaques, Orlando, Oliuer, Celia. Du. Sen. Doſt thou beleeue Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promiſed? Orl. I ſometimes do beleeue, and ſomtimes do not, As thoſe that feare they hope, and know they feare. Enter Roſalinde, Siluius, & Phebe. Roſ. Patience once more, whiles our cōpact is vrg'd: You ſay, if I bring in your Roſalinde, You wil beſtow her on Orlando heere? Du. Se.

That would I, had I kingdoms to giue with hir.

 Roſ.

And you ſay you wil haue her, when I bring hir?

 Orl.

That would I, were I of all kingdomes King.

 Roſ.

You ſay, you'l marrie me, if I be willing.

 Phe.

That will I, ſhould I die the houre after.

 Roſ. But if you do refuſe to marrie me, You'l giue your ſelfe to this moſt faithfull Shepheard. Phe.

So is the bargaine.

 Roſ.

You ſay that you'l haue Phebe if ſhe will.

 Sil.

Though to haue her and death, were both one thing.

 Roſ. I haue promis'd to make all this matter euen: Keepe you your word, O Duke, to giue your daughter, You yours Orlando, to receiue his daughter: Keepe you your word Phebe, that you'l marrie me, Or elſe refuſing me to wed this ſhepheard: Keepe your word Siluius, that you'l marrie her If ſhe refuſe me, and from hence I go To make theſe doubts all euen. Exit Roſ. and Celia. Du. Sen. I do remember in this ſhepheard boy, Some liuely touches of my daughters fauour. Orl. My Lord, the firſt time that I euer ſaw him, Me thought he was a brother to your daughter: But my good Lord, this Boy is Forreſt borne, And hath bin tutor'd in the rudiments Of many deſperate ſtudies, by his vnckle, Whom he reports to be a great Magitian. Enter Clowne and Audrey. Obſcured in the circle of this Forreſt. Iaq.

There is ſure another flood toward, and theſe couples are comming to the Arke. Here comes a payre of verie ſtrange beaſts, which in all tongues, are call'd Fooles.

 Clo.

Salutation and greeting to you all.

 Iaq.

Good my Lord, bid him welcome: This is the Motley-minded Gentleman, that I haue ſo often met in the Forreſt: he hath bin a Courtier he ſweares.

 Clo.

If any man doubt that, let him put mee to my purgation, I haue trod a meaſure, I haue flattred a Lady, I haue bin politicke with my friend, ſmooth with mine enemie, I haue vndone three Tailors, I haue had foure quarrels, and like to haue fought one.

 Iaq.

And how was that tane vp?

 Clo.

'Faith we met, and found the quarrel was vpon the ſeuenth cauſe.

 Iaq.

How ſeuenth cauſe? Good my Lord, like this fellow.

 Du. Se.

I like him very well.

 Clo.

God • ild you ſir, I deſire you of the like: I preſſe in heere ſir, amongſt the reſt of the Country copulatiues to ſweare, and to forſweare, according as mariage binds and blood breakes: a poore virgin ſir, an il-fauor'd thing ſir, but mine owne, a poore humour of mine ſir, to take that that no man elſe will: rich honeſtie dwels like a miſer ſir, in a poore houſe, as your Pearle in your foule oyſter.

 Du. Se.

By my faith, he is very ſwift, and ſententious

 Clo.

According to the fooles bolt ſir, and ſuch dulcet diſeaſes.

 Iaq.

But for the ſeuenth cauſe. How did you finde the quarrell on the ſeuenth cauſe?

 Clo.

Vpon a lye, ſeuen times remoued: (beare your bodie more ſeeming Audry) as thus ſir: I did diſlike the cut of a certaine Courtiers beard: he ſent me word, if I ſaid his beard was not cut well, hee was in the minde it was: this is call'd the retort courteous. If I ſent him word againe, it was not well cut, he wold ſend me word he cut it to pleaſe himſelfe: this is call'd the quip modeſt. If againe, it was not well cut, he diſabled my iudgment: this is called, the reply churliſh. If againe it was not well cut, he would anſwer I ſpake not true: this is call'd the reproofe valiant. If againe, it was not well cut, he wold ſay, I lie: this is call'd the counter-checke quarrelſome: and ſo to lye circumſtantiall, and the lye direct.

 Iaq.

And how oft did you ſay his beard was not well cut?

 Clo.

I durſt go no further then the lye circumſtantial: nor he durſt not giue me the lye direct: and ſo wee meaſur'd ſwords, and parted.

 Iaq.

Can you nominate in order now, the degrees of the lye.

 Clo.

O ſir, we quarrel in print, by the booke: as you haue bookes for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The firſt, the Retort courteous: the ſecond, the Quip-modeſt: the third, the reply Churliſh: the fourth, the Reproofe valiant: the fift, the Counterchecke quarrelſome: the ſixt, the Lye with circumſtance: the ſeauenth, the Lye direct: all theſe you may auoyd, but the Lye direct: and you may auoide that too, with an If. I knew when ſeuen Iuſtices could not take vp a Quarrell, but when the parties were met themſelues, one of them thought but of an If; as if you ſaide ſo, then I ſaide ſo: and they ſhooke hands, and ſwore brothers. Your If, is the onely peace-maker: much vertue in if.

 Iaq.

Is not this a rare fellow my Lord? He's as good at any thing, and yet a foole.

 Du. Se.

He vſes his folly like a ſtalking-horſe, and vnder the preſentation of that he ſhoots his wit.

 Enter Hymen, Roſalind, and Celia. Still Muſicke. Hymen. Then is there mirth in heauen, When earthly things made eauen attone together. Good Duke receiue thy daughter, Hymen from Heauen brought her, Yea brought her hether. That thou mightſt ioyne his hand with his, Whoſe heart within his boſome is. Roſ. To you I giue my ſelfe, for I am yours. To you I giue my ſelfe, for I am yours. Du. Se.

If there be truth in ſight, you are my daughter.

 Orl.

If there be truth in ſight, you are my Roſalind.

Phe.

If ſight & ſhape be true, why then my loue adieu

 Roſ. Ile haue no Father, if you be not he: Ile haue no Husband, if you be not he: Nor ne're wed woman, if you be not ſhee. Hy. Peace hoa: I barre confuſion, 'Tis I muſt make concluſion Of theſe moſt ſtrange euents: Here's eight that muſt take hands, To ioyne in Hymens bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you, no croſſe ſhall part; You and you, are hart in hart: You, to his loue muſt accord, Or haue a Woman to your Lord. You and you, are ſure together, As the Winter to fowle Weather: Whiles a Wedlocke Hymne we ſing, Feede your ſelues with queſtioning: That reaſon, wonder may diminiſh How thus we met, and theſe things finiſh. Song. Wedding is great Iunos crowne, O bleſſed bond of board and bed: 'Tis Hymen peoples euerie towne, High wedlock then be honored: Honor, high honor and renowns To Hymen, God of euerie Towne. Du. Se. O my deere Neece, welcome thou art to me, Euen daughter welcome, in no leſſe degree. Phe. I wil not eate my word, now thou art mine, Thy faith, my fancie to thee doth combine. Enter Second Brother. 2. Bro. Let me haue audience for a word or two: I am the ſecond ſonne of old Sir Rowland, That bring theſe tidings to this faire aſſembly. Duke Frederick hearing how that euerie day Men of great worth reſorted to this forreſt, Addreſt a mightie power, which were on foote In his owne conduct, purpoſely to take His brother heere, and put him to the ſword: And to the skirts of this wilde Wood he came; Where, meeting with an old Religious man, After ſome queſtion with him, was conuerted Both from his enterprize, and from the world: His crowne bequeathing to his baniſh'd Brother, And all their Lands reſtor'd to him againe That were with him exil'd. This to be true, I do engage my life. Du. Se. Welcome yong man: Thou offer'ſt fairely to thy brothers wedding: To one his lands with-held, and to the other A land it ſelfe at large, a potent Dukedome. Firſt, in this Forreſt, let vs do thoſe ends That heere vvete well begun, and wel begot: And after, euery of this happie number That haue endur'd ſhrew'd daies, and nights with vs, Shal ſhare the good of our returned fortune, According to the meaſure of their ſtates. Meane time, forget this new-falne dignitie, And fall into our Ruſticke Reuelrie: Play Muſicke, and you Brides and Bride-groomes all, With meaſure heap'd in ioy, to' th Meaſures fall. Iaq. Sir, by your patience: if I heard you rightly, The Duke hath put on a Religious life, And throwne into neglect the pompous Court. 2. Bro.

He hath.

 Iaq. To him will I: out of theſe conuertites, There is much matter to be heard, and learn'd: you to your former Honor, I bequeath your patience, and your vertue, well deſerues it. you to a loue, that your true faith doth merit: you to your land, and loue, and great allies: you to a long, and well-deſerued bed: And you to wrangling, for thy louing voyage Is but for two moneths victuall'd: So to your pleaſures, I am for other, then for dancing meazures. Du. Se.

Stay, Iaques, ſtay.

 Iaq. To ſee no paſtime, I: what you would haue, Ile ſtay to know, at your abandon'd caue. Exit. Du. Se. Proceed, proceed: wee'l begin theſe rights, As we do truſt, they'l end in true delights. — Exit Roſ.

It is not the faſhion to ſee the Ladie the Epilogue: but it is no more vnhandſome, then to ſee the Lord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs no buſh, 'tis true, that a good play needes no Epilogue. Yet to good wine they do vſe good buſhes: and good playes proue the better by the helpe of good Epilogues: What a caſe am I in then, that am neither a good Epilogue, nor cannot inſinuate with you in the behalfe of a good play? I am not furniſh'd like a Begger, therefore to begge will not become mee. My way is to coniure you, and Ile begin with the Women. I charge you (O women) for the loue you beare to men, to like as much of this Play, as pleaſe you: And I charge you (O men) for the loue you beare to women (as I perceiue by your ſimpring, none of you hates them) that betweene you, and the women, the play may pleaſe. If I were a Woman, I would kiſſe as many of you as had beards that pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defi'de not: And I am ſure, as many as haue good beards, or good faces, or ſweet breaths, will for my kind offer, when I make curt'ſie, bid me farewell.

Exit.
FINIS.
THE Taming of the Shrew.
Actus primus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Begger and Hoſtes, Chriſtophero Sly. Begger.

ILe pheeze you in faith.

 Hoſt.

A paire of ſtockes you rogue.

 Beg.

Y' are a baggage, the Slies are no Rogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror: therefore Paucas pallabris, let the world ſlide: Seſſa.

 Hoſt.

You will not pay for the glaſſes you haue burſt?

 Beg.

No, not a deniere: go by S. Ieronimie, goe to thy cold bed, and warme thee.

 Hoſt.

I know my remedie, I muſt go fetch the Head-borough.

 Beg.

Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile anſwere him by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come, and kindly.

Falles aſleepe. Winde hornes. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his traine. Lo. Hunt • man I charge thee, tender wel my hounds, Brach Meriman, the poore Curre is imboſt, And couple Clowder with the deepe-mouth'd brach, Saw'ſt thou not boy how Siluer made it good At the hedge corner, in the couldeſt fault, I would not looſe the dogge for twentie pound. Huntſ. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord, He cried vpon it at the meereſt loſſe, And twice to day pick'd out the dulleſt ſent, Truſt me, I take him for the better dogge. Lord. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete, I would eſteeme him worth a dozen ſuch: But ſup them well, and looke vnto them all, To morrow I intend to hunt againe. Huntſ.

I will my Lord.

 Lord.

What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth he breath?

 2. Hun.

He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd with Ale, this were a bed but cold to ſleep ſo ſoundly.

 Lord. Oh monſtrous beaſt, how like a ſwine he lyes. Grim death, how foule and loathſome is thine image: Sirs, I will practiſe on this drunken man. What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed, Wrap'd in ſweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers: A moſt delicious banquet by his bed, And braue attendants neere him when he wakes, Would not the begger then forget himſelfe? 1. Hun.

Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot chooſe.

 2. H.

It would ſeem ſtrange vnto him when he w • k'd

 Lord. Euen as a flatt'ring dreame, or worthles fanc • e. Then take him vp, and manage well the ieſt: Carrie him gently to my faireſt Chamber, And hang it round with all my vvanton pictures: Balme his foule head in warme diſtilled waters, And burne ſweet Wood to make the Lodging ſweete: Procure me Muſicke readie when he vvakes, To make a dulcet and a heauenly ſound: And if he chance to ſpeake, be readie ſtraight (And with a lowe ſubmiſſiue reuerence) Say, what is it your Honor vvil command: Let one attend him vvith a ſiluer Baſon Full of Roſe-water, and beſtrew'd with Flowers, Another beare the Ewer: the third a Diaper, And ſay wilt pleaſe your Lordſhip • oole your hands. Some one be readie with a coſtly ſuite. And aske him what apparrel he will weare: Another tell him of his Hounds and Horſe, And that his Ladie mournes at his diſeaſe, Perſwade him that he hath bin Lunaticke, And when he ſayes he is, ſay that he dreames, For he is nothing but a mightie Lord: This do, and do it kindly, gentle ſirs, It wil be paſtime paſſing excellent, If it be husbanded with modeſtie. 1. Huntſ. My Lord I warrant you we wil play our part As he ſhall thinke by our true diligence He is no leſſe then what we ſay he is. Lord. Take him vp gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes. Sound trumpets. Sirrah, go ſee what Trumpet 'tis that ſounds, Belike ſome Noble Gentleman that meanes (Trauelling ſome iourney) to repoſe him heere. Enter Seruingman. How now? who is it? Ser. An't pleaſe your Honor, Players That offer ſeruice to your Lordſhip. Enter Players. Lord. Bid them come neere: Now fellowes, you are welcome. Players.

We thanke your Honor.

 Lord.

Do you intend to ſtay with me to night?

 2. Player.

So pleaſe your Lordſhippe to accept our dutie.

 Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he plaide a Farmers eldeſt ſonne, 'Twas where you woo'd the Gentlewoman ſo well: I haue forgot your name: but ſure that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. Sincklo.

I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes.

 Lord. 'Tis verie true, thou didſt it excellent: Well you are come to me in happie time, The rather for I haue ſome ſport in hand, Wherein your cunning can aſſiſt me much. There is a Lord will heare you play to night; But I am doubtfull of your modeſties, Leaſt (ouer-cying of his odde behauiour, For yet his honor neuer heard a play) You breake into ſome merrie paſſion, And ſo offend him: for I tell you ſirs, If you ſhould ſmile, he growes impatient. Flai. Feare not my Lord, we can contain our ſelues, Were he the verieſt anticke in the world. Lord. Go ſirra, take them to the Butterie, And giue them friendly welcome euerie one, Let them want nothing that my houſe affoords. Exit one with the Players. Sirra go you to Bartholmew my Page, And ſee him dreſt in all ſuites like a Ladie: That done, conduct him to the drunkards chamber, And call him Madam, do him obeiſance: Tell him from me (as he will win my loue) He beare himſelfe with honourable action, Such as he hath obſeru'd in noble Ladies Vnto their Lords, by them accompliſhed, Such dutie to the drunkard let him do: With ſoft lowe tongue, and lowly curteſie, And ſay: What is't your Honor will command, Wherein your Ladie, and your humble wife, May ſhew her dutie, and make knowne her loue. And then with kinde embracements, tempting kiſſes, And with declining head into his boſome Bid him ſhed teares, as being ouer-ioyed To ſee her noble Lord reſtor'd to health, Who for this ſeuen yeares hath eſteemed him No better then a poore and loathſome begger: And if the boy haue not a womans guift To raine a ſhower of commanded teares, An Onion wil do well for ſuch a ſhift, Which in a Napkin (being cloſe conuei'd) Shall in deſpight enforce a waterie eie: See this diſpatch'd with all the haſt thou canſt, Anon Ile giue thee more inſtructions. Exit a ſeruingman. I know the boy will wel vſurpe the grace, Voice, gate, and action of a Gentlewoman: I long to heare him call the drunkard husband, And how my men will ſtay themſelues from laughter, When they do homage to this ſimple peaſant, Ile in to counſell them: haply my preſence May well abate the ouer-merrie ſpleene, Which otherwiſe would grow into extreames. Enter aloft the drunkard with attendants, ſome with apparel, Baſon and Ewer, & other appurtenances, & Lord. Beg.

For Gods ſake a pot of ſmall Ale.

 1. Ser.

Wilt pleaſe your Lord drink a cup of ſacke?

 2. Ser.

Wilt pleaſe your Honor taſte of theſe Conſerues?

 3. Ser.

What raiment wil your honor weare to day.

 Beg.

I am Chriſtophero Sly, call not mee Honour nor Lordſhip: I ne're drank ſacke in my life: and if you giue me any Conſerues, giue me conſerues of Beefe: nere ask me what raiment Ile weare, for I haue no more doublets then backes: no more ſtockings then legges: nor no more ſhooes then feet, nay ſometime more feete then ſhooes, or ſuch ſhooes as my toes looke through the ouer-leather.

 Lord. Heauen ceaſe this idle humor in your Honor. Oh that a mightie man of ſuch diſcent, Of ſuch poſſeſſions, and ſo high eſteeme Should be infuſed with ſo foule a ſpirit. Beg.

What would you make me mad? Am not I Chriſtopher Slie, old Sies ſonne of Burton-heath, by byrth a Pedler, by education a Cardmaker, by tranſmutation a Beare-heard, and now by preſent profeſſion a Tinker. Aske Marrian Hacket the fat Alewife of Wincot, if ſhee know me not: if ſhe ſay I am not xiiii.d. on the ſcore for ſheere Ale, ſcore me vp for the lyingſt knaue in Chriſtendome. What I am not beſtraught: here's—

 3. Man.

Oh this it is that makes your Ladie mourne.

 2 Mar.

Oh this is it that makes your ſeruants droop.

 Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred ſhuns your houſe As beaten hence by your ſtrange Lunacie. Oh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth, Call home thy ancient thoughts from baniſhment, And baniſh hence theſe abiect lowlie dreames: Looke how thy ſeruants do attend on thee, Each in his office readie at thy becke. Wilt thou haue Muſicke? Harke Apollo plaies, Muſick And twentie caged Nightingales do ſing. Or wilt thou ſleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch, Softer and ſweeter then the luſtfull bed On purpoſe trim'd vp for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walke: we wil beſtrow the ground. Or wilt thou ride? Thy horſes ſhal be trap'd, Their harneſſe ſtudded all with Gold and Pearle. Doſt thou loue hawking? Thou haſt hawkes will ſoare Aboue the morning Larke. Or wilt thou hunt, Thy hounds ſhall make the Welkin anſwer them And fetch ſhrill ecchoes from the hollow earth. 1 Man. Say thou wilt courſe, thy gray-hounds are as ſwift As breathed Stags: I fleeter then the Roe. 2 M. Doſt thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee ſtrait Adonis painted by a running brooke, And Citherea all in ſedges hid, Which ſeeme to moue and wanton with her breath, Euen as the wauing ſedges play with winde. Lord. Wee'l ſhew thee Io, as ſhe was a Maid, And how ſhe was beguiled and ſurpriz'd, As liuelie painted, as the deede was done. 3. Man. Or Daphne roming through a thornie wood, Scratching her legs, that one ſhal ſweare ſhe bleeds, And at that ſight ſhal ſad Apollo weepe, So workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne. Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord: Thou haſt a Ladie farre more Beautifull, Then any woman in this waining age. 1 Man. And til the teares that ſhe hath ſhed for thee, Like enuious flouds ore-run her louely face, She was the faireſt creature in the world, And yet ſhee is inferiour to none. Beg. Am I a Lord, and haue I ſuch a Ladie? Or do I dreame? Or haue I dream'd till now? I do not ſleepe: I ſee, I heare, I ſpeake: I ſmel ſweet ſauours, and I feele ſoft things: Vpon my life I am a Lord indeede, And not a Tinker, nor Chriſtopher Slie. Well, bring our Ladie hither to our ſight, And once againe a pot o' th ſmalleſt Ale. 2. Man. Wilt pleaſe your mightineſſe to waſh your hands: Oh how we ioy to ſee your wit reſtor'd, Oh that once more you knew but what you are: Theſe fifteene yeeres you haue bin in a dreame, Or when you wak'd, ſo wak'd as if you ſlept. Beg. Theſe fifteene yeeres, by my fay, a goodly nap, But did I neuer ſpeake of all that time. 1. Man. Oh yes my Lord, but verie idle words, For though you lay heere in this goodlie chamber, Yet would you ſay, ye were beaten out of doore, And raile vpon the Hoſteſſe of the houſe, And ſay you would proſent her at the Leete, Becauſe ſhe brought ſtone-Iugs, and no ſeal'd quarts: Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. Beg.

I, the womans maide of the houſe.

 3. man. Why ſir you know no houſe, nor no ſuch maid Nor no ſuch men as you haue reckon'd vp, As Stephen Slie, and old Iohn Naps of Greece, And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell, And twentie more ſuch names and men as theſe, Which neuer were, nor no man euer ſaw. Beg.

Now Lord be thanked for my good amends.

 All.

Amen.

 Enter Lady with Attendants. Beg.

I thanke thee, thou ſhalt not looſe by it.

 Lady.

How fares my noble Lord?

 Beg. Marrie I fare well, for heere is cheere enough. Where is my wife? La.

Heere noble Lord, what is thy will with her?

 Beg. Are you my wife, and will not cal me husband? My men ſhould call me Lord, I am your good-man. La. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband I am your wife in all obedience. Beg.

I know it well, what muſt I call her?

 Lord.

Madam.

 Beg.

Alce Madam, or Ione Madam?

 Lord.

Madam, and nothing elſe, ſo Lords cal Ladies

 Beg. Madame wife, they ſay that I haue dream'd, And ſlept aboue ſome fifteene yeare or more. Lady. I, and the time ſeeme's thirty vnto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Beg. 'Tis much, ſeruants leaue me and her alone: Madam vndreſſe you, and come now to bed. La. Thrice noble Lord, let me intreat of you To pardon me yet for a night or two: Or if not ſo, vntill the Sun be ſet. For your Phyſitians haue expreſſely charg'd, In perill to incurre your former malady, That I ſhould yet abſent me from your bed: I hope this reaſon ſtands for my excuſe. Beg.

I, it ſtands ſo that I may hardly tarry ſo long: But I would be loth to fall into my dreames againe: I wil therefore tarrie in deſpight of the fleſh & the blood

 Enter a Meſſenger. Meſ. Your Honors Players hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleaſant Comedie. For ſo your doctors hold it very meete, Seeing too much ſadneſſe hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholly is the Nurſe of frenzie, Therefore they thought it good you heare a play, And frame your minde to mirth and merriment, Which barres a thouſand harmes, and lengthens life. Beg.

Marrie I will let them play, it is not a Comontie, a Chriſtmas gambold, or a tumbling tricke?

 Lady.

No my good Lord, it is more pleaſing ſtuffe.

 Beg.

What, houſhold ſtuffe.

 Lady.

It is a a kinde of hiſtory.

 Beg. Well, we'l ſee't: Come Madam wife ſit by my ſide, And let the world ſlip, we ſhall nere be yonger. Flouriſh. Enter Lucentio, and his man Triano. Luc. Tranio, ſince for the great deſire I had To ſee faire Padua, nurſerie of Arts, I am arriu'd for fruitfull Lumbardie, The pleaſant garden of great Italy, And by my fathers loue and leaue am arm'd With his good will, and thy good companie. My truſtie ſeruant well approu'd in all, Heere let vs breath, and haply inſtitute A courſe of Learning, and ingenious ſtudies. Piſa renowned for graue Citizens Gaue me my being, and my father firſt A Merchant of great Trafficke through the world: Vincentio's come of the Bentinolij, Vincentio's ſonne, brough vp in Florence, It ſhall become to ſerue all hopes conceiu'd To decke his fortune with his vertuous deedes: And therefore Tranio, for the time I ſtudie, Vertue and that part of Philoſophie Will I applie, that treats of happineſſe, By vertue ſpecially to be atchieu'd. Tell me thy minde, for I haue Piſa left, And am to Padua come, as he that leaues A ſhallow plaſh, to plunge him in the deepe, And with ſacietie ſeekes to quench his thirſt. Tra. Me Pardonato, gentle maſter mine: I am in all affected as your ſelfe, Glad that you thus continue your reſolue, To ſucke the ſweets of ſweete Philoſophie. Onely (good maſter) while we do admire This vertue, and this morall diſcipline, Let's be no Stoickes, nor no ſtockes I pray, Or ſo deuote to Ariſtotles checkes As Ouid; be an out-caſt quite abiur'd: Balke Lodgicke with acquaintaince that you haue, And practiſe Rhetoricke in your common talke, Muſicke and Poeſie vſe, to quicken you, The Mathematickes, and the Metaphyſickes Fall to them as you finde your ſtomacke ſerues you: No profit growes, where is no pleaſure tane: In briefe ſir, ſtudie what you moſt affect. Luc. Gramercies Tranio, well doſt thou aduiſe, If Biondello thou wert come aſhore, We could at once put vs in readineſſe, And take a Lodging fit to entertaine Such friends (as time) in Padua ſhall beget. But ſtay a while, what companie is this? Tra.

Maſter ſome ſhew to welcome vs to Towne.

 Enter Baptiſta with his two daughters, Katerina & Bianca, Gremio a Pantelowne, Hortentio ſiſter to Bianca. Lucen. Tranio, ſtand by. Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, For how I firmly am reſolu • d you know: That is, not to beſtow my yongeſt daughter, Before I haue a husband for the elder: If either of you both loue Katherina, Becauſe I know you well, and loue you well, Leaue ſhall you haue to court her at your pleaſure. Gre. To cart her rather. She's to rough for mee, There, there Hortenſio, will you any Wife? Kate. I pray you ſir, is it your will To make a ſtale of me amongſt theſe mates? Hor. Mates maid, how meane you that? No mates for you, Vnleſſe you were of gentler milder mould. Kate. I' faith ſir, you ſhall neuer neede to feare, I-wis it is not halfe way to her heart: But if it were, doubt not, her care ſhould be, To combe your noddle with a three-legg'd ſtoole, And paint your face, and vſe you like a foole. Hor.

From all ſuch diuels, good Lord deliuer vs.

 Gre.

And me too, good Lord.

 Tra. Huſht maſter, heres ſome good paſtime toward; That wench is ſtarke mad, or wonderfull froward. Lucen. But in the others ſilence do I ſee, Maids milde behauiour and ſobrietie. Peace Tranio. Tra.

Well ſaid Mr, mum, and gaze your fill.

 Bap. Gentlemen, that I may ſoone make good What I haue ſaid, Bianca get you in, And let it not diſpleaſe thee good Bianca, For I will loue thee nere the leſſe my girle. Kate.

A pretty peate, it is beſt put finger in the eye, and ſhe knew why.

 Bian. Siſter content you, in my diſcontent. Sir, to your pleaſure humbly I ſubſcribe: My bookes and inſtruments ſhall be my companie, On them to looke, and practiſe by my ſelfe. Luc.

Harke Tranio, thou maiſt heare Minerua ſpeak.

 Hor. Signior Baptiſta, will you be ſo ſtrange, Sorrie am I that our good will effects Bianca's greefe. Gre. Why will you mew her vp (Signior Baptiſta) for this fiend of hell, And make her beare the pennance of her tongue. Bap. Gentlemen content ye: I am reſould: Go in Bianca. And for I know ſhe taketh moſt delight In Muſicke, Inſtruments, and Poetry, Schoolemaſters will I keepe within my houſe, Fit to inſtruct her youth. If you Hortenſio, Or ſignior Gremio you know any ſuch, Preferre them hither: for to cunning men, I will be very kinde and liberall, To mine owne children, in good bringing vp, And ſo farewell: Katherina you may ſtay, For I haue more to commune with Bianca. Exit. Kate. Why, and I truſt I may go too, may I not? What ſhall I be appointed houres, as though (Belike) I knew not what to take, And what to leaue? Ha. Exit. Gre.

You may go to the diuels dam: your guifts are ſo good heere's none will holde you: Their loue is not ſo great Hortenſio, but we may blow our nails together, and faſt it fairely out. Our cakes dough on both ſides. Farewell: yet for the loue I beare my ſweet Bianca, if I can by any meanes light on a fit man to teach her that wherein ſhe delights, I will wiſh him to her father.

 Hor.

So will I ſigniour Gremio: but a word I pray: Though the nature of our quarrell yet neuer brook'd parle, know now vpon aduice, it toucheth vs both: that we may yet againe haue acceſſe to our faire Miſtris, and be happie riuals in Bianca's loue, to labour and effect one thing ſpecially.

 Gre.

What's that I pray?

 Hor.

Marrie ſir to get a husband for her Siſter.

 Gre.

A huſband: a diuell.

 Hor.

I ſay a husband.

 Gre.

I ſay, a diuell: Think'ſt thou Hortenſio, though her father be verie rich, any man is ſo verie a foole to be married to hell?

 Hor.

Tuſh Gremio: though it paſſe your patience & mine to endure her lowd alarums, why man there bee good fellowes in the world, and a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and mony enough.

 Gre.

I cannot tell: but I had as lief take her dowrie with this condition; To be whipt at the hie croſſe euerie morning.

 Hor.

Faith (as you ſay) there's ſmall choiſe in rotten apples: but come, ſince this bar in law makes vs friends, it ſhall be ſo farre forth friendly maintain'd, till by helping Baptiſtas eldeſt daughter to a husband, wee ſet his yongeſt free for a husband, and then haue too t afreſh: Sweet Bianca, happy man be his dole: hee that runnes faſteſt, gets the Ring: How ſay you ſignior Gremio?

 Grem.

I am agreed, and would I had giuen him the beſt horſe in Padua to begin his woing that would thoroughly woe her, wed her, and bed her, and ridde the houſe of her. Come on.

 Exeunt ambo. Manet Tranio and Lucentio Tra. I pray ſir tel me, is it poſſible That loue ſhould of a ſodaine take ſuch hold. Luc. Oh Tranio, till I found it to be true, I neuer thought it poſſible or likely. But ſee, while idely I ſtood looking on, I found the effect of Loue in idleneſſe, And now in plainneſſe do confeſſe to thee That art to me as ſecret and as deere As Anna to the Queene of Carthage was: Tranio I burne, I pine, I periſh Tranio, If I atchieue not this yong modeſt gyrle: Counſaile me Tranio, for I know thou canſt: Aſſiſt me Tranio, for I know thou wilt. Tra. Maſter, it is no time to chide you now, Affection is not rated from the heart: If loue haue touch'd you, naught remaines but ſo, Redime te captam quam queas minimo. Luc Gramercies Lad: Go forward, this contents, The reſt wil comfort, for thy counſels ſound. Tra. Maſter, you look'd ſo longly on the maide, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. Oh yes, I ſaw ſweet beautie in her face, Such as the daughter of Agenor had, That made great Ioue to humble him to her hand, When with his knees he kiſt the Cretan ſtrond. Tra. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how hir ſiſter Began to ſcold, and raiſe vp ſuch a ſtorme, That mortal eares might hardly indure the din. Luc. Tranio, I ſaw her corrall lips to moue, And with her breath ſhe did perfume the ayre, Sacred and ſweet was all I ſaw in her. Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to ſtirre him frō his trance: I pray awake ſir: if you loue the Maide, Bend thoughts and wits to atcheeue her. Thus it ſtands: Her elder ſiſter is ſo curſt and ſhrew'd, That til the Father rid his hands of her, Maſter, your Loue muſt liue a maide at home, And therefore has he cloſely mou'd her vp, Becauſe ſhe will not be annoy'd with ſuters. Luc. Ah Tranio, what a cruell Fathers he: But art thou not aduis'd, he tooke ſome care To get her cunning Schoolemaſters to inſtruct her. Tra.

I marry am I ſir, and now 'tis plotted.

 Luc.

I haue it Tranio.

Tra. Maſter, for my hand, Both our inuentions meet and iumpe in one. Luc.

Tell me thine firſt.

 Tra. You will be ſchoole-maſter, And vndertake the teaching of the maid: That's your deuice. Luc.

It is: May it be done?

 Tra. Not poſſible: for who ſhall beare your part, And be in Padua heere Vincentio's ſonne, Keepe houſe, and ply his booke, welcome his friends, Viſit his Countrimen, and banquet them? Luc. Baſta, content thee: for I haue it full. We haue not yet bin ſeene in any houſe, Nor can we be diſtinguiſh'd by our faces, For man or maſter: then it followes thus; Thou ſhalt be maſter, Tranio in my ſted: Keepe houſe, and port, and ſeruants, as I ſhould, I will ſome other be, ſome Florentine, Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Piſa. 'Tis hatch'd, and ſhall be ſo: Tranio at once Vncaſe thee: take my Conlord hat and cloake, When Biondello comes, he waites on thee, But I will charme him firſt to keepe his tongue. Tra. So had you neede: In breeſe Sir, ſith it your pleaſure is, And I am tyed to be obedient, For ſo your father charg'd me at our parting: Be ſeruiceable to my ſonne (quoth he) Although I thinke 'twas in another ſence, I am content to bee Lucentio, Becauſe ſo well I loue Lucentio. Luc. Tranio be ſo, becauſe Lucentio loues, And let me be a ſlaue, t' atchieue that maide. Whoſe ſodaine ſight hath thral'd my wounded eye. Enter Biondello. Heere comes the rogue. Sirra, where haue you bin? Bion.

Where haue I beene? Nay how now, where are you? Maiſter, ha's my fellow Tranio ſtolne your cloathes, or you ſtolne his, or both? Pray what's the newes?

 Luc. Sirra come hither, 'tis no time to ieſt, And therefore frame your manners to the time Your fellow Tranio heere to ſaue my life, Puts my apparrell, and my count'nance on, And I for my eſcape haue put on his: For in a quarrell ſince I came a ſhore, I kil'd a man, and feare I was deſcried: Waite you on him, I charge you, as becomes: While I make way from hence to ſaue my life: You vnderſtand me? Bion.

I ſir, ne're a whit.

 Luc. And not a iot of Tranio in your mouth, Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. Bion.

The better for him, would I were ſo too.

 Tra.

So could I 'faith boy, to haue the next wiſh after, that Lucentio indeede had Baptiſtas yongeſt daughter. But ſirra, not for my ſake, but your maſters, I aduiſe you vſe your manners diſcreetly in all kind of companies: When I am alone, why then I am Tranio: but in all places elſe, you maſter Lucentio.

Luc. Tranio let's go: One thing more reſts, that thy ſelfe execute, To make one among theſe wooers: if thou ask me why, Sufficeth my reaſons are both good and waighty. Exeunt. The Preſenters aboue ſpeakes. 1. Man.

My Lord you nod, you do not minde the play.

 Beg. Yes by Saint Anne do I, a good matter ſurely: Comes there any more of it? Lady.

My Lord, 'tis but begun.

 Beg.

'Tis a verie excellent peece of worke, Madame Ladie: would 'twere done.

They ſit and marke. Enter Petruchio, and his man Grumio. Petr. Verona, for a while I take my leaue, To ſee my friends in Padua; but of all My beſt beloued and approued friend Hortenſio: & I trow this is his houſe: Heere ſirra Grumio, knocke I ſay. Gru.

Knocke ſir? whom ſhould I knocke? Is there any man ha's rebus'd your worſhip?

 Petr.

Villaine I ſay, knocke me heere ſoundly.

 Gru.

Knocke you heere ſir? Why ſir, what am I ſir, that I ſhould knocke you heere ſir.

 Petr. Villaine I ſay, knocke me at this gate, And rap me well, or Ile knocke your knaues pate. Gru. My Mr is growne quarrelſome: I ſhould knocke you firſt, And then I know after who comes by the worſt. Petr. Will it not be? 'Faith ſirrah, and you'l not knocke, Ile ring it, Ile trie how you can Sol, Fa, and ſing it. He rings him by the eares Gru.

Helpe miſtris helpe, my maſter is mad.

 Petr.

Now knocke when I bid you: ſirrah villaine.

 Enter Hortenſio. Hor.

How now, what's the matter? My olde friend Grumio, and my good friend Petruchio? How do you all at Verona?

 Petr. Signior Hortenſio, come you to part the fray? Contutti le core bene trobatto, may I ſay. Hor. Alla noſtra caſa bene venuto multo honorata ſignior mio Petruchio. Riſe Grumio riſe, we will compound this quarrell. Gru.

Nay 'tis no matter ſir, what he leges in Latine. If this be not a lawfull cauſe for me to leaue his ſeruice, looke you ſir: He bid me knocke him, & rap him ſoundly ſir. Well, was it fit for a ſeruant to vſe his maſter ſo, being perhaps (for ought I ſee) two and thirty, a peepe out? Whom would to God I had well knockt at firſt, then had not Grumio come by the worſt.

 Petr. A ſenceleſſe villaine: good Hortenſio, I had the raſcall knocke vpon your gate, And could not get him for my heart to do it. Gru.

Knocke at the gate? O heauens: ſpake you not theſe words plaine? Sirra, Knocke me heere: rappe me heere: knocke me well, and knocke me ſoundly? And come you now with knocking at the gate?

 Petr.

Sirra be gone, or talke not I aduiſe you

 Hor. Petruchio patience, I am Grumio's pledge: Why this a heauie chance twixt him and you, Your ancient truſtie pleaſant ſeruant Grumio: And tell me now (ſweet friend) what happie gale Blowes you to Padua heere, from old Verona? Petr. Such wind as ſcatters yongmen throgh ye world, To ſeeke their fortunes farther then at home, Where ſmall experience growes but in a few. Signior Hortenſio, thus it ſtands with me, Antonio my father is deceaſt, And I haue thruſt my ſelfe into this maze, Happily to wiue and thriue, as beſt I may: Crownes in my purſe I haue, and goods at home, And ſo am come abroad to ſee the world. Hor. Petruchio, ſhall I then come roundly to thee, And wiſh thee to a ſhrew'd ill-fauour'd wife? Thou'dſt thanke me but a little for my counſell: And yet Ile promiſe thee ſhe ſhall be rich, And verie rich: but th' art too much my friend, And Ile not wiſh thee to her. Petr. Signior Hortenſio, 'twixt ſuch friends as wee, Few words ſuffice: and therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife: (As wealth is burthen of my woing dance) Be ſhe as foule as was Florentius Loue, As old as Sibell, and as curſt and ſhrow'd As Socrates Zentippe, or a worſe: She moues me not, or not remoues at leaſt Affections edge in me. Were ſhe is as rough As are the ſwelling Adriaticke ſeas. I come to wiue it wealthily in Padua: If wealthily, then happily in Padua. Gru.

Nay looke you ſir, hee tels you flatly what his minde is: why giue him Gold enough, and marrie him to a Puppet or an Aglet babie, or an old trot with ne're a tooth in her head, though ſhe haue as manie diſeaſes as two and fiftie horſes. Why nothing comes amiſſe, ſo monie comes withall.

 Hor. Petruchio, ſince we are ſtept thus farre in, I will continue that I broach'd in ieſt, I can Petruchio helpe thee to a wife With wealth enough, and yong and beautious, Brought vp as beſt becomes a Gentlewoman. Her onely fault, and that is faults enough, Is, that ſhe is intollerable curſt, And ſhrow'd, and froward, ſo beyond all meaſure, That were my ſtate farre worſer then it is, I would not wed her for a mine of Gold. Petr. Hortenſio peace: thou knowſt not golds effect, Tell me her fathers name, and 'tis enough: For I will boord her, though ſhe chide as loud As thunder, when the clouds in Autumne cracke. Hor. Her father is Baptiſta Minola, An affable and courteous Gentleman, Her name is Katherina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her ſcolding tongue. Petr. I know her father, though I know not her, And he knew my deceaſed father well: I wil not ſleepe Hortenſio til I ſee her, And therefore let me be thus bold with you, To giue you ouer at this firſt encounter, Vnleſſe you wil accompanie me thither. Gru.

I pray you Sir let him go while the humor laſts. A my word, and ſhe knew him as wel as I do, ſhe would thinke ſcolding would doe little good vpon him. Shee may perhaps call him halfe a ſcore Knaues, or ſo: Why that's nothing; and he begin once, hee'l raile in his rope trickes. Ile tell you what ſir, and ſhe ſtand him but a litle, he wil throw a figure in her face, and ſo disfigure hir with it, that ſhee ſhal haue no more eies to ſee withall then a Cat: you know him not ſir.

 Hor. Tarrie Petruchio, I muſt go with thee, For in Baptiſtas keepe my treaſure is: He hath the Iewel of my life in hold, His yongeſt daughter, beautiful Bianca, And her with-holds from me. Other more Suters to her, and riuals in my Loue: Suppoſing it a thing impoſſible, For thoſe defects I haue before rehearſt, That euer Katherina wil be woo'd: Therefore this order hath Baptiſta tane, That none ſhal haue acceſſe vnto Bianca, Til Katherine the Curſt, haue got a husband. Gru. Katherine the curſt, A title for a maide, of all titles the worſt. Hor. Now ſhal my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me diſguis'd in ſober robes, To old Baptiſta as a ſchoole-maſter Well ſeene in Muſicke, to inſtruct Bianca, That ſo I may by this deuice at leaſt Haue leaue and leiſure to make loue to her, And vnſuſpected court her by her ſelfe. Enter Gremio and Lucentio diſguſed. Gru.

Heere's no knauerie. See, to beguile the olde-folkes, how the young folkes lay their heads together. Maſter, maſter, looke about you: Who goes there? ha.

 Hor. Peace Grumio, it is the riuall of my Loue. Petruchio ſtand by a while. Grumio.

A proper ſtripling, and an amorous.

 Gremio. O very well, I haue perus'd the note: Hearke you ſir, Ile haue them verie fairely bound, All bookes of Loue, ſee that at any hand, And ſee you reade no other Lectures to her: You vnderſtand me. Ouer and beſide Signior Baptistas liberalitie, Ile mend it with a Largeſſe. Take your paper too, And let me haue them verie wel perfum'd; For ſhe is ſweeter then perfume it ſelfe To whom they go to: what wil you reade to her. Luc. What ere I reade to her, Ile pleade for you, As for my patron, ſtand you ſo aſſur'd, As firmely as your ſelfe were ſtill in place, Yea and perhaps with more ſucceſſefull words Then you; vnleſſe you were a ſcholler ſir. Gre.

Oh this learning, what a thing it is.

 Gru.

Oh this Woodcocke, what an Aſſe it is.

 Petru.

Peace ſirra.

 Hor.

Grumio mum: God ſaue you ſignior Gremio.

Gre. And you are wel met, Signior Hortenſio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptiſta Minola, I promiſt to enquire carefully About a ſchoolemaſter for the faire Bianca, And by good fortune I haue lighted well On this yong man: For learning and behauiour Fit for her turne, well read in Poetrie And other bookes, good ones, I warrant ye. Hor. 'Tis well: and I haue met a Gentleman Hath promiſt me to helpe one to another, A fine Muſitian to inſtruct our Miſtris, So ſhal I no whit be behinde in dutie To faire Bianca, ſo beloued of me. Gre.

Beloued of me, and that my deeds ſhal proue.

 Gru.

And that his bags ſhal proue.

 Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our loue, Liſten to me, and if you ſpeake me faire, Ile tel you newes indifferent good for either. Heere is a Gentleman whom by chance I met Vpon agreement from vs to his liking, Will vndertake to woo curſt Katherine, Yea, and to marrie her, if her dowrie pleaſe. Gre. So ſaid, ſo done, is well: Hortenſio, haue you told him all her faults? Petr. I know ſhe is an irkeſome brawling ſcold: If that be all Maſters, I heare no harme. Gre.

No, ſayſt me ſo, friend? What Countreyman?

 Petr. Borne in Verona, old Butonios ſonne: My father dead, my fortune liues for me, And I do hope, good dayes and long, to ſee. Gre. Oh ſir, ſuch a life with ſuch a wife, were ſtrange: But if you haue a ſtomacke, too't a Gods name, You ſhal haue me aſſiſting you in all. But will you woo this Wilde-cat? Petr.

Will I liue?

 Gru.

Wil he woo her? I: or Ile hang her.

 Petr. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Thinke you, a little dinne can daunt mine eares? Haue I not in my time heard Lions rore? Haue I not heard the ſea, puft vp with windes, Rage like an angry Boare, chafed with ſweat? Haue I not heard great Ordnance in the field? And heauens Artillerie thunder in the skies? Haue I not in a pitched battell heard Loud larums, neighing ſteeds, & trumpets clangue▪ And do you tell me of a womans tongue? That giues not halfe ſo great a blow to heare, As wil a Cheſſe-nut in a Farmers fire. Tuſh, tuſh, feare boyes with bugs. Gru.

For he feares none.

 Grem. Hortenſio hearke: This Gentleman is happily arriu'd, My minde preſumes for his owne good, and yours. Hor. I promiſt we would be Contributors, And beare his charge of wooing whatſoere. Gremio.

And ſo we wil, prouided that he win her.

 Gru.

I would I were as ſure of a good dinner.

 Enter Tranio braue, and Biondello. Tra. Gentlemen God ſaue you. If I may be bold Tell me I beſeech you, which is the readieſt way To the houſe of Signior Baptiſta Minola? Bion.

He that ha's the two faire daughters: iſt he you meane?

 Tra.

Euen he Biondello.

Gre.

Hearke you ſir, you meane not her to —

 Tra.

Perhaps him and her ſir, what haue you to do?

 Petr.

Not her that chides ſir, at any hand I pray.

 Tranio.

I loue no chiders ſir: Biondello, let's away.

 Luc

Well begun Tranio.

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go: Are you a ſutor to the Maid you talke of, yea or no? Tra.

And if I be ſir, is it any offence?

 Gremio.

No: if without more words you will get you hence.

 Tra. Why ſir, I pray are not the ſtreers as free For me, as for you? Gre.

But ſo is not ſhe.

 Tra.

For what reaſon I beſeech you.

 Gre. For this reaſon if you'l kno, That ſhe's the choiſe loue of Signior Gremio. Hor.

That ſhe's the choſen of ſignior Hortenſio.

Tra. Softly my Maſters: If you be Gentlemen Do me this right: heare me with patience, Baptiſta is a noble Gentleman, To whom my Father is not all vnknowne, And were his daughter fairer then ſhe is, She may more ſutors haue, and me for one. Faire Laedaes daughter had a thouſand wooers, Then well one more may faire Bianca haue; And ſo ſhe ſhall: Lucentio ſhal make one, Though Paris came, in hope to ſpeed alone. Gre.

What, this Gentleman will out-talke vs all.

 Luc.

Sir giue him head, I know hee'l proue a Iade.

 Petr.

Hortenſio, to what end are all theſe words?

 Hor. Sir, let me be ſo bold as aske you, Did you yet euer ſee Baptiſtas daughter? Tra. No ſir, but heare I do that he hath two: The one, as famous for a ſcolding tongue, As is the other, for beauteous modeſtie. Petr.

Sir, ſir, the firſt's for me, let her go by.

 Gre. Yea, leaue that labour to great Hercules, And let it be more then Alcides twelue. Petr. Sir vnderſtand you this of me (inſooth) The yongeſt daughter whom you hearken for, Her father keepes from all acceſſe of ſutors, And will not promiſe her to any man, Vntill the elder ſiſter firſt be wed. The yonger then is free, and nor before. Tranio. If it be ſo ſir, that you are the man Muſt ſteed vs all, and me amongſt the reſt: And if you breake the ice, and do this ſeeke, Atchieue the elder: ſet the yonger free, For our acceſſe, whoſe hap ſhall be to haue her, Wil not ſo graceleſſe be, to be ingrate. Hor. Sir you ſay wel, and wel you do conceiue, And ſince you do profeſſe to be a ſutor, You muſt as we do, gratifie this Gentleman, To whom we all reſt generally beholding. Tranio. Sir, I ſhal not be ſlacke, in ſigne whereof, Pleaſe ye we may contriue this afternoone, And quaffe carowſes to our Miſtreſſe health, And do as aduerſaries do in law, Striue mightily, but eate and drinke as friends. Gru. Bion.

Oh excellent motion: fellowes let's be gon.

 Hor. The motions good indeed, and be it ſo, Petruchio, I ſhal be your Been venuto. Exeunt. Enter Katherina and Bianca. Bian. Good ſiſter wrong me not, nor wrong your ſelf, To make a bondmaide and a ſlaue of mee, That I diſdaine: but for theſe other goods, Vnbinde my hands, Ile pull them off my ſelfe, Yea all my raiment, to my petticoate, Or what you will command me, wil I do, So well I know my dutie to my elders. Kate. Of all thy ſutors heere I charge tel Whom thou lou'ſt beſt: ſee thou diſſemble not. Bianca. Beleeue me ſiſter, of all the men aliue, I neuer yet beheld that ſpeciall face, Which I could fancie, more then any other. Kate.

Minion thou lyeſt: Is't not Hortenſio?

 Bian. If you affect him ſiſter, heere I ſweare Ile pleade for you my ſelfe, but you ſhal haue him. Kate. Oh then belike you fancie riches more, You wil haue Gremio to keepe you faire. Bian. Is it for him you do enuie me ſo? Nay then you ieſt, and now I wel perceiue You haue but ieſted with me all this while: I prethee ſiſter Kate, vntie my hands. Ka.

If that be ieſt, then all the reſt was ſo.

Strikes her Enter Baptiſta. Bap. Why how now Dame, whence growes this inſolence? Bianca ſtand aſide, poore gyrle ſhe weepes: Go ply thy Needle, meddle not with her. For ſhame thou Hilding of a diuelliſh ſpirit, Why doſt thou wrong her, that did nere wrong thee? When did ſhe croſſe thee with a bitter word? Kate.

Her ſilence flouts me, and Ile be reueng'd.

 Flies after Bianca Bap.

What in my ſight? Bianca get thee in.

Exit. Kate. What will you not ſuffer me: Nay now I ſee She is your treaſure, ſhe muſt haue a husband, I muſt dance bare-foot on her wedding day, And for your loue to her, leade Apes in hell. Talke not to me, I will go ſit and weepe, Till I can finde occaſion of reuenge. Bap. Was euer Gentleman thus greeu'd as I? But who comes heere. Enter Gremio, Lucentio, in the habit of a meane man, Petruchio with Tranio, with his boy bearing a Lute and Bookes. Gre.

Good morrow neighbour Baptiſta.

Bap.

Good morrow neighbour Gremio: God ſaue you Gentlemen.

 Pet.

And you good ſir: pray haue you not a daughter, cal'd Katerina, faire and vertuous.

 Bap.

I haue a daughter ſir, cal'd Katerina.

Gre.

You are too blunt, go to it orderly.

 Pet. You wrong me ſignior Gremio, giue me leaue. I am a Gentleman of Verona ſir, That hearing of her beautie, and her wit, Her affability and baſhfull modeſtie: Her wondrous qualities, and milde behauiour, Am bold to ſhew my ſelfe a forward gueſt Within your houſe, to make mine eye the witneſſe Of that report, which I ſo oft haue heard, And for an entrance to my entertainment, I do preſent you with a man of mine Cunning in Muſicke, and the Mathematickes, 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 Litio, borne in Mantua. Bap. Y' are welcome ſir, and he for your good ſake. But for my daughter Katerine, this I know, She is not for your turne, the more my greefe. Pet. I ſee you do not meane to part with her, Or elſe you like not of my companie. Bap. Miſtake me not, I ſpeake but as I finde, Whence are you ſir? What may I call your name. Pet. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's ſonne, A man well knowne throughout all Italy. Bap.

I know him well: you are welcome for his ſake.

 Gre.

Sauing your tale Petruchio, I pray let vs that are poore petitioners ſpeake too? Bacare, you are meruaylous forward.

 Pet.

Oh, Pardon me ſignior Gremio, I would faine be doing.

 Gre. I doubt it not ſir. But you will curſe Your wooing neighbors: this is a guift Very gratefull, I am ſure of it, to expreſſe The like kindneſſe my ſelfe, that haue beene More kindely beholding to you then any: Freely giue vnto this yong Scholler, that hath Beene long ſtudying at Rhemes, as cunning In Greeke, Latine, and other Languages, As the other in Muſicke and Mathematickes: His name is Cambio: pray accept his ſeruice. Bap. A thouſand thankes ſignior Gremio: Welcome good Cambio. But gentle ſir, Me thinkes you walke like a ſtranger, May I be ſo bold, to know the cauſe of your comming? Tra. Pardon me ſir, the boldneſſe is mine owne, That being a ſtranger in this Cittie heere, Do make my ſelfe a ſutor to your daughter, Vnto Bianca, faire and vertuous: Nor is your firme reſolue vnknowne to me, In the preferment of the eldeſt ſiſter. This liberty is all that I requeſt, That vpon knowledge of my Parentage, I may haue welcome 'mongſt the reſt that woo, And free acceſſe and fauour as the reſt. And toward the education of your daughters: I heere beſtow a ſimple inſtrument, And this ſmall packet of Greeke and Latine bookes: If you accept them, then their worth is great: Bap.

Lucentio is your name, of whence I pray.

 Tra.

Of Piſa ſir, ſonne to Vincentio.

Bap. A mightie man of Piſa by report, I know him well: you are verie welcome ſir: Take you the Lute, and you the ſet of bookes, You ſhall go ſee your Pupils preſently. Holla, within. Enter a Seruant. Sirrah, leade theſe Gentlemen To my daughters, and tell them both Theſe are their Tutors, bid them vſe them well, We will go walke a little in the Orchard, And then to dinner: you are paſſing welcome, And ſo I pray you all to thinke your ſelues. Pet. Signior Baptiſta, my buſineſſe asketh haſte, And euerie day I cannot come to woo, You knew my father well, and in him me, Left ſolie heire to all his Lands and goods, Which I haue bettered rather then decreaſt, Then tell me, if I get your daughters loue, What dowrie ſhall I haue with her to wife. Bap. After my death, the one halfe of my Lands, And in poſſeſsion twentie thouſand Crownes. Pet And for that dowrie, Ile aſſure her of Her widdow-hood, be it that ſhe ſuruiue me In all my Lands and Leaſes whatſoeuer, Let ſpecialties be therefore drawne betweene vs, That couenants may be kept on either hand. Bap. I, when the ſpeciall thing is well obtain'd, That is her loue: for that is all in all. Pet. Why that is nothing: for I tell you father, I am as peremptorie as ſhe proud minded: And where two raging fires meete together, They do conſume the thing that feedes their furie. Though little fire growes great with little winde, yet extreme guſts will blow out fire and all: So I to her, and ſo ſhe yeelds to me, For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. Bap. Well maiſt thou woo, and happy be thy ſpeed: But be thou arm'd for ſome vnhappie words. Pet. I to the proofe, as Mountaines are for windes, That ſhakes not, though they blow perpetually. Enter Hortenſio with his head broke. Bap.

How now my friend, why doſt thou looke ſo pale?

 Hor.

For feare I promiſe you, if I looke pale.

 Bap.

What, will my daughter proue a good Muſitian?

 Hor. I thinke ſhe'l ſooner proue a ſouldier, Iron may hold with her, but neuer Lutes. Bap.

Why then thou canſt not break her to the Lute?

 Hor. Why no, for ſhe hath broke the Lute to me: I did but tell her ſhe miſtooke her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When (with a moſt impatient diuelliſh ſpirit) Frets call you theſe? (quoth ſhe) Ile fume with them: And with that word ſhe ſtroke me on the head, And through the inſtrument my pate made way, And there I ſtood amazed for a while, As on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute, While ſhe did call me Raſcall, Fidler, And twangling lacke, with twentie ſuch vilde tearmes, As had ſhe ſtudied to miſvſe me ſo. Pet. Now by the world, it is a luſtie Wench, I loue her ten times more then ere I did, Oh how I long to haue ſome chat with her. Bap. Wel go with me, and be not ſo diſcomfited. Proceed in practiſe with my yonger daughter, She's apt to learne, and thankefull for good turnes: Signior Petruchio, will you go with vs, Or ſhall I ſend my daughter Kate to you. Exit. Manet Petruchio. Pet. I pray you do. Ile attend her heere, And woo her with ſome ſpirit when ſhe comes, Say that ſhe raile, why then Ile tell her plaine, She ſings as ſweetly as a Nightinghale: Say that ſhe frowne, Ile ſay ſhe lookes as cleere As morning Roſes newly waſht with dew: Say ſhe be mute, and will not ſpeake a word, Then Ile commend her volubility, And ſay ſhe vtcereth piercing eloquence: If ſhe do bid me packe, Ile giue her thankes, As though ſhe bid me ſtay by her a weeke: If ſhe denie to wed, Ile craue the day When I ſhall aske the banes, and when be married. But heere ſhe comes, and now Petruchio ſpeake. Enter Katerina. Good morrow Kate, for thats your name I heare. Kate. Well haue you heard, but ſomething hard of hearing: They call me Katerine, that do talke of me. Pet. You lye infaith, for you are call'd plaine Kate, And bony Kate, and ſometimes Kate the curſt: But Kate, the prettieſt Kate in Chriſtendome, Kate of Kate-hall, my ſuper-daintie Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate Take this of me, Kate of my conſolation, Hearing thy mildneſſe prais'd in euery Towne, Thy vertues ſpoke of, and thy beautie ſounded, Yet not ſo deepely as to thee belongs, My ſelfe am moou'd to woo thee for my wife. Kate. Mou'd, in good time, let him that mou'd you hether Remoue you hence: I knew you at the firſt You were a mouable. Pet.

Why, what's a mouable?

 Kat.

A ioyn'd ſtoole.

 Pet.

Thou haſt hit it: come ſit on me.

 Kate.

Aſſes are made to beare, and ſo are you.

 Pet.

Women are made to beare, and ſo are you.

 Kate.

No ſuch Iade as you, if me you meane.

 Pet. Alas good Kate, I will not burthen thee, For knowing thee to be but yong and light. Kate. Too light for ſuch a ſwaine as you to catch, And yet as heauie as my waight ſhould be. Pet.

Shold be, ſhould: buzze.

 Kate.

Well tane, and like a buzzard.

 Pet.

Oh ſlow-wing'd Turtle, ſhal a buzard take thee?

 Kat.

I for a Turtle, as he takes a buzard.

 Pet.

Come, come you Waſpe, y' faith you are too angrie.

 Kate.

If I be waſpiſh, beſt beware my ſting.

 Pet.

My remedy is then to plucke it out.

 Kate.

I, if the foole could finde it where it lies.

 Pet.

Who knowes not where a Waſpe does, weare his ſting? In his taile.

 Kate.

In his tongue?

 Pet.

Whoſe tongue.

 Kate.

Yours if you talke of tales, and ſo farewell.

 Pet. What with my tongue in your taile. Nay, come againe, good Kate, I am a Gentleman, Kate.

That Ile trie.

ſhe ſtrikes him Pet.

I ſweare Ile cuffe you, if you ſtrike againe.

 Kate. So may you looſe your armes, If you ſtrike me, you are no Gentleman, And if no Gentleman, why then no armes. Pet.

A Herald Kate? Oh put me in thy bookes.

 Kate.

What is your Creſt, a Coxcombe?

 Pet.

A combleſſe Cocke, ſo Kate will be my Hen.

 Kate.

No Cocke of mine, you crow too like a crauen

 Pet.

Nay come Kate, come: you muſt not looke ſo ſowre.

 Kate.

It is my faſhion when I ſee a Crab.

 Pet.

Why heere's no crab, and therefore looke not ſowre.

 Kate.

There is, there is.

 Pet.

Then ſhew it me.

 Kate.

Had I a glaſſe, I would.

 Pet.

What, you meane my face.

 Kate.

Well aym'd of ſuch a yong one.

 Pet.

Now by S. George I am too yong for you.

 Kate.

Yet you are wither'd.

 Pet.

'Tis with cares.

 Kate.

I care not.

 Pet.

Nay heare you Kate. Inſooth you ſcape not ſo.

 Kate.

I chafe you if I tarrie. Let me go.

 Pet. No, not a whit, I finde you paſſing gentle: 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and ſullen, And now I finde report a very liar: For thou art pleaſant, g • meſome, paſſing courteous, But ſlow in ſpeech: yet ſweet as ſpring-time flowers. Thou canſt not frowne, thou canſt not looke a ſconce, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, Nor haſt thou pleaſure to be croſſe in talke: But thou with mildneſſe entertain'ſt thy wooers, With gentle conference, ſoft, and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limpe? Oh ſland'rous world: Kate like the hazle twig Is ſtraight, and ſlender, and as browne in hue As hazle nuts, and ſweeter then the kernels: Oh let me ſee thee walke: thou doſt not halt. Kate.

Go foole, and whom thou keep'ſt command.

 Pet. Did euer Dian ſo become a Groue As Kate this chamber with her princely gate: O be thou Dian, and let her be Kate, And then let Kate be chaſte, and Dian ſportfull. Kate.

Where did you ſtudy all this goodly ſpeech?

 Petr.

It is extempore, from my mother wit.

 Kate.

A witty mother, witleſſe elſe her ſonne.

 Pet.

Am I not wiſe?

 Kat.

Yes, keepe you warme.

 Pet. Marry ſo I meane ſweet Katherine in thy bed: And therefore ſetting all this chat aſide, Thus in plaine termes: your father hath conſented That you ſhall be my wife; your dowry greed on, And will you, • ill you, I will marry you. Now Kate, I am a husband for your turne, 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, Enter Baptiſta, Gremio, Trayno. For I am he am borne to tame you Kate, And bring you from a wilde Kate to a Kate Conformable as other houſhold Kates: Heere comes your father, neuer make deniall▪ I muſt, and will haue Katherine to my wife. Bap.

Now Signior Petruchio, how ſpeed you with my daughter?

 Pet. How but well ſir? how but well? It were impoſſible I ſhould ſpeed amiſſe. Bap.

Why how now daughter Katherine, in your dumps?

 Kat. Call you me daughter? now I promiſe you You haue ſhewd a tender fatherly regard, To wiſh me wed to one halfe Lunaticke, A mad-cap ruffian, and a ſwearing lacke, That thinkes with oathes to face the matter out. Pet. Father, 'tis thus, your ſelfe and all the world That talk'd of her, haue talk'd amiſſe of her: If ſhe be curſt, it is for pollicie, For ſhee's not froward, but modeſt as the Doue, Shee is not hot, but temperate as the morne, For patience ſhee will proue a ſecond Griſſell, And Romane Lucrece for her chaſtitie: And to conclude, we haue greed ſo well together, That vpon ſonday is the wedding day. Kate.

Ile ſee thee hang'd on ſonday firſt.

 Gre.

Hark Petruchio, ſhe ſaies ſhee'll ſee thee hang'd firſt.

 Tra.

Is this your ſpeeding? nay thē godnight our part.

 Pet. Be patient gentlemen, I chooſe her for my ſelfe, If ſhe and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd twixt vs twaine being alone, That ſhe ſhall ſtill be curſt in company. I tell you 'tis incredible to beleeue How much ſhe loues me: oh the kindeſt Kate, Shee hung about my necke, and kiſſe on kiſſe Shee vi'd ſo faſt, proteſting oath on oath, That in a twinke ſhe won me to her loue. Oh you are nouices, 'tis a world to ſee How tame when men and women are alone. A meacocke wretch can make the curſteſt ſhrew: Giue me thy hand Kate, I will vnto Venice To buy apparell 'gainſt the wedding day; Prouide the feaſt father, and bid the gueſts, I will be ſure my Katherine ſhall be fine. Bap. I know not what to ſay, but giue me your hāds, God ſend you ioy, Petruchio, 'tis a match. Gre.

Tra. Amen ſay we, we will be witneſſes.

 Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu, I will to Venice, ſonday comes apace, We will haue rings, and things, and fine array, And kiſſe me Kate, we will be married a ſonday. Exit Petruchio and Katherine. Gre.

Was euer match clapt vp ſo ſodainly?

 Bap. Faith Gentlemen now I play a marchants part, And venture madly on a deſperate Mart. Tra. Twas a commodity lay fretting by you, 'Twill bring you gaine, or periſh on the ſeas. Bap.

The gaine I ſeeke, is quiet me the match.

 Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch: But now Baptiſta, to your yonger daughter, Now is the day we long haue looked for, I am your neighbour, and was ſuter firſt. Tra. And I am one that loue Bianca more Then words can witneſſe, or your thoughts can gueſſe. Gre.

Yongling thou canſt not loue ſo deare as I.

 Tra.

Gray-beard thy loue doth freeze.

 Gre. But thine doth frie, Skipper ſtand backe, 'tis age that nouriſheth. Tra.

But youth in Ladies eyes that floriſheth.

 Bap. Content you gentlemen, I wil cōpound this ſtrife 'Tis deeds muſt win the prize, and he of both That can aſſure my daughter greateſt dower, Shall haue my Biancas loue. Say ſignior Gremio, what can you aſſure her? Gre. Firſt, as you know, my houſe within the City Is richly furniſhed with plate and gold, Baſons and ewers to laue her dainty hands: My hangings all of tirian tapeſtry: In Iuory cofers I haue ſtuft my crownes: In Cypros cheſts my arras counterpoints, Coſtly apparell, tents, and Canopies, Fine Linnen, Turky cuſhions boſt with pearle, Vallens of Venice gold, in needle worke: Pewter and braſſe, and all things that belongs To houſe or houſe-keeping: then at my farme I haue a hundred milch-kine to the pale, Sixe-ſcore fat Oxen ſtanding in my ſtalls, And all things anſwerable to this portion. My ſelfe am ſtrooke in yeeres I muſt confeſſe, And if I die to morrow this is hers, If whil'ſt I liue ſhe will be onely mine. Tra. That only came well in: ſir, liſt to me, I am my fathers heyre and onely ſonne, If I may haue your daughter to my wife, Ile leaue her houſes three or foure as good Within rich Piſa walls, as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua, Beſides, two thouſand Duckets by the yeere Of fruitfull land, all which ſhall be her ioynter. What, haue I pincht you Signior Gremio? Gre. Two thouſand Duckets by the yeere of land, My Land amounts not to ſo much in all: That ſhe ſhall haue, beſides an Argoſie That now is lying in Marcellus roade: What, haue I choakt you with an Argoſie? Tra. Gremio, 'tis knowne my father hath no leſſe Then three great Argoſies, beſides two Galliaſſes And twelue tite Gallies, theſe I will aſſure her, And twice as much what ere thou offreſt next. Gre. Nay, I haue offred all, I haue no more, And ſhe can haue no more then all I haue, If you like me, ſhe ſhall haue me and mine. Tra. Why then the maid is mine from all the world By your firme promiſe, Gremio is out-vied. Bap. I muſt confeſſe your offer is the beſt, And let your father make her the aſſurance, Shee is your owne, elſe you muſt pardon me: If you ſhould die before him, where's her dower? Tra.

That's but a cauill: he is olde, I young.

 Gre.

And may not yong men die as well as old?

 Bap. Well gentlemen, I am thus reſolu'd, On ſonday next, you know My daughter Katherine is to be married: Now on the ſonday following, ſhall Bianca Be Bride to you, if you make this aſſurance: If not, to Signior Gremio: And ſo I take my leaue, and thanke you both. Exit. Cre. Adieu good neighbour: now I feare thee not: Sirra, yong gameſter, your father were a foole To giue thee all, and in his wayning age Set foot vnder thy table: tut, a toy, An olde Italian foxe is not ſo kinde my boy. Exit. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide, Yet I haue fac'd it with a card of ten: 'Tis in my head to doe my maſter good: I ſee no reaſon but ſuppos'd Lucentio Muſt get a father, call'd ſuppos'd Ʋincentio, And that's a wonder: fathers commonly Doe get their children: but in this caſe of woing, A childe ſhall get a ſire, if I faile not of my cunning. Exit.
Actus Tertia. Enter Lucentio, Hortentio, and Bianca. Luc. Fidler forbeare you grow too forward Sir, Haue you ſo ſoone forgot the entertainment Her ſiſter Katherine welcom'd you withall. Hort. But wrangling pedant, this is The patroneſſe of heauenly harmony: Then giue me leaue to haue prerogatiue, And when in Muſicke we haue ſpent an houre, Your Lecture ſhall haue leiſure for as much. Luc. Prepoſterous Aſſe that neuer read ſo farre, To know the cauſe why muſicke was ordain'd: Was it not to refreſh the minde of man After his ſtudies, or his vſuall paine? Then giue me leaue to read Philoſophy, And while I pauſe, ſerue in your harmony. Hort.

Sirra, I will not beare theſe braues of thine.

 Bianc. Why gentlemen, you doe me double wrong, To ſtriue for that which reſteth in my choice: I am no breeching ſcholler in the ſchooles, Ile not be tied to howres, nor pointed times, But learne my Leſſons as I pleaſe my ſelfe, And to cut off all ſtrife: heere ſit we downe, Take you your inſtrument, play you the whiles, His Lecture will be done ere you haue tun'd. Hort.

You'll leaue his Lecture when I am in tune?

 Luc.

That will be neuer, tune your inſtrument.

 Bian.

Where left we laſt?

 Luc.

Heere Madam: Hic Ibat Simois, hic eſt ſigeria tellus, hic ſteterat Priamiregia Celſa ſenis.

Bian.

Conſter them.

 Luc.

Hic Ibat, as I told you before. Simois, I am Lucentio, hic eſt, ſonne vnto Vincentio of Piſa, Sigeriatellus, diſguiſed thus to get your loue, 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 Pantalowne.

 Hort.

Madam, my Inſtrument's in tune.

 Bian.

Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres.

 Luc.

Spit in the hole man, and tune againe.

 Bian.

Now let mee ſee if I can conſter it. Hic ibat ſimois, I know you not, hic eſt ſigeria tellus, I truſt you not, hic ſtaterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia preſume not, Celſa ſenis, deſpaire not.

 Hort.

Madam, tis now in tune.

 Luc.

All but the baſe.

 Hort.

The baſe is right, 'tis the baſe knaue that iars.

 Luc. How fiery and forward our Pedant is, Now for my life the knaue doth court my loue, Pedaſcule, Ile watch you better yet: In time I may beleeue, yet I miſtruſt. Bian. Miſtruſt it not, for ſure Aeacides Was Atax cald ſo from his grandfather. Hort. I muſt beleeue my maſter, elſe I promiſe you, I ſhould be arguing ſtill vpon that doubt, But let it reſt, now Litio to you: Good maſter take it not vnkindly pray That I haue beene thus pleaſant with you both. Hort. You may go walk, and giue me leaue a while, My Leſſons make no muſicke in three parts. Luc. Are you ſo formall ſir, well I muſt waite And watch withall, for but I be deceiu'd, Our fine Muſitian groweth amorous. Hor. Madam, before you touch the inſtrument, To learne the order of my fingering, I muſt begin with rudiments of Art, To teach you gamoth in a briefer ſort, More pleaſant, pithy, and effectuall, Then hath beene taught by any of my trade, And there it is in writing fairely drawne. Bian.

Why, I am paſt my gamouth long agoe.

 Hor.

Yet read the gamouth of Hortentio.

Bian. Gamouth I am, the ground of all accord: Are, to plead Hortenſio's paſſion: Beeme, Bianca take him for thy Lord Cfavt, that loues with all affection: D ſolre, one Cliffe, two notes haue I, Elami, ſhow pitty or I die. Call you this gamouth? tut I like it not, Old faſhions pleaſe me beſt, I am not ſo nice To charge true rules for old inuentions. Enter a Meſſenger. Nicke. Miſtreſſe, your father prayes you leaue your books, And helpe to dreſſe your ſiſters chamber vp, You know to morrow is the wedding day. Bian.

Farewell ſweet maſters both, I muſt be gone.

 Luc.

Faith Miſtreſſe then I haue no cauſe to ſtay.

 Hor. But I haue cauſe to pry into this pedant, Methinkes he lookes as though he were in loue: Yet if thy thoughts Bianca be ſo humble To caſt thy wandring eyes on euery ſtale: Seize thee that Liſt, if once I finde thee ranging, Hortenſio will be quit with thee by changing. Exit. Enter Baptiſta, Gremio, Tranio, Katherine, Bianca, and others, attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the pointed day That Katherine and Petruchio ſhould be married, And yet we heare not of our ſonne in Law: What will be ſaid, what mockery will it be? To want the Bride-groome when the Prieſt attends To ſpeake the ceremoniall rites of marriage? What ſaies Lucentio to this ſhame of ours? Kate. No ſhame but mine, I muſt forſooth be forſt To giue my hand oppos'd againſt my heart Vnto a mad-braine rudes by, full of ſpleene, Who woo'd in haſte, and meanes to wed at leyſure: I told you I, he was a franticke foole, Hiding his bitter ieſts in blunt behauiour, And to be noted for a merry man; Hee'll wooe a thouſand, point the day of marriage, Make friends, inuite, and proclaime the banes, Yet neuer meanes to wed where he hath woo'd: Now muſt the world point at poore Katherine, And ſay, loe, there is man Petruchio's wife If it would pleaſe him come and marry her. Tra. Patience good Katherine and Baptiſta too, Vpon my life Petruchio meanes but well, What euer fortune ſtayes him from his word, Though he be blunt, I know him paſſing wiſe, Though he be merry, yet withall he's honeſt. Kate.

Would Katherine had neuer ſeen him though.

 Exit weeping. Bap. Goe girle, I cannot blame thee now to weepe, For ſuch an iniurie would vexe a very ſaint, Much more a ſhrew of impatient humour. Enter Biondello. Bion.

Maſter, maſter, newes, and ſuch newes as you neuer heard of,

 Bap.

Is it new and olde too? how may that be?

 Bion.

Why, is it not newes to heard of Petruchio's comming?

 Bap.

Is he come?

 Bion.

Why no ſir.

 Bap.

What then?

 Bion.

He is comming.

 Bap.

When will he be heere?

 Bion.

When he ſtands where I am, and ſees you there.

 Tra.

But ſay, what to thine olde newes?

 Bion.

Why Petruchio is comming, in a new hat and an old ierkin, a paire of olde breeches thrice turn'd; a paire of bootes that haue beene candle-caſes, one buckled, another lac'd: an olde ruſty ſword tane out of the Towne Armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeleſſe: with two broken points: his horſe hip'd with an olde mothy ſaddle, and ſtirrops of no kindred: beſides poſſeſt with the glanders, and like to moſe in the chine, troubled with the Lampaſſe, infected with the faſhions, full of Windegalls, ſped with Spauins, raied with the Yellowes, paſt cure of the Fiues, ſtarke ſpoyl'd with the Staggers, begnawne with the Bots, Waid in the backe, and ſhoulder-ſhotten, neere leg'd before, and with a halfe-chekt Bitte, & a headſtall of ſheepes leather, which being reſtrain'd to keepe him from ſtumbling, hath been often burſt, and now repaired with knots: one girth ſixe times peec'd, and a womans Crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairely ſet down in ſtuds, and heere and there peec'd with packthred.

 Bap.

Who comes with him?

 Bion.

Oh ſir, his Lackey, for all the world Capariſon'd like the horſe: with a linnen ſtock on one leg, and a kerſey boot-hoſe on the other, gartred with a red and blew lift; an old hat, & the humor of forty fancies prickt in't for a feather: a monſter, a very monſter in apparell, & not like a Chriſtian foot-boy, or a gentlemans Lacky.

 Tra. 'Tis ſome od humor pricks him to this faſhion, Yet oftentimes he goes but meane apparel'd. Bap.

I am glad he's come, howſoere he comes.

 Bion.

Why ſir, he comes not.

 Bap.

Didſt thou not ſay hee comes?

 Bion.

Who, that Petruchio came?

 Bap.

I, that Petruchio came.

 Bion.

No ſir, I ſay his horſe comes with him on his backe.

 Bap.

Why that's all one.

 Bion.

Nay by S. Iamy, I hold you a penny, a horſe and a man is more then one, and yet not many.

 Enter Petruchio and Grumio. Pet.

Come, where be theſe gallants? who's at home?

 Bap.

You are welcome ſir.

 Petr.

And yet I come not well.

 Bap.

And yet you halt not.

 Tra.

Not ſo well apparell'd as I wiſh you were.

 Petr. Were it better I ſhould ruſh in thus: But where is Kate? where is my louely Bride? How does my father? gentles methinkes you frowne, And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they ſaw ſome wondrous monument, Some Commet, or vnuſuall prodigie? Bap. Why ſir, you know this is your wedding day▪ Firſt were we ſad, fearing you would not come, Now ſadder that you come ſo vnprouided: Fie, doff this habit, ſhame to your eſtate, An eye-ſore to our ſolemne feſtiuall. Tra. And tell vs what occaſion of import Hath all ſo long detain'd you from your wife, And ſent you hither ſo vnlike your ſelfe? Petr. Tedious it were to tell, and harſh to heare, Sufficeth I am come to keepe my word. Though in ſome part inforced to digreſſe, Which at more leyſure I will ſo excuſe, As you ſhall well be ſatisfied with all▪ But where is Kate? I ſtay too long from her, The morning weares, 'tis time we were at Church. Tra. See not your Bride in theſe vnreuerent robes, Goe to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. Pet.

Not I, beleeue me, thus Ile viſit her.

 Bap.

But thus I truſt you will not marry her.

 Pet. Good ſooth euen thus: therefore ha done with words, To me ſhe's married, not vnto my cloathes: Could I repaire what ſhe will weare in me, As I can change theſe poore accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate, and better for my ſelfe. But what a foole am I to chat with you, When I ſhould bid good morrow to my Bride? And ſeale the title with a louely kiſſe. Exit. Tra. He hath ſome meaning in his mad attire, We will perſwade him be it poſſible, To put on better ere he goe to Church. Bap.

Ile after him, and ſee the euent of this.

Exit. Tra. But ſir, Loue concerneth vs to adde Her fathers liking, which to bring to paſſe As before imparted to your worſhip, I am to get a man what ere he be, It skills not much, weele fit him to our turne, And he ſhall be Vincentio of Piſa, And make aſſurance heere in Padua Of greater ſummes then I haue promiſed, So ſhall you quietly enioy your hope, And marry ſweet Bianca with conſent. Luc. Were it not that my fellow ſchoolemaſter Doth watch Bianca's ſteps ſo narrowly: 'Twere good me-thinkes to ſteale our marriage, Which once perform'd, let all the world ſay no, Ile keepe mine owne deſpite of all the world. Tra. That by degrees we meane to looke into, And watch our vantage in this buſineſſe, Wee'll ouer-reach the grey-beard Gremio, The narrow prying father Minola, The quaint Muſician, amorous Litio, All for my Maſters ſake Lucentio. Enter Gremio. Signior Gremio, came you from the Church? Gre.

As willingly as ere I came from ſchoole.

 Tra.

And is the Bride & Bridegroom coming home?

 Gre. A bridegroome ſay you? 'tis a groome indeed, A grumlling groome, and that the girle ſhall finde. Tra.

Curſter then ſhe, why 'tis impoſſible.

 Gre.

Why hee's a deuill, a deuill, a very fiend.

 Tra.

Why ſhe's a deuill, a deuill, the deuils damme.

 Gre. Tut, ſhe's a Lambe, a Doue, a foole to him: Ile tell you ſir Lucentio; when the Prieſt Should aske if Katherine ſhould be his wife, I, by goggs woones quoth he, and ſwore ſo loud, That all amaz'd the Prieſt let fall the booke, And as he ſtoop'd againe to take it vp, This mad-brain'd bridegroome tooke him ſuch a cuffe, That downe ſell Prieſt and booke, and booke and Prieſt, Now take them vp quoth he, if any liſt. Tra.

What ſaid the wench when he roſe againe?

 Gre.

Trembled and ſhooke: for why, he ſtamp'd and ſwore, as if the Vicar meant to cozen him: but after many ceremonies done, hee calls for wine, a health quoth he, as if he had beene aboord carowſing to his Mates after a ſtorme, quaft off the Muſcadell, and threw the ſops all in the Sextons face: hauing no other reaſon, but that his beard grew thinne and hungerly, and ſeem'd to aske him ſops as hee was drinking: This done, hee tooke the Bride about the necke, and kiſt her lips with ſuch a clamorous ſmacke, that at the parting all the Church did eccho: and I ſeeing this, came thence for very ſhame, and after mee I know the rout is comming, ſuch a mad marryage neuer was before: harke, harke, I heare the minſtrels play.

Muſicke playes. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Bianca, Hortenſio, Baptiſta. Petr. Gentlemen & friends, I thank you for your pains, I know you thinke to dine with me to day, And haue prepar'd great ſtore of wedding cheere, But ſo it is, my haſte doth call me hence, And therefore heere I meane to take my leaue. Bap.

Is't poſſible you will away to night?

 Pet. I muſt away to day before night come, Make it no wonder: if you knew my buſineſſe, You would intreat me rather goe then ſtay: And honeſt company, I thanke you all, That haue beheld me giue away my ſelfe To this moſt patient, ſweet, and vertuous wife, Dine with my father, drinke a health to me, For I muſt hence, and farewell to you all. Tra.

Let vs intreat you ſtay till after dinner.

 Pet.

It may not be.

 Gra.

Let me intreat you.

 Pet.

It cannot be.

 Kat.

Let me intreat you.

 Pet.

I am content.

 Kat.

Are you content to ſtay?

 Pet. I am content you ſhall entreat me ſtay, But yet not ſtay, entreat me how you can. Kat.

Now if you loue me ſtay.

 Pet.

Grumio, my horſe.

 Gru.

I ſir, they be ready, the Oates haue eaten the horſes.

 Kate. Nay then, Doe what thou canſt, I will not goe to day, No, nor to morrow, not till I pleaſe my ſelfe, The dore is open ſir, there lies your way, You may be iogging whiles your bootes are greene: For me, Ile not be gone till I pleaſe my ſelfe, 'Tis like you'll proue a iolly ſurly groome, That take it on you at the firſt ſo roundly. Pet.

O Kate content thee, prethee be not angry.

 Kat. I will be angry, what haſt thou to doe? Father, be quiet, he ſhall ſtay my leiſure. Gre.

I marry ſir, now it begins to worke.

 Kat. Gentlemen, forward to the bridall dinner, I ſee a woman may be made a foole If ſhe had not a ſpirit to reſiſt. Pet. They ſhall goe forward Kate at thy command, Obey the Bride you that attend on her. Goe to the feaſt, reuell and domineere, Carowſe full meaſure to her maiden-head, Be madde and merry, or goe hang your ſelues: But for my bonny Kate, ſhe muſt with me: Nay, looke not big, nor ſtampe, nor ſtare, nor fret, I will be maſter of what is mine owne, Shee is my goods, my chattels, ſhe is my houſe, My houſhold-ſtuffe, my field, my barne, My horſe, my oxe, my aſſe, my any thing, And heere ſhe ſtands, touch her who euer dare, Ile bring mine action on the proudeſt he That ſtops my way in Padua: Grumio Draw forth thy weapon, we are beſet with theeues, Reſcue thy Miſtreſſe if thou be a man: Feare not ſweet wench, they ſhall not touch thee Kate, Ile buckler thee againſt a Million. Exeunt. P. Ka. Bap.

Nay, let them goe, a couple of quiet ones.

 Gre.

Went they not quickly, I ſhould die with laughing.

 Tra.

Of all mad matches neuer was the like.

 Luc.

Miſtreſſe, what is your opinion of your ſiſter?

 Bian.

That being mad her ſelfe, ſhe's madly mated.

 Gre.

I warrant him Petruchio is Kated.

 Bap. Neighbours and friends, though Bride & Bridegroom wants For to ſupply the places at the table, You know there wants no iunkets at the feaſt: Lucentio, you ſhall ſupply the Bridegroomes place, And let Bianca take her ſiſters roome. Tra.

Shall ſweet Bianca practiſe how to bride it?

 Bap.

She ſhall Lucentio: come gentlemen lets goe.

 Enter Grumio. Exeunt. Gru.:

Fie, fie on all tired Iades, on all mad Maſters, & all foule waies: was euer man ſo beaten? was euer man ſo raide? was euer man ſo weary? I am ſent before to make a fire, and they are comming after to warme them: now were not I a little pot, & ſoone hot; my very lippes might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roofe 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 warme my ſelfe: for conſidering the weather, a taller man then I will take cold: Holla, hoa Curtis.

Enter Curtis. Curt.

Who is that calls ſo coldly?

 Gru.

A piece of Ice: if thou doubt it, thou maiſt ſlide from my ſhoulder to my heele, with no greater a run but my head and my necke. A fire good Curtis.

Cur.

Is my maſter and his wife comming Grumio?

 Gru.

Oh I Curtis I, and therefore fire, fire, caſt on no water.

 Cur.

Is ſhe ſo hot a ſhrew as ſhe's reported.

 Gru.

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 miſtris, and my ſelfe fellow Curtis.

Gru.

Away you three inch foole, I am no beaſt.

 Gru.

Am I but three inches? Why thy horne is a foot and ſo long am I at the leaſt. But wilt thou make a fire, or ſhall I complaine on thee to our miſtris, whoſe hand (ſhe being now at hand) thou ſhalt ſoone feele, to thy cold comfort, for being ſlow in thy hot office.

 Cur.

I prethee good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

 Gru.

A cold world Curtis in euery office but thine, & therefore fire: do thy duty, and haue thy dutie, for my Maſter and miſtris are almoſt frozen to death.

 Cur.

There's fire readie, and therefore good Grumio the newes.

 Gru.

Why Iacke boy, ho boy, and as much newes as wilt thou.

 Cur.

Come, you are ſo full of conicatching.

 Gru.

Why therefore fire, for I haue caught extreme cold. Where's the Cooke, is ſupper ready, the houſe trim'd, ruſhes ſtrew'd, cobwebs ſwept, the ſeruingmen in their new fuſtian, the white ſtockings, and euery officer his wedding garment on? Be the Iackes faire within, the Gils fai • without, the Carpets laide, and euerie thing in order?

 Cur.

All readie: and therefore I pray thee newes.

 Gru.

Firſt know my horſe is tired, my maſter & miſtris falne out.

 Cur.

How?

 Gru.

Out of their ſaddles into the durt, and thereby hangs a tale.

 Cur.

Let's ha't good Grumio.

Gru.

Lend thine eare.

 Cur.

Heere.

 Gru.

There.

 Cur.

This 'tis to feele a tale, not to heare a tale.

 Gru.

And therefore 'tis cal'd a ſenſible tale: and this Cuffe was but to knocke at your eare, and beſeech liſtning: now I begin, Inprimis wee came downe a fowle hill, my Maſter riding behinde my Miſtris.

 Cur.

Both of one horſe?

 Gru.

What's that to thee?

 Cur.

Why a horſe.

 Gru.

Tell thou the tale: but hadſt thou not croſt me, thou ſhouldſt haue heard how her horſe fel, and ſhe vnder her horſe: thou ſhouldſt haue heard in how miery a place, how ſhe was bemoil'd, how hee left her with the horſe vpon her, how he beat me becauſe her horſe ſtumbled, how ſhe waded through the durt to plucke him off me: how he ſwore, how ſhe prai'd, that neuer prai'd before: how I cried, how the horſes ranne away, how her bridle was burſt: how I loſt my crupper, with manie things of worthy memorie, which now ſhall die in obliuion, and thou returne vnexperienc'd to thy graue.

 Cur.

By this reckning he is more ſhrew than ſhe.

 Gru.

I, and that thou and the proudeſt of you all ſhall finde when he comes home. But what talke I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Ioſeph, Nicholas, Phillip, Walter, Sugerſop and the reſt: let their heads bee ſlickely comb'd, their blew coats bruſh'd, and their garters of an indifferent knit, let them curtſie with their left legges, and not preſume to touch a haire of my Maſters horſe-taile, till they kiſſe their hands. Are they all readie?

 Cur.

They are.

 Gru.

Call them forth.

 Cur.

Do you heare ho? you muſt meete my maiſter to countenance my miſtris.

 Gru.

Why ſhe hath a face of her owne.

 Cur.

Who knowes not that?

 Gru.

Thou it ſeemes, that cals for company to countenance her.

 Cur.

I call them forth to credit her.

 Enter foure or fiue ſeruing men. Gru.

Why ſhe comes to borrow nothing of them.

 Nat.

Welcome home Grumio.

Phil.

How now Grumio.

Ioſ.

What Grumio.

Nick.

Fellow Grumio.

Nat.

How now old lad.

 Gru.

Welcome you: how now you: what you: fellow you: and thus much for greeting. Now my ſpruce companions, is all readie, and all things neate?

 Nat.

All things is readie, how neere is our maſter?

 Gre.

E'ne at hand, alighted by this: and therefore be not—Cockes paſſion, ſilence, I heare my maſter.

 Enter Petruchio and Kate. Pet. Where be theſe knaues? What no man at doore To hold my ſtirrop, nor to take my horſe? Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Phillip. All ſer.

Heere, heere ſir, heere ſir.

 Pet. Heere ſir, heere ſir, heere ſir, heere ſir. You logger-headed and vnpolliſht groomes: What? no attendance? no regard? no dutie? Where is the fooliſh knaue I ſent before? Gru.

Heere ſir, as fooliſh as I was before.

 Pet. You pezant, ſwain, you horſon malt-horſe drudg Did I not bid thee meete me in the Parke, And bring along theſe raſcal knaues with thee? Grumio. Nathaniels coate ſir was not fully made, And Gabrels pumpes were all vnpinkt i' th heele: There was no Linke to colour Peters hat, And Walters dagger was not come from ſheathing: There were none fine, but Adam, Rafe, and Gregory, The reſt were ragged, old, and beggerly, Yet as they are, heere are they come to meete you. Pet. Go raſcals, go, and fetch my ſupper in. Ex. Ser. Where is the life that late I led? Where are thoſe? Sit downe Kate, And welcome. Soud, ſoud, ſoud, ſoud. Enter ſeruants with ſupper. Why when I ſay? Nay good ſweete Kate be merrie. Off with my boots, you rogues: you villaines, when? It was the Friar of Orders gray, As he forth walked on his way. Out you rogue, you plucke my foote awrie, Take that, and mend the plucking of the other. Be merrie Kate: Some water heere: what hoa. Enter one with water. Where's my Spaniel Troilus? Sirra, get you hence, And bid my cozen Ferdinand come hither: One Kate that you muſt kiſſe, and be acquainted with. Where are my Slippers? Shall I haue ſome water? Come Kate and waſh, & welcome heartily: you horſon villaine, will you let it fall? Kate.

Patience I pray you, 'twas a fault vnwilling.

 Pet. A horſon beetle-headed flap-ear'd knaue: Come Kate ſit downe, I know you haue a ſtomacke, Will you giue thankes, ſweete Kate, or elſe ſhall I? What's this, Mutton? 1. Ser.

I.

 Pet.

Who brought it?

 Peter.

I.

 Pet. 'Tis burnt, and ſo is all the meate: What dogges are theſe? Where is the raſcall Cooke? How durſt you villaines bring it from the dreſſer And ſerue it thus to me that loue it not? There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all: You heedleſſe iolt-heads, and vnmanner'd ſlaues. What, do you grumble? Ile be with you ſtraight. Kate. I pray you husband be not ſo diſquiet, The meate was well, if you were ſo contented. Pet. I tell thee Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away, And I expreſſely am forbid to touch it: For it engenders choller, planteth anger, And better 'twere that both of vs did faſt, Since of our ſelues, our ſelues are chollericke, Then feede it with ſuch ouer-roſted fleſh: Be patient, to morrow't ſhalbe mended, And for this night we'l faſt for companie. Come I wil bring thee to thy Bridall chamber. Exeunt. Enter Seruants ſeuerally. Nath.

Peter didſt euer ſee the like.

 Peter.

He kils her in her owne humor.

 Grumio.

Where is he?

 Enter Curtis a Seruant. Cur.

In her chamber, making a ſermon of continencie to her, and railes, and ſweares, and rates, that ſhee (poore ſoule) knowes not which way to ſtand, to looke, to ſpeake, and ſits as one new riſen from a dreame. Away, away, for he is comming hither.

 Enter Petruchio. Pet. Thus haue I politickely begun my reigne, And 'tis my hope to end ſucceſſefully: My Faulcon now is ſharpe, and paſſing emptie, And til ſhe ſtoope, ſhe muſt not be full gorg'd, For then ſhe neuer lookes vpon her lure. Another way I haue to man my Haggard, To make her come, and know her Keepers call: That is, to watch her, as we watch theſe Kites, That baite, and beare, and will not be obedient: She eate no meate to day, nor none ſhall eate. Laſt night ſhe ſlept not, nor to night ſhe ſhall not: As with the meate, ſome vndeſerued fault Ile finde about the making of the bed, And heere Ile fling the pillow, there the boulſter, This way the Couerlet, another way the ſheets: I, and amid this hurlie I intend, That all is done in reuerend care of her, And in concluſion, ſhe ſhal watch all night, And if ſhe chance to nod, Ile raile and brawle, And with the clamor keepe her ſtil awake: This is a way to kil a Wife with kindneſſe, And thus Ile curbe her mad and headſtrong humor: He that knowes better how to tame a ſhrew, Now let him ſpeake, 'tis charity to ſhew. Exit Enter Tranio and Hortenſio▪ Tra. Is't poſsible friend Liſio, that miſtris Bianca Doth fancie any other but Lucentio, I tel you ſir, ſhe beares me faire in hand. Luc. Sir, to ſatisfie you in what I haue ſaid, Stand by, and marke the manner of his teaching. Enter Bianca. Hor.

Now Miſtris, profit you in what you reade?

 Bian▪

What Maſter reade you firſt, reſolue me that?

 Hor.

I reade, that I profeſſe the Art to loue.

 Bian

And may you proue ſir Maſter of your Art.

 Luc.

While you ſweet deere ptoue Miſtreſſe of my heart.

 Hor.

Quicke proceeders marry, now tel me I pray, you that durſt ſweare that your miſtris Bianca Lou'd me in the World ſo wel as Lucentio.

Tra. Oh deſpightful Loue, vnconſtant womankind, I tel thee Liſio this is wonderfull. Hor. Miſtake no more, I am not Liſio, Nor a Muſitian as I ſeeme to bee, But one that ſcorne to liue in this diſguiſe, For ſuch a one as leaues a Gentleman, And makes a God of ſuch a Cullion; Know ſir, that I am cal'd Hortenſio. Tra. Signior Hortenſio, I haue often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca, And ſince mine eyes are witneſſe of her lightneſſe, I wil with you, if you be ſo contented, Forſweare Bianca, and her loue for euer. Hor. See how they kiſſe and court: Signior Lucentio, Heere is my hand, and heere I firmly vow Neuer to woo her more, but do forſweare her As one vnworthie all the former fauours That I haue fondly flatter'd them withall. Tra. And heere I take the like vnfained oath, Neuer to marrie with her, though ſhe would intreate, Fie on her, ſee how beaſtly ſhe doth court him. Hor. Would all the world but he had quite forſworn For me, that I may ſurely keepe mine oath. I wil be married to a wealthy Widdow, Ere three dayes paſſe, which hath as long lou'd me, As I haue lou'd this proud diſdainful Haggard, And ſo farewel ſignior Lucentio, Kindneſſe in women, not their beauteous lookes Shal win my loue, and ſo I take my leaue, In reſolution, as I ſwore before. Tra. Miſtris Bianca, bleſſe you with ſuch grace, As longeth to a Louers bleſſed caſe: Nay, I haue tane you napping gentle Loue, And haue forſworne you with Hortenſio. Bian.

Tranio you ieſt, but haue you both forſworne mee?

 Tra.

Miſtris we haue.

 Luc.

Then we are rid of Liſio.

Tra. I' faith hee'l haue a luſtie Widdow now, That ſhalbe woo'd, and wedded in a day. Bian.

God giue him ioy.

 Tra.

I, and hee'l tame her.

 Bianca.

He ſayes ſo Tranio.

Tra.

Faith he is gone vnto the taming ſchoole.

 Bian.

The taming ſchoole: what is there ſuch a place?

 Tra. I miſtris, and Petruchio is the maſter, That teacheth trickes eleuen and twentie long, To tame a ſhrew, and charme her chattering tongue. Enter Biondello. Bion. Oh Maſter, maſter I haue watcht ſo long, That I am dogge-wearie, but at laſt I ſpied An ancient Angel comming downe the hill, Wil ſerue the turne. Tra.

What is he Biondello?

 Bio. Maſter, a Marcantant, or a pedant, I know not what, but formall in apparrell, In gate and countenance ſurely like a Father. Luc.

And what of him Tranio?

 Tra. If he be credulous, and truſt my tale, Ile make him glad to ſeeme Vincentio, And giue aſſurance to Baptiſta Minola. As if he were the right Ʋincentio. Par.

Take me your loue, and then let me alone.

 Enter a Pedant. Ped.

God ſaue you ſir.

 Tra. And you ſir, you are welcome, Trauaile you farre on, or are you at the fartheſt? Ped. Sir at the fartheſt for a weeke or two, But then vp farther, and as farre as Rome, And ſo to Tripolie, if God lend me life. Tra.

What Countreyman I pray?

 Ped.

Of Mantua.

Tra. Of Mantua Sir, marrie God forbid, And come to Padua careleſſe of your life. Ped.

My life ſir? how I pray? for that goes hard.

 Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua, know you not the cauſe? Your ſhips are ſtaid at Venice, and the Duke For priuate quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him, Hath publiſh'd and proclaim'd it openly: 'Tis meruaile, but that you are but newly come, you might haue heard it elſe proclaim'd about. Ped. Alas ſir, it is worſe for me then ſo, For I haue bils for monie by exchange From Florence, and muſt heere deliuer them. Tra. Wel ſir, to do you courteſie, This wil I do, and this I wil aduiſe you. Firſt tell me, haue you euer beene at Piſa? Ped. I ſir, in Piſa haue I often bin, Piſa renowned for graue Citizens. Tra.

Among them know you one Vincentio?

 Ped. I know him not, but I haue heard of him: A Merchant of incomparable wealth. Tra. He is my father ſir, and ſooth to ſay, In count'nance ſomewhat doth reſemble you. Bion.

As much as an apple doth an oyſter, & all one.

 Tra. To ſaue your life in this extremitie, This fauor wil I do you for his ſake, And thinke it not the worſt of all your fortunes, That you are like to Sir Vincentio. His name and credite ſhal you vndertake, And in my houſe you ſhal be friendly lodg'd, Looke that you take vpon you as you ſhould, you vnderſtand me ſir: ſo ſhal you ſtay Til you haue done your buſineſſe in the Citie: If this be court'ſie ſir, accept of it. Ped. Oh ſir I do, and wil repute you euer The patron of my life and libertie. Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good, This by the way I let you vnderſtand, My father is heere look'd for euerie day, To paſſe aſſurance of a dowre in marriage 'Twixt me, and one Baptiſtas daughter heere: In all theſe circumſtances Ile inſtruct you, Go with me to cloath you as becomes you. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima. Enter Katherina and Grumio. Gru.

No, no forſooth I dare not for my life.

 Ka. The more my wrong, the more his ſpite appears, What, did he marrie me to famiſh me? Beggers that come vnto my fathers doore, Vpon intreatie haue a preſent almes, If not, elſewhere they meete with charitie: But I, who neuer knew how to intreat, Nor neuer needed that I ſhould intreate, Am ſtaru'd for meate▪ giddie for lacke of ſleepe: With oathes kept waking, and with brawling fed, And that which ſpights me more then all theſe wants, He does it vnder name of perfect loue: As who ſhould ſay▪ if I ſhould ſleepe or eate▪ 'Twere deadly ſickneſſe, or elſe preſent death. I prethee go, and get me ſome repaſt, I care not what, ſo it be holſome ſoode. Gru.

What ſay you to a Neats foote?

 Kate.

'Tis paſsing good, I prethee let me haue it.

 Gru. I feare it is too chollericke a meate. How ſay you to a fat Tripe finely broyl'd? Kate.

I like it well, good Grumio fetch it me.

 Gru. I cannot tell, I feare 'tis chollericke. What ſay you to a peece of Beefe and Muſtard? Kate.

A diſh that I do loue to feede vpon.

 Gru.

I, but the Muſtard is too hot a little.

 Kate.

Why then the Beefe, and let the Muſtard reſt.

 Gru. Nay then I wil not, you ſhal haue the Muſtard Or elſe you get no beefe of Grumio. Kate.

Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt.

 Gru.

Why then the Muſtard without the beefe.

 Kate. Go get thee gone, thou falſe deluding ſlaue, Beats him. That feed'ſt me with the verie name of meate. Sorrow on thee, and all the packe of you That triumph thus vpon my miſery: Go get thee gone, I ſay. Enter Petruchio, and Hortenſio with meate. Petr.

How fares my Kate, what ſweeting all a-mort?

 Hor.

Miſtris, what cheere?

 Kate.

Faith as cold as can be.

 Pet. Plucke vp thy ſpirits, looke cheerfully vpon me. Heere Loue, thou ſeeſt how diligent I am, To dreſſe thy meate my ſelfe, and bring it thee. I am ſure ſweet Kate, this kindneſſe merites thankes. What, not a word? Nay then, thou lou'ſt it not: And all my paines is ſorted to no proofe. Heere take away this diſh. Kate.

I pray you let it ſtand.

 Pet. The pooreſt ſeruice is repaide with thankes, And ſo ſhall mine before you touch the meate. Kate.

I thanke you ſir.

 Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie you are too blame: Come Miſtris Kate, Ile beare you companie. Petr. Eate it vp all Hortenſio, if thou loueſt mee: Much good do it vnto thy gentle heart: Kate eate apace; and now my honie Loue, Will we returne vnto thy Fathers houſe, And reuell it as brauely as the beſt, With ſilken coats and caps, and golden Rings, With Ruffes and Cuffes, and Fardingales, and things: With Scarfes, and Fannes, & double change of brau'ry, With Amber Bracelets, Beades, and all this knau'ry. What haſt thou din'd? The Tailor ſtaies thy leaſure, To decke thy bodie with his ruffling treaſure. Enter Tailor. Come Tailor, let vs ſee theſe ornaments. Enter Haberdaſher. Lay forth the gowne. What newes with you ſir? Fel.

Heere is the cap your Worſhip did beſpeake.

 Pet. Why this was moulded on a porrenger, A Veluet diſh: Fie, fie, 'tis lewd and filthy, Why 'tis a cockle or a walnut-ſhell, A knacke, a toy, a tricke, a babies cap: Away with it, come let me haue a bigger. Kate. Ile haue no bigger, this doth fit the time, And Gentlewomen weare ſuch caps as theſe. Pet. When you are gentle, you ſhall haue one too, And not till then. Hor.

That will not be in haſt.

 Kate. Why ſir I truſt I may haue leaue to ſpeake, And ſpeake I will. I am no childe, no babe, Your betters haue indur'd me ſay my minde, And If you cannot, beſt you ſtop your eares. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, Or els my heart concealing it wil breake, And rather then it ſhall, I will be free, Euen to the vttermoſt as I pleaſe in words. Pet. Why thou ſaiſt true, it is paltrie cap, A cuſtard coffen, a bauble, a ſilken pie, I loue thee well in that thou lik'ſt it not. Kate. Loue me, or loue me not, I like the cap, And it I will haue, or I will haue none. Pet. Thy gowne, why I: come Tailor let vs ſee't. Oh mercie God, what masking ſtuffe is heere? Whats this? a ſleeue? 'tis like demi cannon, What, vp and downe caru'd like an apple Tart? Heers ſnip, and nip, and cut, and ſliſh and ſlaſh, Like to a Cenſor in a barbers ſhoppe: Why what a deuils name Tailor cal'ſt thou this? Hor.

I ſee ſhees like to haue neither cap nor gowne.

 Tai. You bid me make it orderlie and well, According to the faſhion, and the time. Pet. Marrie and did: but if you be remembred, I did not bid you marre it to the time▪ Go hop me ouer euery kennell home, For you ſhall hop without my cuſtome ſir: Ile none of it; hence, make your beſt of it. Kate. I neuer ſaw a better faſhion'd gowne, More queint, more pleaſing, nor more commendable: Belike you meane to make a puppet of me. Pet.

Why true, he meanes to make a puppet of thee.

 Tail.

She ſaies your Worſhip meanes to make a puppet of her.

 Pet Oh monſtrous arrogance: Thou lyeſt, thou thred, thou thimble, Thou yard three quarters, halfe yard, quarter, naile, Thou Flea, thou Nit, thou winter cricket thou: Brau'd in mine owne houſe with a skeine of thred: Away thou Ragge, thou quantitie, thou remnant, Or I ſhall ſo be-mete thee with thy yard, As thou ſhalt thinke on prating whil'ſt thou liu'ſt: I tell thee I, that thou haſt marr'd her gowne. Tail. Your worſhip is deceiu'd, the gowne is made Iuſt as my maſter had direction: Grumio gaue order how it ſhould be done. Gru.

I gaue him no order, I gaue him the ſtuffe.

 Tail.

But how did you deſire it ſhould be made?

 Gru.

Marrie ſir with needle and thred.

 Tail.

But did you not requeſt to haue it cut?

 Gru.

Thou haſt fac'd many things.

 Tail.

I haue.

 Gru.

Face not mee: thou haſt brau'd manie men, braue not me; I will neither bee fac'd nor brau'd. I ſay vnto thee, I bid thy Maſter cut out the gowne, but I did not bid him cut it to peeces. Ergo thou lieſt.

 Tail.

Why heere is the note of the faſhion to teſtify.

 Pet.

Reade it.

 Gru.

The note lies in's throate if he ſay I ſaid ſo.

 Tail.

Inprimis, a looſe bodied gowne.

 Gru.

Maſter, if euer I ſaid looſe-bodied gowne, ſow me in the skirts of it, and beate me to death with a bottome of browne thred: I ſaid a gowne.

 Pet.

Proceede.

 Tai.

With a ſmall compaſt cape.

 Gru.

I confeſſe the cape.

 Tai.

With a trunke ſleeue.

 Gru.

I confeſſe two ſleeues.

 Tai.

The ſleeues curiouſly cut.

 Pet.

I there's the villanie.

 Gru.

Error i' th bill ſir, error i' th bill? I commanded the ſleeues ſhould be cut out, and ſow'd vp againe, and that Ile proue vpon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.

 Tail.

This is true that I ſay, and I had thee in place where thou ſhouldſt know it.

 Gru.

I am for thee ſtraight: take thou the bill, giue me thy meat-yard, and ſpare not me.

 Hor.

God-a-mercie Grumio, then hee ſhall haue no oddes.

 Pet.

Well ſir in breefe the gowne is not for me.

 Gru.

You are i' th right ſir, 'tis for my miſtris.

 Pet.

Go take it vp vnto thy maſters vſe.

 Gru.

Villaine, not for thy life: Take vp my Miſtreſſe gowne for thy maſters vſe.

 Pet.

Why ſir, what's your conceit in that?

 Gru. Oh ſir, the conceit is deeper then you think for: Take vp my Miſtris gowne to his maſters vſe. Oh fie, fie, fie. Pet. Hortenſio, ſay thou wilt ſee the Tailor paide: Go take it hence, be gone, and ſay no more. Hor. Tailor, Ile pay thee for thy gowne to morrow, Take no vnkindneſſe of his haſtie words: Away I ſay, commend me to thy maſter. Exit Tail. Pet. Well, come my Kate, we will vnto your fathers, Euen in theſe honeſt meane habiliments: Our purſes ſhall be proud, our garments poore: For 'tis the minde that makes the bodie rich. And as the Sunne breakes through the darkeſt clouds, So honor peereth in the meaneſt habit. What is the Iay more precious then the Larke? Becauſe his feathers are more beautifull. Or is the Adder better then the Eele▪ Becauſe his painted skin contents the eye. Oh no good Kate: neither art thou the worſe For this poore furniture, and meane array. If thou accountedſt it ſhame, lay it on me, And therefore frolicke, we will hence forthwith, To feaſt and ſport vs at thy fathers houſe, Go call my men, and let vs ſtraight to him, And bring our horſes vnto Long-lane end, There wil we mount, and thither walke on foote, Let's ſee, I thinke 'tis now ſome ſeuen a clocke, And well we may come there by dinner time. Kate. I dare aſſure you ſir, 'tis almoſt two, And 'twill be ſupper time ere you come there. Pet. It ſhall be ſeuen ere I go to horſe: Looke what I ſpeake, or do, or thinke to doe, You are ſtill croſſing it, ſirs let't alone, I will not goe to day, and ere I doe, It ſhall be what a clock I ſay it is. Hor.

Why ſo this gallant will command the ſunne.

 Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dreſt like Vincentio. Tra.

Sirs, this is the houſe, pleaſe it you that I call.

 Ped. I what elſe, and but I be deceiued, Signior Baptiſta may remember me Neere twentie yeares a goe in Genoa. Tra. Where we were lodgers, at the Pegaſus, Tis well, and hold your owne in any caſe With ſuch auſteritie as longeth to a father. Enter Biondello. Ped. I warrant you: but ſir here comes your boy, Twere good he were ſchool'd. Tra. Feare you not him: ſirra Biondello, Now doe your dutie throughlie I aduiſe you: Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. Bion.

Tut, feare not me.

 Tra.

But haſt thou done thy errand to Baptiſta.

Bion. I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look't for him this day in Padua. Tra. Th' art a tall fellow, hold thee that to drinke, Here comes Baptiſta: ſet your countenance ſir. Enter Baptiſta and Lucentio: Pedant booted and bare headed. Tra. Signior Baptiſta you are happilie met: Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of, I pray you ſtand good father to me now, Giue me Bianca for my patrimony. Ped. Soft ſon: ſir by your leaue, hauing com to Padua To gather in ſome debts, my ſon Lucentio Made me acquainted with a waighty cauſe Of loue betweene your daughter and himſelfe: And for the good report I heare of you, And for the loue he beareth to your daughter, And ſhe to him: to ſtay him not too long, I am content in a good fathers care To haue him matcht, and if you pleaſe to like No worſe then I, vpon ſome agreement Me ſhall you finde readie and willing With one conſent to haue her ſo beſtowed: For curious I cannot be with you Signior Baptiſta, of whom I heare ſo well. Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I haue to ſay, Your plainneſſe and your ſhortneſſe pleaſe me well: Right true it is your ſonne Lucentio here Doth loue my daughter, and ſhe loueth him, Or both diſſemble deepely their affections: And therefore if you ſay no more then this, That like a Father you will deale with him, And paſſe my daughter a ſufficient dower, The match is made, and all is done, Your ſonne ſhall haue my daughter with conſent. Tra. I thanke you ſir, where then doe you know beſt We be affied and ſuch aſſurance tane, As ſhall with either parts agreement ſtand. Bap. Not in my houſe Lucentio, for you know Pitchers haue eares, and I haue manie ſeruants, Beſides old Gremio is harkning ſtill, And happilie we might be interrupted. Tra. Then at my lodging, and it like you, There doth my father lie: and there this night Weele paſſe the buſineſſe priuately and well: Send for your daughter by your ſeruant here, My Boy ſhall fetch the Scriuener preſentlie, The worſt is this that at ſo ſlender warning, You are like to haue a thin and ſlender pittance. Bap. It likes me well: Cambio hie you home, and bid Bianca make her readie ſtraight: And if you will tell what hath hapned, Lucentios Father is arriued in Padua, And how ſhe's like to be Lucentios wife. Biond.

I praie the gods ſhe may withall my heart.

 Exit. Tran. Dallie not with the gods, but get thee gone. Enter Peter. Signior Baptiſta, ſhall I leade the way, Welcome, one meſſe is like to be your cheere, Come ſir, we will better it in Piſa. Bap.

I follow you.

Exeunt. Enter Lucentio and Biondello. Bion.

Cambio.

Luc.

What ſaiſt thou Biondello.

Biond.

You ſaw my Maſter winke and laugh vpon you?

 Luc.

Biondello, what of that?

 Biond.

Faith nothing: but has left mee here behinde to expound the meaning or morrall of his ſignes and tokens.

 Luc.

I pray thee moralize them.

 Biond.

Then thus: Baptiſta is ſafe talking with the deceiuing Father of a deceitfull ſonne.

 Luc.

And what of him?

 Biond.

His daughter is to be brought by you to the ſupper.

 Luc.

And then.

 Bio.

The old Prieſt at Saint Lukes Church is at your command at all houres.

 Luc.

And what of all this.

 Bion.

I cannot tell, expect they are buſied about a counterfeit aſſurance: take you aſſurance of her, Cum preuilegio ad Impremendum ſolem, to th' Church take the Prieſt, Clarke, and ſome ſufficient honeſt witneſſes:

If this be not that you looke for, I haue no more to ſay, But bid Bianca farewell for euer and a day. Luc.

Hear'ſt thou Biondello.

Biond.

I cannot tarry: I knew a wench maried in an afternoone as ſhee went to the Garden for Parſeley to ſtuffe a Rabit, and ſo may you ſir: and ſo adew ſir, my Maſter hath appointed me to goe to Saint Lukes to bid the Prieſt be readie to come againſt you come with your appendix.

Exit. Luc. I may and will, if ſhe be ſo contented: She will be pleas'd, then wherefore ſhould I doubt: Hap what hap may, Ile roundly goe about her: It ſhall goe hard if Cambio goe without her. Exit. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Hortentio. Petr. Come on a Gods name, once more toward our fathers: Good Lord how bright and goodly ſhines the Moone. Kate.

The Moone, the Sunne: it is not Moonelight now.

 Pet.

I ſay it is the Moone that ſhines ſo bright.

 Kate.

I know it is the Sunne that ſhines ſo bright.

 Pet. Now by my mothers ſonne, and that's my ſelfe, It ſhall be moone, or ſtarre, or what I liſt, Or ere I iourney to your Fathers houſe: Goe on, and fetch our horſes backe againe, Euermore croſt and croſt, nothing but croſt. Hort.

Say as he ſaies, or we ſhall neuer goe.

 Kate. Forward I pray, ſince we haue come ſo farre, And be it moone, or ſunne, or what you pleaſe: And if you pleaſe to call it a ruſh Candle, Henceforth I vowe it ſhall be ſo for me. Petr.

I ſay it is the Moone.

 Kate.

I know it is the Moone.

 Petr.

Nay then you lye: it is the bleſſed Sunne.

 Kate. Then God be bleſt, it in the bleſſed ſun, But ſunne it is not, when you ſay it is not▪ And the Moone changes euen as your minde: What you will haue it nam'd, euen that it is, And ſo it ſhall be ſo for Katherine. Hort.

Petruchio, goe thy waies, the field is won.

 Petr. Well, forward, forward, thus the bowle ſhould run, And not vnluckily againſt the Bias: But ſoft, Company is comming here▪ Enter Ʋincentio. Good morrow gentle Miſtris, where away: Tell me ſweete Kate, and tell me truely too, Haſt thou beheld a freſher Gentlewoman: Such warre of white and red within her cheekes: What ſtars do ſpangle heauen with ſuch beautie, As thoſe two eyes become that heauenly face? Faire louely Maide, once more good day to thee: Sweete Kate embrace her for her beauties ſake. Hort.

A will make the man mad to make the woman of him.

 Kate. Yong budding Virgin, faire, and freſh, & ſweet, Whether away, or whether is thy aboade? Happy the Parents of ſo faire a childe; Happier the man whom fauourable ſtars A lots thee for his louely bedfellow. Petr. Why how now Kate, I hope thou art not mad, This is a man old, wrinckled, faded, withered, And not a Maiden, as thou ſaiſt he is. Kate. Pardon old father my miſtaking eies, That haue bin ſo bedazled with the ſunne, That euery thing I looke on ſeemeth greene: Now I perceiue thou art a reuerent Father: Pardon I pray thee for my mad miſtaking. Petr. Do good old grandſire, & withall make known Which way thou trauelleſt, if along with vs, We ſhall be ioyfull of thy companie. Vin. Faire Sir, and you my merry Miſtris, That with your ſtrange encounter much amaſde me: My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Piſa, And bound I am to Padua, there to viſite A ſonne of mine, which long I haue not ſeene. Petr.

What is his name?

 Vinc.

Lucentio gentle ſir.

 Petr. Happily met, the happier for thy ſonne: And now by Law, as well as reuerent age, I may intitle thee my louing Father, The ſiſter to my wife, this Gentlewoman, Thy Sonne by this hath married: wonder not, Nor be not grieued, ſhe is of good eſteeme, Her dowrie wealthie, and of worthie birth; Beſide, ſo qualified, as may beſeeme The Spouſe of any noble Gentleman: Let me imbrace with old Vincentio, And wander we to ſee thy honeſt ſonne, Who will of thy arriuall be full ioyous. Vinc. But is this true, or is it elſe your pleaſure, Like pleaſant trauailors to breake a left Vpon the companie you ouertake? Hort.

I doe aſſure thee father ſo it is.

 Petr. Come goe along and ſee the truth hereof, For our firſt merriment hath made thee iealous. Exeunt. Hor. Well Petruchio, this has put me in heart; Haue to my Widdow, and if ſhe froward, Then haſt thou taught Hortentio to be vntoward. Exit. Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianea, Gremio is out before. Biond.

Softly and ſwiftly ſir, for the Prieſt is ready.

 Luc.

I flie Biondello; but they may chance to neede thee at home, therefore leaue vs.

Exit. Biond.

Nay faith, Ile ſee the Church a your backe, and then come backe to my miſtris as ſoone as I can.

 Gre.

I maruaile Cambio comes not all this while.

 Enter Petruchio, Kate, Ʋincentio, Grumio with Attendants. Petr. Sir heres the doore, this is Lucentios houſe, My Fathers beares more toward the Market-place, Thither muſt I, and here I leaue you ſir. Vin. You ſhall not chooſe but drinke before you go, I thinke I ſhall command your welcome here; And by all likelihood ſome cheere is toward. Knock. Grem.

They're buſie within, you were beſt knocke lowder.

 Pedant lookes out of the window. Ped

What's he that knockes as he would beat downe the gate?

 Vin.

Is Signior Lucentio within ſir?

 Ped.

He's within ſir, but not to be ſpoken withall.

 Vinc.

What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merrie withall.

 Ped.

Keepe your hundred pounds to your ſelfe, hee ſhall neede none ſo long as I liue.

 Petr.

Nay, I told you your ſonne was well beloued in Padua: doe you heare ſir, to leaue friuolous circumſtances, I pray you tell ſignior Lucentio that his Father is come from Piſa, and is here at the doore to ſpeake with him.

 Ped.

Thou lieſt his Father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the window.

 Vin.

Art thou his father?

 Ped.

I ſir, ſo his mother ſaies, if I may beleeue her.

 Petr.

Why how now gentleman: why this is flat knauerie to take vpon you another mans name.

 Peda.

Lay hands on the villaine, I beleeue a meanes to coſen ſome bodie in this Citie vnder my countenance.

 Enter Biondello. Bio.

I haue ſeene them in the Church together, God ſend'em good ſhipping: but who is here? mine old Maſter Ʋincentio: now wee are vndone and brough to nothing.

 Ʋin.

Come hither crackhempe.

 Bion.

I hope I may chooſe Sir.

 Vin.

Come hither you rogue, what haue you forgot mee?

 Biond.

Forgot you, no ſir: I could not forget you, for I neuer ſaw you before in all my life.

 Ʋinc.

What, you notorious villaine, didſt thou neuer ſee thy Miſtris father, Vincentio?

 Bion.

What my old worſhipfull old maſter? yes marie ſir ſee where he lookes out of the window.

 Ʋin.

Iſt ſo indeede.

He beates Biondello. Bion.

Helpe, helpe, helpe, here's a mad man will murder me.

 Pedan.

Helpe, ſonne, helpe ſignior Baptiſta.

Petr.

Pree the Kate let's ſtand aſide and ſee the end of this controuerſie.

 Enter Pedant with ſeruants, Baptiſta, Tranio. Tra.

Sir, what are you that offer to beate my ſeruant?

 Vinc.

What am I ſir: nay what are you ſir: oh immortall Goddes: oh fine villaine, a ſilken doubtlet, a veluet hoſe, a ſcarlet cloake, and a copataine hat: oh I am vndone, I am vndone: while I plaie the good husband at home, my ſonne and my ſeruant ſpend all at the vniuerſitie.

 Tra.

How now, what's the matter?

 Bapt.

What is the man lunaticke?

 Tra.

Sir, you ſeeme a ſober ancient Gentleman by your habit: but your words ſhew you a mad man: why ſir, what cernes it you, if I weare Pearle and gold: I thank my good Father, I am able to maintaine it.

 Vin.

Thy father: oh villaine, he is a Saile-maker in Bergamo.

Bap.

You miſtake ſir, you miſtake ſir, praie what do you thinke is his name?

 Vin.

His name, as if I knew not his name: I haue brought him vp euer ſince he was three yeeres old, and his name is Tronio.

Ped.

Awaie, awaie mad aſſe, his name is Lucentio, and he is mine onelie ſonne and heire to the Lands of me ſignior Vincentio.

Ven.

Lucentio: oh he hath murdred his Maſter; laie hold on him I charge you in the Dukes name: oh my ſonne, my ſonne: tell me thou villaine, where is my ſon Lucentio?

 Tra.

Call forth an officer: Carrie this mad knaue to the Iaile: father Baptiſta, I charge you ſee that hee be forth comming.

 Vinc.

Carrie me to the Iaile?

 Gre.

Staie officer, he ſhall not go to priſon.

 Bap.

Talke not ſignior Gremio: I ſaie he ſhall goe to priſon.

 Gre.

Take heede ſignior Baptiſta, leaſt you be conicatcht in this buſineſſe: I dare ſweare this is the right Vincentio.

Ped.

Sweare if thou dar'ſt.

 Gre.

Naie, I dare not ſweare it.

 Tran.

Then thou wert beſt ſaie that I am not Lucentio.

Gre.

Yes, I know thee to be ſignior Lucentio.

Bap.

Awaie with the dotard, to the Iaile with him.

 Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianeu. Vin.

Thus ſtrangers may be haild and abuſd: oh monſtrous villaine.

 Bion.

Oh we are ſpoil'd, and yonder he is, denie him, forſweare him, or elſe we are all vndone.

 Exit Biondello, Tranio and Pedant as faſt as may be. Luc.

Pardon ſweete father.

Kneele. Vin.

Liues my ſweete ſonne?

 Bian.

Pardon deere father.

 Bap.

How haſt thou offended, where is Lucentio?

 Luc: Here's Lucentio, right ſonne to the right Ʋincentio, That haue by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit ſuppoſes bleer'd thine eine. Gre.

Here's packing with a witneſſe to deceiue vs all.

 Vin. Where is that damned villaine Tranio, That fac'd and braued me in this matter ſo? Bap.

Why, tell me is not this my Cambio?

 Bian.

Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.

Luc. Loue wrought theſe miracles. Biancas loue Made me exchange my ſtate with Tranio, While he did beare my countenance in the towne, And happilie I haue arriued at the laſt Vnto the wiſhed hauen of my bliſſe: What Tranio did, my ſelfe enforſt him to; Then pardon him ſweete Father for my ſake. Ʋin.

Ile ſlit the villaines noſe that would haue ſent me to the Iaile.

 Bap.

But doe you heare ſir, haue you married my daughter without asking my good will?

 Vin.

Feare not Baptiſta, we will content you, goe to: but I will in to be reueng'd for this villanie.

Exit. Bap.

And I to ſound the depth of this knauerie.

Exit. Luc.

Looke not pale Bianca, thy father will not frown.

Exeunt. Gre. My cake is doug • h but Ile in among the reſt, Out of hope of all, but my ſhare of the feaſt. Kate.

Husband let's follow, to ſee the end of this adoe.

 Petr.

Firſt kiſſe me Kate, and we will.

 Kate.

What in the midſt of the ſtreete?

 Petr.

What art thou aſham'd of me?

 Kate.

Mo ſir, God forbid, but aſham'd to kiſſe.

 Petr.

Why then let's home againe: Come Sirra let's awaie.

 Kate.

Nay, I will giue thee a kiſſe, now praie thee Loue ſtaie.

 Petr. Is not this well? come my ſweete Kate. Better once then neuer, for neuer to late. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Baptiſta, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, and Bianca. Tranio, Biondello Grumio, and Widdow: The Seruingmen with Tranio bringing in a Banquet. Luc. At laſt, though long, our iarring notes agree, And time it is when raging warre is come, To ſmile at ſcapes and perils ouerblowne: My faire Bianca bid my father welcome, While I with ſelfeſame kindneſſe welcome thine: Brother Petruchio, ſiſter Katerina, And thou Hortentio with thy louing Widdow: Feaſt with the beſt, and welcome to my houſe, My Banket is to cloſe our ſtomakes vp After our great good cheere: praie you ſit downe, For now we ſit to chat as well as eate. Petr.

Nothing but ſit and ſit, and eate and eate.

 Bap.

Padua affords this kindneſſe, ſonne Petruchio.

Petr.

Padua affords nothing but what is kinde.

 Hor.

For both our ſakes I would that word were true.

 Pet.

Now for my life Hortentio feares his Widow.

 Wid.

Then neuer truſt me if I be affeard.

 Petr. You are verie ſencible, and yet you miſſe my ſence: I meane Hortentio is afeard of you. Wid.

He that is giddie thinks the world turns round.

 Petr.

Roundlie replied.

 Kat.

Miſtris, how meane you that?

 Wid.

Thus I conceiue by him.

 Petr.

Conceiues by me, how likes Hortentio that?

 Hor.

My Widdow ſaies, thus ſhe conceiues her tale.

 Petr.

Verie well mended: kiſſe him for that good Widdow.

 Kat. He that is giddie thinkes the world turnes round, I praie you tell me what you meant by that. Wid. Your housband being troubled with a ſhrew, Meaſures my husbands ſorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning. Kate.

A verie meane meaning.

 Wid.

Right, I meane you.

 Kat.

And I am meane indeede, reſpecting you.

 Petr.

To her Kate.

Hor.

To her Widdow.

Petr.

A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

 Hor.

That's my office

 Petr.

Spoke like an Officer: ha to the lad.

 Drinkes to Hortentio. Bap.

How likes Cremio theſe quicke witted folkes?

 Gre.

Beleeue me ſir, they But together well.

 Bian. Head, and but an haſtie witted bodie, Would ſay your Head and But were head and horne. Vin.

I Miſtris Bride, hath that awakened you?

 Bian.

I, but not frighted me, therefore Ile ſleepe againe.

 Petr. Nay that you ſhall not ſince you haue begun: Haue at you for a better ieſt or too. Bian. Am I your Bird, I meane to ſhift my buſh, And then purſue me as you draw your Bow. You are welcome all. Exit Bianca. Petr. She hath preuented me, here ſignior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not, Therefore a health to all that ſhot and miſt. Tri. Oh ſir, Lucentio ſlipt me like his Gray-hound, Which runs himſelfe, and catches for his Maſter. Petr.

A good ſwift ſimile, but ſomething curriſh.

 Tra. 'Tis well ſir that you hunted for your ſelfe: 'Tis thought your Deere does hold you at a baie. Bap.

Oh, oh Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.

 Luc.

I thanke thee for that gird good Tranio.

Hor.

Confeſſe, confeſſe, hath he not hit you here?

 Petr. A has a little gald me I confeſſe: And as the Ieſt did glaunce awaie from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you too out right. Bap. Now in good ſadneſſe ſonne Petruchio, I thinke thou haſt the verieſt ſhrew of all. Petr. Well, I ſay no: and therefore ſir aſſurance, Let's each one ſend vnto 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. Hort.

Content, what's the wager?

 Luc.

Twentie crownes.

 Petr. Twentie crownes, Ile venture ſo much of my Hawke or Hound, But twentie times ſo much vpon my Wife. Luc.

A hundred then.

 Hor.

Content.

 Petr.

A match, 'tis done.

 Hor.

Who ſhall begin?

 Luc. That will I. Goe Biondello, bid your Miſtris come to me. Bio.

Igoe.

Exit. Bap.

Sonne, Ile be your halfe, Bianca comes.

 Luc. Ile haue no halues: Ile beare it all my ſelfe. Enter Biondello. How now, what newes? Bio. Sir, my Miſtris ſends you word That ſhe is buſie, and ſhe cannot come. Petr.

How? ſhe's buſie, and ſhe cannot come: is that an anſwere?

 Gre. I, and a kinde one too: Praie God ſir your wife ſend you not a worſe. Petr.

I hope better.

 Hor.

Sirra Biondello, goe and intreate my wife to come to me forthwith.

Exit. Bion. Pet.

Oh ho, intreate her, nay then ſhee muſt needes come.

 Hor.

I am affraid ſir, doe what you can

Enter Biondello. Yours will not be entreated: Now, where's my wife? Bion. She ſaies you haue ſome goodly Ieſt in hand, She will not come: ſhe bids you come to her. Petr. Worſe and worſe, ſhe will not come: Oh vilde, intollerable, not to be indur'd: Sirra Grumio, goe to your Miſtris. Say I command her come to me. Exit. Hor.

I know her anſwere.

 Pet.

What?

 Hor.

She will not.

 Petr.

The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

 Enter Katerina. Bap.

Now by my hollidam here comes Katerina.

Kat.

What is your will ſir, that you ſend for me?

 Petr.

Where is your ſiſter, and Hortenſios wife?

 Kate.

They ſit conferring by the Parler fire.

 Petr. Goe fetch them hither, if they denie to come, Swinge me them ſoundly forth vnto their husbands. Away I ſay, and bring them hither ſtraight. Luc.

Here is a wonder, if you talke of a wonder.

 Hor.

And ſo it is: I wonder what it boads.

 Petr. Marrie peace it boads, and loue, and quiet life, An awfull rule, and right ſupremicie: And to be ſhort, what not, that's ſweete and happie. Bap. Now faire befall thee good Petruchio; The wager thou haſt won, and I will adde Vnto their loſſes twentie thouſand crownes, Another dowrie to another daughter, For ſhe is chang'd as ſhe had neuer bin. Petr. Nay, I will win my wager better yet, And ſhow more ſigne of her obedience, Her new built vertue and obedience. Enter Kate, Bianca, and Widdow. See where ſhe comes, and brings your froward Wiues As priſoners to her womanlie perſwaſion: Katerine, that Cap of yours becomes you not, Off with that bable, throw it vnderfoote. Wid. Lord let me neuer haue a cauſe to ſigh, Till I be brought to ſuch a ſillie paſſe. Bian.

Fie what a fooliſh dutie call you this?

 Luc. I would your dutie were as fooliſh too: The wiſdome of your dutie faire Bianca, Hath coſt me fiue hundred crownes ſince ſupper time. Bian.

The more foole you for laying on my dutie.

 Pet.

Katherine I charge thee tell theſe head-ſtrong women, what dutie they doe owe their Lords and huſbands.

 Wid.

Come, come, your mocking: we will haue no telling.

 Pet.

Come on I ſay, and firſt begin with her.

 Wid.

She ſhall not.

 Pet.

I ſay ſhe ſhall, and firſt begin with her.

 Kate. Fie, fie, vnknit that thretaning vnkinde brow, And dart not ſcornefull glances from thoſe eies, To wound thy Lord, thy King, thy Gouernour. It blots thy beautie, as froſts doe bite the Meads, Confounds thy fame, as whirlewinds ſhake faire budds, And in no ſence is meete or amiable. A woman mou'd, is like a fountaine troubled, Muddie, ill ſeeming, thicke, hereft of beautie, And while it is ſo, none ſo dry or thirſtie Will daigne to ſip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy Lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy ſoueraigne: One that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance. Commits his body To painfull labour, both by ſea and land: To watch the night in ſtormes, the day in cold, Whil'ſt thou ly'ſt warme at home, ſecure and ſafe, And craues no other tribute at thy hands, But loue, faire lookes, and true obedience; Too little payment for ſo great a debt. Such dutie as the ſubiect owes the Prince, Euen ſuch a woman oweth to her husband: And when ſhe is froward, peeuiſh, ſullen, ſowre, And not obedient to his honeſt will, What is ſhe but a foule contending Rebell, And graceleſſe Traitor to her louing Lord? I am aſham'd that women are ſo ſimple, To offer warre, where they ſhould kneele for peace: Or ſeeke for rule, ſupremacie, and ſway, When they are bound to ſerue, loue, and obay. Why are our bodies ſoft, and weake, and ſmooth, Vnapt to toyle and trouble in the world, But that our ſoft conditions, and our harts, Should well agree with our externall parts? Come, come, you froward and vnable wormes, My minde hath bin as bigge as one of yours, My heart as great, my reaſon haplie more, To bandie word for word, and frowne for frowne; But now I ſee our Launces are but ſtrawes: Our ſtrength as weake, our weakeneſſe paſt compare, That ſeeming to be moſt, which we indeed leaſt are. Then vale your ſtomackes, for it is no boote, And place your hands below your husbands foote: In token of which dutie, if he pleaſe, My hand is readie, may it do him eaſe. Pet.

Why there's a wench: Come on, and kiſſe mee Kate.

Luc.

Well go thy waies olde Lad for thou ſhalt ha't.

 Vin.

Tis a good hearing, when children are toward.

 Luc.

But a harſh hearing, when women are froward,

 Pet. Come Kate, weee'le to bed, We three are married, but you two are ſped. 'Twas I wonne the wager, though you hit the white, And being a winner, God giue you good night. Exit Petruchio Horten.

Now goe thy wayes, thou haſt tam'd a curſt Shrow.

 Luc.

Tis a wonder, by your leaue, ſhe wil be tam'd ſo.
FINIS.
ALL'S Well, that Ends Well.
Actus primus.
Scoena Prima. Enter yong Bertram Count of Roſſillion, his Mother, and Helena, Lord Lafew, all in blacke. Mother.

IN deliuering my ſonne from me, I burie a ſecond husband.

 Roſ.

And I in going Madam, weep ore my fathers death anew; but I muſt attend his maieſties command, to whom I am now in Ward, euermore in ſubiection.

 Laf.

You ſhall find of the King a husband Madame, you ſir a father. He that ſo generally is at all times good, muſt of neceſſitie hold his vertue to you, whoſe worthineſſe would ſtirre it vp where it wanted rather then lack it where there is ſuch abundance.

 Mo.

What hope is there of his Maieſties amendment?

 Laf.

He hath abandon'd his Phiſitions Madam, vnder whoſe practiſes he hath perſecuted time with hope, and finds no other aduantage in the proceſſe, but onely the looſing of hope by time.

 Mo.

This yong Gentlewoman had a father, O that had, how ſad a paſſage tis, whoſe skill was almoſt as great as his honeſtie, had it ſtretch'd ſo far, would haue made nature immortall, and death ſhould haue play for lacke of worke. Would for the Kings ſake hee were liuing, I thinke it would be the death of the Kings diſeaſe.

 Laf.

How call'd you the man you ſpeake of Madam?

 Mo.

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

Laf.

He was excellent indeed Madam, the King very latelie ſpoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: hee was skilfull enough to haue liu'd ſtil, if knowledge could be ſet vp againſt mortallitie.

 Roſ.

What is it (my good Lord) the King languiſhes of?

 Laf.

A Fiſtula my Lord.

 Roſ

I heard not of it before.

 Laf.

I would it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Mo.

His ſole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to my ouer looking. I haue thoſe hopes of her good, that her education promiſes her diſpoſitions ſhee inherits, which makes faire gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind carries vertuous qualities, there commendations go with pitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their ſimpleneſſe; ſhe deriues her honeſtie, and atcheeues her goodneſſe.

 Lafew.

Your commendations Madam get from her teares.

 Mo.

'Tis the beſt brine a Maiden can ſeaſon her praiſe in. The remembrance of her father neuer approches her heart, but the tirrany of her ſorrowes takes all liuelihood from her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, no more leaſt it be rather thought you affect a ſorrow, then to haue—

 Hell.

I doe affect a ſorrow indeed, but I haue it too.

 Laf.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, exceſſiue greefe the enemie to the liuing.

 Mo.

If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the exceſſe makes it ſoone mortall.

 Roſ.

Maddam I deſire your holie wiſhes.

 Laf.

How vnderſtand we that?

 Mo. Be thou bleſt Bertrame, and ſucceed thy father In manners as in ſhape: thy blood and vertue Contend for Empire in thee, and thy goodneſſe Share with thy birth-right. Loue all, truſt a few, Doe wrong to none: be able for thine enemie Rather in power then vſe: and keepe thy friend Vnder thy owne lifes key. Be checkt for ſilence, But neuer tax'd for ſpeech. What heauen more wil, That thee may furniſh, and my prayers plucke downe, Fall on thy head. Farwell my Lord, 'Tis an vnſeaſon'd Courtier, good my Lord Aduiſe him. Laf. He cannot want the beſt That ſhall attend his loue. Mo.

Heauen bleſſe him: Farwell Bertram.

Ro.

The beſt wiſhes that can be forg'd in your thoghts be ſeruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your Miſtris, and make much of her.

 Laf.

Farewell prettie Lady, you muſt hold the credit of your father.

 Hell. O were that all, I thinke not on my father, And theſe great teares grace his remembrance more Then thoſe I ſhed for him. What was he like? I haue forgott him. My imagination Carries no fauour in't but Bertrams. I am vndone, there is no liuing, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one, That I ſhould loue a bright particuler ſtarre, And think to wed it, he is ſo aboue me In his bright radience and colaterall light, Muſt I be comforted, not in his ſphere; Th' ambition in my loue thus plagues it ſelfe: The hind that would be mated by the Lion Muſt die for loue. 'Twas prettie, though a plague To ſee him euerie houre to ſit and draw His arched browes, his hawking eie, his curles In our hearts table: heart too capeable Of euerie line and tricke of his ſweet fauour. But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancie Muſt ſanctifie his Reliques. Who comes heere? Enter Parrolles. One that goes with him: I loue him for his ſake, And yet I know him a notorious Liar, Thinke him a great way foole, ſolie a coward, Yet theſe fixt euils ſit ſo fit in him, That they take place, when Vertues ſteely bones Lookes bleake i' th cold wind: withall, full ofte we ſee Cold wiſedome waighting on ſuperfluous follie. Par.

Saue you faire Queene.

 Hel.

And you Monarch.

 Par.

No.

 Hel.

And no.

 Par.

Are you meditating on virginitie?

 Hel.

If you haue ſome ſtaine of ſouldier in you: Let mee aske you a queſtion. Man is enemie to virginitie, how may we barracado it againſt him?

 Par.

Keepe him out.

 Hel.

But he aſſailes, and our virginitie though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs ſome warlike reſiſtance.

 Par.

There is none: Man ſetting downe before you, will vndermine you, and blow you vp.

 Hel.

Bleſſe our poore Virginity from vnderminers and blowers vp. Is there no Military policy how Virgins might blow vp men?

 Par.

Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man will quicklier be blowne vp: marry in blowing him downe againe, with the breach your ſelues made, you loſe your Citty. It is not politicke, in the Common-wealth of Nature, to preſerue virginity. Loſſe of Virginitie, is rationall encreaſe, and there was neuer Virgin goe, till virginitie was firſt loſt. That you were made of, is mettall to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing once loſt, may be ten times found: by being euer kept, it is euer loſt: 'tis too cold a companion: Away with't.

 Hel.

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

 Par.

There's little can bee ſaide in't, 'tis againſt the rule of Nature. To ſpeake on the part of virginitie, is to accuſe your Mothers; which is moſt infallible diſobedience. He that hangs himſelfe is a Virgin: Virginitie murthers it ſelfe, and ſhould be buried in highwayes out of all ſanctified limit, as a deſperate Offendreſſe againſt Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like a Cheeſe, conſumes it ſelfe to the very payring, and ſo dies with feeding his owne ſtomacke. Beſides, Virginitie is peeuiſh, proud, ydle, made of ſelfe-loue, which is the moſt inhibited ſinne in the Cannon. Keepe it not, you cannot chooſe but looſe by't. Out with't: within ten yeare it will make it ſelfe two, which is a goodly increaſe, and the principall it ſelfe not much the worſe. Away with't.

 Hel.

How might one do ſir, to looſe it to her owne liking?

 Par.

Let mee ſee. Marry ill, to like him that ne're it likes. 'Tis a commodity wil loſe the gloſſe with lying: The longer kept, the leſſe worth: Off with't while 'tis vendible. Anſwer the time of requeſt, Virginitie like an olde Courtier, weares her cap out of faſhion, richly ſuted, but vnſuteable, iuſt like the brooch & the toothpick, which were not now: your Date is better in your Pye and your Porredge, then in your cheeke: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd peares, it lookes ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis a wither'd peare: it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a wither'd peare: Will you any thing with it?

 Hel. Not my virginity yet: There ſhall your Maſter haue a thouſand loues, A Mother, and a Miſtreſſe, and a friend, A Phenix, Captaine, and an enemy▪ A guide, a Goddeſſe, and a Soueraigne, A Counſellor, a Traitoreſſe, and a Deare: His humble ambition, proud humility: His iarring, concord: and his diſcord, dulcet: His faith, his ſweet diſaſter: with a world Of pretty fond adoptious chriſtendomes That blinking Cupid goſſips. Now ſhall he: I know not what he ſhall, God ſend him well, The Courts a learning place, and he is one. Par.

What one ifaith?

 Hel.

That I wiſh well, 'tis pitty.

 Par.

What's pitty?

 Hel. That wiſhing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt, that we the poorer borne, Whoſe baſer ſtarres do ſhut vs vp in wiſhes, Might vvith effects of them follow our friends, And ſhew what vve alone muſt thinke, which neuer Returnes vs thankes. Enter Page. Pag. Monſieur Parrolles, My Lord cals for you. Par.

Little Hellen farewell, if I can remember thee, I will thinke of thee at Court.

 Hel.

Monſieur Parolles, you were borne vnder a charitable ſtarre.

 Par.

Vnder Mars I.

 Hel.

I eſpecially thinke, vnder Mars.

Par

Why vnder Mars?

 Hel.

The warres hath ſo kept you vnder, that you muſt needes be borne vnder Mars.

Par.

When he was predominant.

 Hel.

When he was retrograde I thinke rather.

 Par.

Why thinke you ſo?

 Hel.

You go ſo much backward when you fight.

 Par.

That's for aduantage.

 Hel. So is running away, When feare propoſes the ſafetie:

But the compoſition that your valour and feare makes in you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like the weare well.

 Paroll.

I am ſo full of buſineſſes, I cannot anſwere thee acutely: I will returne perfect Courtier, in the which my inſtruction ſhall ſerue to naturalize thee, ſo thou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and vnderſtand what aduice ſhall thruſt vppon thee, elſe thou dieſt in thine vnthankfulnes, and thine ignorance makes thee away, farewell: When thou haſt leyſure, ſay thy praiers: when thou haſt none, remember thy Friends: Get thee a good husband, and vſe him as he vſes thee: So farewell.

 Hel. Our remedies oft in our ſelues do lye, Which we aſcribe to heauen: the fated skye Giues vs free ſcope, onely doth backward pull Our ſlow deſignes, when we our ſelues are dull. What power is it, which mounts my loue ſo hye, That makes me ſee, and cannot feede mine eye? The mightieſt ſpace in fortune, Nature brings To ioyne like, likes; and kiſſe like natiue things. Impoſſible be ſtrange attempts to thoſe That weigh their paines in ſence, and do ſuppoſe What hath beene, cannot be. Who euer ſtroue To ſhew her merit, that did miſſe her loue? (The Kings diſeaſe) my proiect may deceiue me, But my intents are fixt, and will not leaue me. Exit Flouriſh Cornets. Enter the King of France with Letters, and diuers Attendants. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' eares, Haue fought with equall fortune, and continue A brauing warre. 1. Lo. G.

So tis reported ſir.

 King. Nay tis moſt credible, we heere receiue it, A certaintie vouch'd from our Coſin Auſtria, With caution, that the Florentine will moue vs For ſpeedie ayde: wherein our deereſt friend Preiudicates the buſineſſe, and would ſeeme To haue vs make deniall. 1. Lo. G. His loue and wiſedome Approu'd ſo to your Maieſty, may pleade For ampleſt credence. King. He hath arm'd our anſwer, And Florence is deni'de before he comes: Yet for our Gentlemen that meane to ſee The Tuſcan ſeruice, freely haue they leaue To ſtand on either part. 2. Lo. E. It well may ſerue A nurſſerie to our Gentrie, who are ſicke For breathing, and exploit. King.

What's he comes heere.

 Enter Bertram, Lafew, and Parolies. 1. Lor. G. It is the Count Roſignoll my good Lord, Yong Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'ſt thy Fathers face, Franke Nature rather curious then in haſt Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Fathers morall parts Maiſt thou inherit too: Welcome to Paris. Ber.

My thankes and dutie are your Maieſties.

 Kin. I would I had that corporall ſoundneſſe now, As when thy father, and my ſelfe, in friendſhip Firſt tride out ſouldierſhip: he did looke farre Into the ſeruice of the time, and was Diſcipled of the braueſt. He laſted long, But on vs both did haggiſh Age ſteale on, And wore vs out of act: It much repaires me To talke of your good father; in his youth He had the wit, which I can well obſerue To day in our yong Lords: but they may ieſt Till their owne ſcorne returne to them vnnoted Ere they can hide their leuitie in honour: So like a Courtier, contempt nor bitterneſſe Were in his pride, or ſharpneſſe; if they were, His equall had awak'd them, and his honour Clocke to it ſelfe, knew the true minute when Exception bid him ſpeake: and at this time His tongue obey d his hand. Who were below him, He vs'd as creatures of another place, And bow'd his eminent top to their low rankes, Making them proud of his humilitie, In their poore praiſe he humbled: Such a man Might be a copie to theſe yonger times; Which followed well, would demonſtrate them now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance ſir Lies richer in your thoughts, then on his tombe: So in approofe liues not his Epitaph, As in your royall ſpeech. King. Would I were with him he would alwaies ſay, (Me thinkes I heare him now) his plauſiue words He ſcatter'd not in eares, but grafted them To grow there and to beare: Let me not liue, This his good melancholly oft began On the Cataſtrophe and heele of paſtime When it was out: Let me not liue (quoth hee) After my flame lackes oyle, to be the ſnuffe Of yonger ſpirits, whoſe apprehenſiue ſenſes All but new things diſdaine; whoſe iudgements are Meere fathers of their garments: whoſe conſtancies Expire before their faſhions: this he wiſh'd. I after him, do after him wiſh too: Since I nor wax nor honie can bring home, I quickly were diſſolued from my hiue To giue ſome Labourers roome. L. 2. E. You'r loued Sir, They that leaſt lend it you, ſhall lacke you firſt. Kin. I fill a place I know't: how long iſt Count Since the Phyſitian at your fathers died? He was much fam'd. Ber.

Some ſix moneths ſince my Lord.

 Kin. If he were liuing, I would try him yet. Lend me an arme: the reſt haue worne me out With ſeuerall applications: Nature and ſickneſſe Debate it at their leiſure. Welcome Count, My ſonne's no deerer. Ber.

Thanke your Maieſty.

Exit Flouriſh. Enter Counteſſe, Steward, and Clowne. Coun.

I will now heare, what ſay you of this gentlewoman.

 Ste.

Maddam the care I haue had to euen your content, I wiſh might be found in the Kalender of my paſt endeuours, for then we wound our Modeſtie, and make foule the clearneſſe of our deſeruings, whenof our ſelues we publiſh them.

 Coun.

What doe's this knaue heere? Get you gone ſirra: the complaints I haue heard of you I do not all beleeue, 'tis my ſlowneſſe that I doe not: For I know you lacke not folly to commit them, & haue abilitie enough to make ſuch knaueries yours.

 Clo.

'Tis not vnknown to you Madam, I am a poore fellow.

 Coun.

Well ſir.

 Clo. No maddam, 'Tis not ſo well that I am poore, though manie of the rich are damn'd, but if I may haue your Ladiſhips good will to goe to the world, Isbell the woman and w will doe as we may. Coun.

Wilt thou needes be a begger?

 Clo.

I doe beg your good will in this caſe.

 Cou.

In what caſe?

 Clo.

In Isbels caſe and mine owne: ſeruice is no heritage, and I thinke I ſhall neuer haue the bleſſing of God, till I haue iſſue a my bodie: for they ſay barnes are bleſſings.

 Cou.

Tell me thy reaſon why thou wilt marrie?

 Clo.

My poore bodie Madam requires it, I am driuen onby the fleſh, and hee muſt needes goe that the diuell driues.

 Cou.

Is this all your worſhips reaſon?

 Clo.

Faith Madam I haue other holie reaſons, ſuch as they are.

 Con.

May the world know them?

 Clo.

I haue beene Madam a wicked creature, as you and all fleſh and blood are, and indeede I doe marrie that I may repent.

 Cou.

Thy marriage ſooner then thy wickedneſſe.

 Clo.

I am out a friends Madam, and I hope to haue friends for my wiues ſake.

 Cou.

Such friends are thine enemies knaue.

 Clo.

Y' are ſhallow Madam in great friends, for the knaues come to doe that for me which I am a wearie of: he that eres my Land, ſpares my teame, and giues mee leaue to Inne the crop: if I be his cuckold hee's my drudge; he that comforts my wife, is the cheriſher of my fleſh and blood; hee that cheriſhes my fleſh and blood, loues my fleſh and blood; he that loues my fleſh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kiſſes my wife is my friend: if men could be contented to be what they are, there were no feare in marriage, for yong Charbon the Puritan, and old Poyſam the Papiſt, how ſomere their hearts are ſeuer'd in Religion, their heads are both one, they may ioule horns together like any Deare i' th Herd.

 Cou.

Wilt thou euer be a foule mouth'd and calumnious knaue?

 Clo.

A Prophet I Madam, and I ſpeake the truth the next waie, for I the Ballad will repeate, which men full true ſhall finde, your marriage comes by deſtinie, your Cuckow ſings by kinde.

 Cou.

Get you gone ſir, Ile talke with you more anon.

 Stew.

May it pleaſe you Madam, that hee bid Hellen come to you, of her I am to ſpeake.

 Cou.

Sirra tell my gentlewoman I would ſpeake with her, Hellen I meane.

 Clo. Was this faire face the cauſe, quoth ſhe, Why the Grecians ſacked Troy, Fond done, done, fond was this King Priams ioy, With that ſhe ſighed as ſhe ſtood, bis

And gaue this ſentence then, among nine bad if one be good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one good in ten.

 Cou.

What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the ſong ſirra.

 Clo.

One good woman in ten Madam, which is a purifying ath' ſong: would God would ſerue the world ſo all the yeere, weed finde no fault with the tithe woman if I were the Parſon, one in ten quoth a? and wee might haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing ſtarre, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Lotterie well, a man may draw his heart out ere a plucke one.

 Cou.

Youle begone ſir knaue▪ and doe as I command you?

 Clo.

That man ſhould be at womans command, and yet no hurt done, though honeſtie be no Puritan, yet it will doe no hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitie ouer the blacke-Gowne of a bigge heart: I am going forſooth, the buſineſſe is for Helen to come hither.

 Exit. Cou.

Well now.

 Stew.

I know Madam you loue your Gentlewoman intirely.

 Cou.

Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee, and ſhe her ſelfe without other aduantage, may lawfullie make title to as much loue as ſhee findes, there is more owing her then is paid, and more ſhall be paid her then ſheele demand.

 Stew.

Madam, I was verie late more neere her then I thinke ſhee wiſht mee, alone ſhee was, and did communicate to her ſelfe her owne words to her owne eares, ſhee thought, I dare vowe for her, they toucht not anie ſtranger ſence, her matter was, ſhee loued your Sonne; Fortune ſhee ſaid was no goddeſſe, that had put ſuch difference betwixt their two eſtates: Loue no god, that would not extend his might onelie, where qualities were leuell, Queene of Virgins, that would ſuffer her poore Knight ſurpris'd without reſcue in the firſt aſſault or ranſome afterward: This ſhee deliuer'd in the moſt bitter touch of ſorrow that ere I heard Virgin exclaime in, which I held my dutie ſpeedily to acquaint you withall, ſithence in the loſſe that may happen, it concernes you ſomething to know it.

 Cou.

You haue diſcharg'd this honeſtlie, keepe it to your ſelfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of this before, which hung ſo tottring in the ballance, that I could neither beleeue nor miſdoubt: praie you leaue mee, ſtall this in your boſome, and I thanke you for your honeſt care: I will ſpeake with you further anon.

Exit Steward. Enter Hellen. Old. Cou. Euen ſo it vvas vvith me when I was yong: If euer vve are natures, theſe are ours, this thorne Doth to our Roſe of youth righlie belong Our bloud to vs, this to our blood is borne, It is the ſhow, and ſeale of natures truth, Where loues ſtrong paſſion is impreſt in youth, By our remembrances of daies forgon, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none, Her eie is ſicke on't, I obſerue her now. Hell.

What is your pleaſure Madam?

 Ol. Cou.

You know Hellen I am a mother to you.

 Hell.

Mine honorable Miſtris.

 Ol. Cou. Nay a mother, why not a mother? when I ſed a mother Me thought you ſaw a ſerpent, what's in mother, That you ſtart at it? I ſay I am your mother, And put you in the Catalogue of thoſe That were enwombed mine, 'tis often ſeene Adoption ſtriues vvith nature, and choiſe breedes A natiue ſlip to vs from forraine ſeedes: You nere oppreſt me with a mothers groane, Yet I expreſſe to you a mothers care, (Gods mercie maiden) dos it curd thy blood To ſay I am thy mother? vvhat's the matter, That this diſtempered meſſenger of wet? The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye? —Why, that you are my daughter? Hell.

That I am not.

 Old. Cou.

I ſay I am your Mother.

 Hell. Pardon Madam. The Count Roſillion cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honored name: No note vpon my Parents, his all noble, My Maſter, my deere Lord he is, and I His ſeruant liue, and will his vaſſall die: He muſt not be my brother. Ol. Cou.

Nor I your Mother.

 Hell. You are my mother Madam, would you were So that my Lord your ſonne were not my brother, Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers, I care no more for, then I doe for heauen, So I were not his ſiſter, cant no other, But I your daughter, he muſt be my brother. Old. Cou. Yes Hellen, you might be my daughter in law, God ſhield you meane it not, daughter and mother So ſtriue vpon your pulſe; vvhat pale agen? My feare hath catcht your fondneſſe! now I ſee The miſtrie of your louelineſſe, and finde Your ſalt teares head, now to all ſence 'tis groſſe: You loue my ſonne, inuention is aſham'd Againſt the proclamation of thy paſſion To ſay thou dooſt not: therefore tell me true, But tell me then 'tis ſo, for looke, thy cheekes Confeſſe it 'ton tooth to th' other, and thine eies See it ſo groſely ſhowne in thy behauiours, That in their kinde they ſpeake it, onely ſinne And helliſh obſtinacie tye thy tongue That truth ſhould be ſuſpected, ſpeake, iſt ſo? If it be ſo, you haue wound a goodly clewe: If it be not, forſweare't how ere I charge thee, As heauen ſhall worke in me for thine auaile To tell me truelie. Hell.

Good Madam pardon me.

 Cou.

Do you loue my Sonne?

 Hell.

Your pardon noble Miſtris.

 Cou.

Loue you my Sonne?

 Hell.

Doe not you loue him Madam?

 Cou. Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bond Whereof the world takes note: Come, come, diſcloſe: The ſtate of your affection, for your paſſions Haue to the full appeach'd. Hell. Then I confeſſe Here on my knee, before high heauen and you, That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue your Sonne: My friends were poore but honeſt, ſo's my loue: Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is lou'd of me; I follow him not By any token of preſumptuous ſuite, Nor would I haue him, till I doe deſerue him, Yet neuer know how that deſert ſhould be: I know I loue in vaine, ſtriue againſt hope: Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue. I ſtill poure in the waters of my loue And lacke not to looſe ſtill; thus Indian like Religious in mine error, I adore The Sunne that lookes vpon his worſhipper, But knowes of him no more. My deereſt Madam, Let not your hate incounter with my loue, For louing where you doe; but if your ſelfe, Whoſe aged honor cites a vertuous youth, Did euer, in ſo true a flame of liking, Wiſh chaſtly, and loue dearely, that your Dian Was both her ſelfe and loue, O then giue pittie To her whoſe ſtate is ſuch, that cannot chooſe But lend and giue where ſhe is ſure to looſe; That ſeekes not to finde that, her ſearch implies, But riddle like, liues ſweetely where ſhe dies. Cou. Had you not lately an intent, ſpeake truely, To goe to Paris? Hell

Madam I had.

 Cou.

Wherefore? tell true.

 Hell. I will tell truth▪ by grace it ſelfe I ſweare: You know my Father left me ſome preſcriptions Of rare and prou'd effects, ſuch as his reading And manifeſt experience, had collected For generall ſoueraigntie: and that he wil'd me In heedefull'ſt reſeruation to beſtow them, As notes, whoſe faculties incluſiue were, More then they were in note: Amongſt the reſt, There is a remedie, approu'd, ſet downe, To cure the deſperate languiſhings whereof The King is render'd loſt. Cou.

This was your motiue for Paris, was it, ſpeake?

 Hell. My Lord, your ſonne, made me to think of this; Elſe Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the conuerſation of my thoughts, Happily beene abſent then. Cou. But thinke you Hellen, If you ſhould tender your ſuppoſed aide, He would receiue it? He and his Phiſitions Are of a minde, he, that they cannot helpe him: They, that they cannot helpe, how ſhall they credit A poore vnlearned Virgin, when the Schooles Embowel'd of their doctrine, haue left off The danger to it ſelfe. Hell. There's ſomething in't More then my Fathers skill, which was the great'ſt Of his profeſſion, that his good receipt, Shall for my legacie be ſanctified By th' luckieſt ſtars in heauen, and would your honor But giue me leaue to trie ſucceſſe, I'de venture The well loſt life of mine, on his Graces cure, By ſuch a day, an houre. Cou.

Doo'ſt thou beleeue't?

 Hell.

I Madam knowingly.

 Cou. Why Hellen thou ſhalt haue my leaue and loue, Meanes and attendants, and my louing greetings To thoſe of mine in Court, Ile ſtaie at home And praie Gods bleſſing into thy attempt: Begon to morrow, and be ſure of this, What I can helpe thee to, thou ſhalt not miſſe. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Enter the King with diuers yong Lords, taking leaue for the Florentine warre: Count, Roſſe, and Parrolles, Floriſh Cornets. King. Farewell yong Lords, theſe warlike principles Doe not throw from you, and you my Lords farewell: Share the aduice betwixt you, if both gaine, all The guift doth ſtretch it ſelfe as 'tis receiu'd, And is enough for both. Lord. G. 'Tis our hope ſir, After well entred ſouldiers, to returne And finde your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confeſſe he owes the mallady That doth my life beſiege: farwell yong Lords, Whether I liue or die, be you the ſonnes Of worthy French men: let higher Italy (Thoſe bated that inherit but the fall Of the laſt Monarchy) ſee that you come Not to wooe honour, but to wed it, when The braueſt queſtant ſhrinkes: finde what you ſeeke, That fame may cry you loud: I ſay farewell. L.G.

Health at your bidding ſerue your Maieſty.

 King. Thoſe girles of Italy, take heed of them, They ſay our French, lacke language to deny If they demand: beware of being Captiues Before you ſerue. Bo.

Our hearts receiue your warnings.

 King.

Farewell, come hether to me.

 1. Lo. G.

Oh my ſweet Lord yt you wil ſtay behind vs.

 Parr.

'Tis not his fault the ſpark.

 2. Lo. E.

Oh 'tis braue warres.

 Parr.

Moſt admirable, I haue ſeene thoſe warres.

 Roſſill. I am commanded here, and kept a coyle with, Too young, and the next yeere, and 'tis too early. Parr. And thy minde ſtand too't boy, Steale away brauely. Roſſill. I ſhal ſtay here the for-horſe to a ſmocke, Creeking my ſhooes on the plaine Maſonry, Till honour be bought vp, and no ſword worne But one to dance with: by heauen, Ile ſteale away. 1. Lo. G.

There's honour in the theft.

 Parr.

Commit it Count.

 2. Lo. E.

I am your acceſſary, and ſo farewell.

 Roſ.

I grow to you, & our parting is a tortur'd body.

 1. Lo. G.

Farewll Captaine.

 2. Lo. E.

Sweet Mounſier Parolles.

Parr.

Noble Heroes; my ſword and yours are kinne, good ſparkes and luſtrous, a word good mettals. You ſhall finde in the Regiment of the Spinij, one Captaine Spurio his ſicatrice, with an Embleme of warre heere on his ſiniſter cheeke; it was this very ſword entrench'd it: ſay to him I liue, and obſerue his reports for me.

 Lo. G.

We ſhall noble Captaine.

 Parr.

Mars doate on you for his nouices, what will ye doe?

 Roſſ.

Stay the King.

 Parr.

Vſe a more ſpacious ceremonie to the Noble Lords, you haue reſtrain'd your ſelfe within the Liſt of too cold an adieu: be more expreſſiue to them; for they weare themſelues in the cap of the time, there do muſter true gate; eat, ſpeake, and moue vnder the influence of the moſt receiu'd ſtarre, and though the deuill leade the meaſure, ſuch are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

 Roſſ.

And I will doe ſo.

 Parr.

Worthy fellowes, and like to prooue moſt ſinewie ſword-men.

Exeunt. Enter Lafew. L. Laf.

Pardon my Lord for mee and for my tidings.

 King.

Ile ſee thee to ſtand vp.

 L. Laf. Then heres a man ſtands that has brought his pardon, I would you had kneel'd my Lord to aske me mercy, And that at my bidding you could ſo ſtand vp. King. I would I had, ſo I had broke thy pate And askt thee mercy for't. Laf. Good faith a-croſſe, but my good Lord 'tis thus, Will you be cur'd of your infirmitie? King.

No.

 Laf. O will you eat no grapes my royall foxe? Yes but you will, my noble grapes, and if My royall foxe could reach them: I haue ſeen a medicine That's able to breath life into a ſtone, Quicken a rocke, and make you dance Canari With ſprightly fire and motion, whoſe ſimple touch Is powerfull to arayſe King Pippen, nay To giue great Charlemaine a pen in's hand And write to her a loue-line. King.

What her is this?

 Laf. Why doctor ſhe: my Lord, there's one arriu'd, If you will ſee her: now by my faith and honour, If ſeriouſly I may conuay my thoughts In this my light deliuerance, I haue ſpoke With one, that in her ſexe, her yeeres, profeſſion, Wiſedome and conſtancy, hath amaz'd mee more Then I dare blame my weakeneſſe: will you ſee her? For that is her demand, and know her buſineſſe? That done, laugh well at me. King. Now good Lafew, Bring in the admiration, that we with thee May ſpend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondring how thou tookſt it. Laf. Nay, Ile fit you, And not be all day neither. King.

Thus he his ſpeciall nothing euer prologues.

 Laf.

Nay, come your waies.

 Enter Hellen. King.

This haſte hath wings indeed.

 Laf. Nay, come your waies, This is his Maieſtie, ſay your minde to him, A Traitor you doe looke like, but ſuch traitors His Maieſty ſeldome feares, I am Creſſeds Vncle, That dare leaue two together, far you well. Exit. King.

Now faire one, do's your buſines follow vs?

 Hel. I my good Lord, Gerard de Narbon was my father, In what he did profeſſe, well found. King.

I knew him.

 Hel. The rather will I ſpare my praiſes towards him, Knowing him is enough on's bed of death, Many receits he gaue me, chieflie one, Which as the deareſt iſſue of his practice And of his olde experience, th' onlie darling, He bad me ſtore vp, as a triple eye, Safer then mine owne two: more deare I haue ſo, And hearing your high Maieſtie is toucht With that malignant cauſe, wherein the honour Of my deare fathers gift, ſtands cheefe in power, I come to tender it, and my appliance, With all bound humbleneſſe. King. We thanke you maiden, But may not be ſo credulous of cure, When our moſt learned Doctors leaue vs, and The congregated Colledge haue concluded, That labouring Art can neuer ranſome nature From her inaydible eſtate: I ſay we muſt not So ſtaine our iudgement, or corrupt our hope, To proſtitute our paſt-cure malladie To empericks, or to diſſeuer ſo Our great ſelfe and our credit, to eſteeme A ſenceleſſe helpe, when helpe paſt ſence we deeme. Hell. My dutie then ſhall pay me for my paines: I will no more enforce mine office on you, Humbly intreating from your royall thoughts, A modeſt one to beare me backe againe. King. I cannot giue thee leſſe to be cal'd gratefull: Thou thoughtſt to helpe me, and ſuch thankes I giue, As one neere death to thoſe that wiſh him liue: But what at full I know, thou knowſt no part, I knowing all my perill, thou no Art. Hell. What I can doe, can doe no hurt to try, Since you ſet vp your reſt 'gainſt remedie: He that of greateſt workes is finiſher, Oft does them by the weakeſt miniſter: So holy Writ, in babes hath iudgement ſhowne, When Iudges haue bin babes; great flouds haue flowne From ſimple ſources: and great Seas haue dried When Miracles haue by the great'ſt beene denied. Oft expectation failes, and moſt oft there Where moſt it promiſes: and oft it hits, Where hope is coldeſt, and deſpaire moſt ſhifts. King. I muſt not heare thee, fare thee wel kind maide, Thy paines not vs'd, muſt by thy ſelfe be paid, Proffers not tooke, reape thanks for their reward. Hel. Inſpired Merit ſo by breath is bard, It is not ſo with him that all things knowes As 'tis with vs, that ſquare our gueſſe by ſhowes: But moſt it is preſumption in vs, when The help of heauen we count the act of men. Deare ſir, to my endeauors giue conſent, Of heauen, not me, make an experiment. I am not an Impoſtrue, that proclaime My ſelfe againſt the leuill of mine aime, But know I thinke, and thinke I know moſt ſure, My Art is not paſt power, nor you paſt cure. King. Art thou ſo confident? Within what ſpace Hop'ſt thou my cure? Hel. The greateſt grace lending grace, Ere twice the horſes of the ſunne ſhall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnall ring, Ere twice in murke and occidentall dampe Moiſt Heſperus, hath quench'd her ſleepy Lampe: Or foure and twenty times the Pylots glaſſe Hath told the theeuiſh minutes, how they paſſe: What is infirme, from your ſound parts ſhall flie, Health ſhall liue free, and ſickeneſſe freely dye. King. Vpon thy certainty and confidence, What dar'ſt thou venter? Hell. Taxe of impudence, A ſtrumpets boldneſſe, a divulged ſhame Traduc'd by odious ballads: my maidens name Seard otherwiſe, ne worſe of worſt extended With vildeſt torture, let my life be ended. Kin. Methinks in thee ſome bleſſed ſpirit doth ſpeak His powerfull ſound, within an organ weake: And what impoſſibility would ſlay In common ſence, ſence ſaues another way: Thy life is deere, for all that life can rate Worth name of life, in thee hath eſtimate: Youth, beauty, wiſedome, courage, all That happines and prime, can happy call: Thou this to hazard, needs muſt intimate Skill infinite, or monſtrous deſperate, Sweet practiſer, thy Phyſicke I will try, That miniſters thine owne death if I die. Hel. If I breake time, or flinch in property Of what I ſpoke, vnpittied let me die, And well deſeru'd: not helping, death's my ſee, But if I helpe, what doe you promiſe me. Kin.

Make thy demand.

 Hel.

But will you make it euen?

 Kin.

I by my Scepter, and my hopes of helpe.

 Hel. Then ſhalt thou giue me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To chooſe from forth the royall bloud of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy ſtate: But ſuch a one thy vaſſall, whom I know Is free for me to aske, thee to beſtow. Kin. Heere is my hand, the premiſes obſeru'd, Thy will by my performance ſhall be ſeru'd: So make the choice of thy owne time, for I Thy reſolv'd Patient, on thee ſtill relye: More ſhould I queſtion thee, and more I muſt, Though more to know, could not be more to truſt: From whence thou can'ſt, how tended on, but reſt Vnqueſtion'd welcome, and vndoubted bleſt. Giue me ſome helpe heere hoa, if thou proceed, As high as word, my deed ſhall match thy deed. Floriſh. Exit. Enter Counteſſe and Clowne. Lady.

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

 Clown.

I will ſhew my ſelfe highly fed, and lowly taught, I know my buſineſſe is but to the Court.

 Lady.

To the Court, why what place make you ſpeciall, when you put off that with ſuch contempt, but to the Court?

 Clo.

Truly Madam, if God haue lent a man any manners, hee may eaſilie put it off at Court: hee that cannot make a legge, put off's cap, kiſſe his hand, and ſay nothing, has neither legge, hands, lippe, nor cap; and indeed ſuch a fellow, to ſay preciſely, were not for the Court, But for me, I haue an anſwere will ſerue all men.

 Lady.

Marry that's a bountifull anſwere that fits all queſtions.

 Clo.

It is like a Barbers chaire that fits all buttockes, the pin buttocke, the quatch-buttocke, the brawn buttocke, or any buttocke.

 Lady.

Will your anſwere ſerue fit to all queſtions?

 Clo.

As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an Atturney, as your French Crowne for your taffety punke, as Tibs ruſh for Toms fore-finger, as a pancake for Shroue-tueſday, a Morris for May-day, as the naile to his hole, the Cuckold to his horne, as a ſcolding queane to a wrangling knaue, as the Nuns lip to the Friers mouth, nay as the pudding to his skin.

 Lady.

Haue you, I ſay, an anſwere of ſuch fitneſſe for all queſtions?

 Clo.

From below your Duke, to beneath your Conſtable, it will fit any queſtion.

 Lady.

It muſt be an anſwere of moſt monſtrous ſize, that muſt fit all demands.

 Clo.

But a triflle neither in good faith, if the learned ſhould ſpeake truth of it: heere it is, and all that belongs to't. Aske mee if I am a Courtier, it ſhall doe you no harme to learne.

 Lady.

To be young againe if we could: I will bee a foole in queſtion, hoping to bee the wiſer by your anſwer.

 La.

I pray you ſir, are you a Courtier?

 Clo.

O Lord ſir theres a ſimple putting off: more, more, a hundred of them.

 La.

Sir I am a poore freind of yours, that loues you.

 Clo.

O Lord ſir, thicke, thicke, ſpare not me.

 La.

I thinke ſir, you can eate none of this homely meate.

 Clo.

O Lord ſir; nay put me too't, I warrant you.

 La.

You were lately whipt ſir as I thinke.

 Clo.

O Lord ſir, ſpare not me.

 La.

Doe you crie O Lord ſir at your whipping, and ſpare not me? Indeed your O Lord ſir, is very ſequent to your whipping: you would anſwere very well to a whipping if you were but bound too't.

 Clo.

I nere had worſe lucke in my life in my O Lord ſir: I ſee things may ſerue long, but not ſerue euer.

 La.

I play the noble huſwife with the time, to entertaine it ſo merrily with a foole.

 Clo.

O Lord ſir, why there't ſerues well agen.

 La. And end ſir to your buſineſſe: giue Hellen this, And vrge her to a preſent anſwer backe, Commend me to my kinſmen, and my ſonne, This is not much. Clo.

Not much commendation to them.

 La.

Not much imployement for you, you vnderſtand me.

 Clo

Moſt fruitfully, I am there, before my legegs.

 La.

Haſt you agen.

Exeunt Enter Count, Lafew, and Parolles. Ol. Laf.

They ſay miracles are paſt, and we haue our Philoſophicall perſons, to make moderne and familiar things ſupernaturall and cauſeleſſe. Hence is it, that we make trifles of terrours, enſconcing our ſelues into ſeeming knowledge, when we ſhould ſubmit our ſelues to an vnknowne feare.

 Par.

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

 Roſ.

And ſo 'tis.

 Ol. Laf.

To be relinquiſht of the Artiſts.

 Par.

So I ſay both of Galen and Paracelſus.

Ol. Laf.

Of all the learned and authenticke fellowes.

 Par.

Right ſo I ſay.

 Ol Laf.

That gaue him out incureable.

 Par.

Why there 'tis, ſo ſay I too.

 Ol. Laf.

Not to be help'd.

 Par.

Right, as 'twere a man aſſur'd of a—

 Ol. Laf.

Vncertaine life, and ſure death.

 Par.

Iuſt, you ſay well: ſo would I haue ſaid.

 Ol. Laf.

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

 Par.

It is indeede if you will haue it in ſhewing, you ſhall reade it in what do ye call there.

 Ol. Laf.

A ſhewing of a heauenly effect in an earthly Actor.

 Par.

That's it, I would haue ſaid, the verie ſame.

 Ol. Laf. Why your Dolphin is not luſtier: fore mee I ſpeake in reſpect— Par.

Nay 'tis ſtrange, 'tis very ſtraunge, that is the breefe and the tedious of it, and he's of a moſt facinerious ſpirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the—

 Ol. Laf.

Very hand of heauen.

 Par.

I, ſo I ſay.

 Ol. Laf.

In a moſt weake—

 Par.

And debile miniſter great power, grear trancendence, which ſhould indeede giue vs a further vſe to be made, then alone then recou'ry of the king, as to bee

 Old Laf.

Generally thankfull.

 Enter King, Hellen, and attendants. Par.

I would haue ſaid it, you ſay well: heere comes the King.

 Ol. Laf.

Luſtique, as the Dutchman ſaies: Ile like a maide the Better whil'ſt I haue a tooth in my head: why he's able to leade her a Carranto.

 Par.

Mor du vinager, is not this Helen?

 Ol. Laf.

Fore God I thinke ſo.

 King. Goe call before mee all the Lords in Court, Sit my preſeruer by thy patients ſide, And with this healthfull hand whoſe baniſht ſence Thou haſt repeal'd, a ſecond time receyue The confirmation of my promis'd guift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter 3 or 4 Lords. Faire Maide ſend forth thine eye, this youthfull parcell Of Noble Batchellors, ſtand at my beſtowing, Ore whom both Soueraigne power, and fathers voice I haue to vſe; thy franke election make, Thou haſt power to chooſe, and they none to forſake. Hel. To each of you, one faire and vertuous Miſtris; Fall when loue pleaſe, marry to each but one. Old Laf. I'de giue bay curtall, and his furniture My mouth no more were broken then theſe boyes, And writ as little beard. King. Peruſe them well: Not one of thoſe, but had a Noble father. She addreſſes her to a Lord. Hel.

Gentlemen, heauen hath through me, reſtor'd the king to health.

 All.

We vnderſtand it, and thanke heauen for you.

 Hel. I am a ſimple Maide, and therein wealthieſt That I proteſt, I ſimply am a Maide: Pleaſe it your Maieſtie, I haue done already: The bluſhes in my cheekes thus whiſper mee, We bluſh that thou ſhouldſt chooſe, but be refuſed; Let the white death ſit on thy cheeke for euer, Wee'l nere come there againe. King. Make choiſe and ſee, Who ſhuns thy loue, ſhuns all his loue in mee. Hel. Now Dian from thy Altar do I fly, And to imperiall loue, that God moſt high Do my ſighes ſtreame: Sir, wil you heare my ſuite? 1. Lo

And grant it.

 Hel.

Thankes ſir, all the reſt is mute.

 Ol. Laf.

I had rather be in this choiſe, then throw Ameſ-ace for my life.

 Hel. The honor ſir that flames in your faire eyes, Before I ſpeake too threatningly replies: Loue make your fortunes twentie times aboue Her that ſo vviſhes, and her humble loue. 2. Lo.

No better if you pleaſe.

 Hel. My wiſh receiue, Which great loue grant, and ſo I take my leaue. Ol. Laf.

Do all they denie her? And they were ſons of mine, I'de haue them whip'd, or I would ſend them to 'th Turke to make Eunuches of.

 Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand ſhould take, Ile neuer do you wrong for your owne ſake: Bleſſing vpon your vowes, and in your bed Finde fairer fortune, if you euer wed. Old Laf.

Theſe boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none haue heere: ſure they are baſtards to the Engliſh, the French nere got em.

 La. You are too young, too happie, and too good To make your ſelfe a ſonne out of my blood. 4. Lord.

Faire one, I thinke not ſo.

 Ol. Lord

There's one grape yet, I am ſure thy father drunke wine. But if thou beſt not an aſſe, I am a youth of fourteene: I haue knowne thee already.

 Hel. I dare not ſay I take you, but I giue Me and my ſeruice, euer whilſt I liue Into your guiding power: This is the man. King.

Why then young Bertram take her ſhee's thy wife.

 Ber. My wife my Leige? I ſhal beſeech your highnes In ſuch a buſines, giue me leaue to vſe The helpe of mine owne eies. King.

Know'ſt thou not Bertram what ſhee ha's done for mee?

 Ber.

Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to know why I ſhould marrie her.

 King.

Thou know'ſt ſhee ha's rais'd me from my ſickly bed.

 Ber. But followes it my Lord, to bring me downe Muſt anſwer for your raiſing? I knowe her well: Shee had her breeding at my fathers charge: A poore Phyſitians daughter my wife? Diſdaine Rather corrupt me euer. King. Tis onely title thou diſdainſt in her, the which I can build vp: ſtrange is it that our bloods Of colour, waight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound diſtinction: yet ſtands off In differences ſo mightie. If ſhe bee All that is vertuous (ſaue what thou diſlik'ſt) A poore Phiſitians daughter, thou diſlik'ſt Of vertue for the name: but doe not ſo: From loweſt place, whence vertuous things proceed, The place is dignified by th' doers deede. Where great additions ſwell's, and vertue none, It is a dropſied honour. Good a lone, Is good without a name? Vileneſſe is ſo: The propertie by what is is, ſhould go, Not by the title. Shee is young, wiſe, faire, In theſe, to Nature ſhee's immediate heire: And theſe breed honour: that is honours ſcorne, Which challenges it ſelfe as honours borne, And is not like the fire: Honours thriue, When rather from our acts we them deriue Then our fore-goers: the meere words, a ſlaue Deboſh'd on euerie tombe, on euerie graue: A lying Trophee, and as oft is dumbe, Where duſt, and damn'd obliuion is the Tombe. Of honour'd bones-indeed, what ſhould be ſaide? If thou canſt like this creature, as a maide, I can create the reſt: Vertue, and ſhee Is her owne dower: Honour and wealth, from mee. Ber.

I cannot loue her, nor will ſtriue to doo't.

 King.

Thou wrong'ſt thy ſelfe, if thou ſhold'ſt ſtriue to chooſe.

 Hel. That you are well reſtor'd my Lord, I'me glad: Let the reſt go. King. My Honor's at the ſtake, which to defeate I muſt produce my power. Heere, take her hand, Proud ſcornfull boy, vnworthie this good gift, That doſt in vile miſpriſion ſhackle vp My loue, and her deſert: that canſt not dreame, We poizing vs in her defectiue ſcale, Shall weigh thee to the beame: That wilt not know, It is in Vs to plant thine Honour, where We pleaſe to haue it grow. Cheeke thy contempt: Obey Our will, which trauailes in thy good: Beleeue not thy diſdaine, but preſentlie Do thine owne fortunes that obedient right Which both thy dutie owes, and Our power claimes, Or I will throw thee from my care for euer Into the ſtaggers, and the careleſſe lapſe Of youth and ignorance: both my reuenge and hate Looſing vpon thee, in the name of iuſtice, Without all termes of pittie. Speake, thine anſwer. Ber. Pardon my gracious Lord: for I ſubmit My fancie to your eies, when I conſider What great creation, and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it: I finde that ſhe which late Was in my Nobler thoughts, moſt baſe: is now The praiſed of the King, who ſo ennobled, Is as 'twere borne ſo. King. Take her by the hand, And tell her ſhe is thine: to whom I promiſe A counterpoize: If not to thy eſtate, A ballance more repleat. Ber.

I take her hand.

 Kin. Good fortune, and the fauour of the King Smile vpon this Contract: whoſe Ceremonie Shall ſeeme expedient on the now borne briefe, And be perform'd to night: the ſolemne Feaſt Shall more attend vpon the coming ſpace, Expecting abſent friends. As thou lou'ſt her, Thy loue's to me Religious: elſe, do's erre. Exeunt Parolles and Lafew ſtay behind, commenting of this wedding. Laf.

Do you heare Monſieur? A word with you.

 Par.

Your pleaſure ſir.

 Laf.

Your Lord and Maſter did well to make his recantation.

 Par.

Recantation? My Lord? my Maſter?

 Laf.

I: Is it not a Language I ſpeake?

 Par.

A moſt harſh one, and not to bee vnderſtoode without bloudie ſucceeding My Maſter▪

Laf.

Are you Companion to the Count Roſillion?

 Par.

To any Count, to all Counts: to what is man.

 Laf.

To what is Counts man: Counts maiſter is of another ſtile.

 Par.

You are too old ſir: Let it ſatisfie you, you are too old.

 Laf.

I muſt tell thee ſirrah, I write Man: to which title age cannot bring thee.

 Par.

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

 Laf.

I did thinke thee for two ordinaries: to bee a prettie wiſe fellow, thou didſt make tollerable vent of thy trauell, it might paſſe: yet the ſcarffes and the bannerets about thee, did manifoldlie diſſwade me from beleeuing thee a veſſell of too great a burthen. I haue now found thee, when I looſe thee againe, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking vp, and that th' ourt ſcarce worth.

 Par.

Hadſt thou not the priuiledge of Antiquity vpon thee.

 Laf.

Do not plundge thy ſelfe to farre in anger, leaſt thou haſten thy triall: which if, Lord haue mercie on thee for a hen, ſo my good window of Lettice fare thee well, thy caſement I neede not open, for I look through thee. Giue me thy hand.

 Par.

My Lord, you giue me moſt egregious indignity.

 Laf.

I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.

 Par.

I haue not my Lord deſeru'd it.

 Laf.

Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I will not b • te thee a ſcruple.

 Par.

Well, I ſhall be wiſer.

 Laf.

Eu'n as ſoone as thou can'ſt, for thou haſt to pull at a ſmacke a' th contrarie. If euer thou bee'ſt bound in thy skarfe and beaten, thou ſhall finde what it is to be proud of thy bondage, I haue a deſire to holde my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may ſay in the default, he is a man I know.

 Par.

My Lord you do me moſt inſupportable vexation.

 Laf.

I would it were hell paines for thy ſake, and my poore doing eternall: for doing I am paſt, as I will by thee, in what motion age will giue me leaue.

Exit. Par.

Well, thou haſt a ſonne ſhall take this diſgrace off me; ſcuruy, old, filthy, ſcuruy Lord: Well, I muſt be patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beate him (by my life) if I can meete him with any conuenience, and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haue no more pittie of his age then I would haue of—Ile beate him, and if I could but meet him agen.

 Enter Lafew. Laf.

Sirra, your Lord and maſters married, there's newes for you: you haue a new Miſtris.

 Par.

I moſt vnfainedly beſeech your Lordſhippe to make ſome reſeruation of your wrongs. He is my good Lord, whom I ſerue aboue is my maſter.

 Laf.

Who? God.

 Par.

I ſir.

 Laf.

The deuill it is, that's thy maſter. Why dooeſt thou garter vp thy armes a this faſhion? Doſt make hoſe of thy ſleeues? Do other ſeruants ſo? Thou wert beſt ſet thy lower part where thy noſe ſtands. By mine Honor, If I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: meethink'ſt thou art a generall offence, and euery man ſhold beate thee: I thinke thou waſt created for men to breath themſelues vpon thee.

 Par.

This is hard and vndeſerued meaſure my Lord.

 Laf.

Go too ſir, you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, and no true traueller: you are more ſawcie with Lordes and honourable perſonages, then the Commiſsion of your birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth another word, elſe I'de call you knaue. I leaue you.

 Exit Enter Count Roſſillion. Par.

Good, very good, it is ſo then: good, very good, let it be conceal'd awhile.

 Roſ.

Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer.

 Par.

What's the matter ſweet-heart?

 Roſsill.

Although before the ſolemne Prieſt I haue ſworne, I will not bed her.

 Par.

What? what ſweet heart?

 Roſ. O my Parrolles, they haue married me: Ile to the Tuſcan warres, and neuer bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits, The tread of a mans foot: too 'th warres. Roſ.

There's letters from my mother: What th' import is, I know not yet.

 Par. I that would be knowne: too 'th warrs my boy, too 'th warres: He weares his honor in a boxe vnſeene, That hugges his kickie wickie heare at home, Spending his manlie marrow in her armes Which ſhould ſuſtaine the bound and high curuet Of Marſes fierie ſteed: to other Regions, France is a ſtable, wee that dwell in't Iades, Therefore too 'th warre. Roſ. It ſhall be ſo, Ile ſend her to my houſe, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled: Write to the King That which I durſt not ſpeake. His preſent gift Shall furniſh me to thoſe Italian fields Where noble fellowes ſtrike: Warres is no ſtrife To the darke houſe, and the detected wife. Par.

Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art ſure?

 Roſ. Go with me to my chamber, and aduice me. Ile ſend her ſtraight away: To morrow, Ile to the warres, ſhe to her ſingle ſorrow. Par. Why theſe bals bound, ther's noiſe in it. Tis hard A yong man maried, is a man that's mard: Therefore away, and leaue her brauely: go, The King ha's done you wrong: but huſh 'tis ſo. Exit Enter Helena and Clowne. Hel.

My mother greets me kindly, is ſhe well?

 Clo.

She is not well, but yet ſhe has her health, ſhe's very merrie, but yet ſhe is not well: but thankes be giuen ſhe's very well, and wants nothing i' th world: but yet ſhe is not well.

 Hel.

If ſhe be verie wel, what do's ſhe ayle, that ſhe's not verie well?

 Clo.

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

 Hel.

What two things?

 Clo.

One, that ſhe's not in heauen, whether God ſend her quickly: the other, that ſhe's in earth, from whence God ſend her quickly.

 Enter Parolles. Par.

Bleſſe you my fortunate Ladie.

 Hel.

I hope ſir I haue your good will to haue mine owne good fortune.

 Par.

You had my prayers to leade them on, and to keepe them on, haue them ſtill. O my knaue, how do's my old Ladie?

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

Why I ſay nothing.

 Clo.

Marry you are the wiſer man: for many a mans tongue ſhakes out his maſters vndoing: to ſay nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is within a verie little of nothing.

 Par.

Away, th' art a knaue.

 Clo.

You ſhould haue ſaid ſir before a knaue, th' art a knaue, that's before me th' art a knaue: this had beene truth ſir.

 Par.

Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue found thee.

 Clo.

Did you finde me in your ſelfe ſir, or were you taught to finde me?

 Clo.

The ſearch ſir was profitable, and much Foole may you find in you, euen to the worlds pleaſure, and the encreaſe of laughter.

 Par. A good knaue ifaith, and well fed. Madam, my Lord will go awaie to night, A verie ſerrious buſineſſe call's on him: The great prerogatiue and rite of loue, Which as your due time claimes, he do's acknowledge, But puts it off to a compell'd reſtraint: Whoſe want, and whoſe delay▪ is ſtrew'd with ſweets Which they diſtill now in the curbed time, To make the comming houre oreflow with ioy, And pleaſure drowne the brim. Hel▪

What's his will elſe?

 Par. That you will take your inſtant leaue a' th king, And make this haſt as your owne good proceeding, Strengthned with what Apologie you thinke May make it probable neede. Hel.

What more commands hee?

 Par. That hauing this obtain'd, you preſentlie Attend his further pleaſure. Hel.

In euery thing I waite vpon his will.

 Par.

I ſhall report it ſo,

Exit Par. Hell.

I pray you come ſirrah.

Exit Enter Lafew and Bertram. Laf.

But I hope your Lordſhippe thinkes not him a ſouldier.

 Ber.

Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe.

 Laf.

You haue it from his owne deliuerance.

 Ber.

And by other warranted teſtimonie.

 Laf.

Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larke for a bunting.

 Ber.

I do aſſure you my Lord he is very great in knowledge, and accordinglie valiant.

 Laf.

I haue then ſinn'd againſt his experience, and tranſgreſt againſt his valour, and my ſtate that way is dangerous, ſince I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: Heere he comes, I pray you make vs freinds, I will purſue the amitie.

 Enter Parolles. Par.

Theſe things ſhall be done ſir.

 Laf.

Pray you ſir whoſe his Tailor?

 Par

Sir?

 Laf.

O I know him well, I ſir, hee ſirs a good workeman, a verie good Tailor.

 Ber.

Is ſhee gone to the king?

 Par.

Shee is.

 Ber.

Will ſhee away to night?

 Par.

As you'le haue her.

 Ber. I haue writ my letters, casketted my treaſure, Giuen order for our horſes, and to night, When I ſhould take poſſeſſion of the Bride, And ere I doe begin. Laf.

A good Trauailer is ſomething at the latter end of a dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vſes a known truth to paſſe a thouſand nothings with, ſhould bee once hard, and thrice beaten. God ſaue you Captaine.

 Ber.

Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord and you Monſieur?

 Par.

I know not how I haue deſerued to run into my Lords diſpleaſure.

 Laf.

You haue made ſhift to run into't, bootes and ſpurres and all: like him that leapt into the Cuſtard, and out of it you'le runne againe, rather then ſuffer queſtion for your reſidence.

 Ber.

It may bee you haue miſtaken him my Lord.

 Laf.

And ſhall doe ſo euer, though I tooke him at's prayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this of me, there can be no kernell in this light Nut: the ſoule of this man is his cloathes: Truſt him not in matter of heauie conſequence: I haue kept of them tame, & know their natures. Farewell Monſieur, I haue ſpoken better of you, then you haue or will to deſerue at my hand, but we muſt do good againſt euill.

 Par.

An idle Lord, I ſweare.

 Ber.

I thinke ſo.

 Par.

Why do you not know him?

 Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common ſpeech Giues him a worthy paſſe. Heere comes my clog. Enter Helena. Hel. I haue ſir as I was commanded from you Spoke with the King, and haue procur'd his leaue For preſent parting, onely he deſires Some priuate ſpeech with you. Ber. I ſhall obey his will. You muſt not meruaile Helen at my courſe, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The miniſtration, and required office On my particular. Prepar'd I was not For ſuch a buſineſſe, therefore am I found So much vnſetled: This driues me to intreate you, That preſently you take your way for home, And rather muſe then aske why I intreate you, For my reſpects are better then they ſeeme, And my appointments haue in them a neede Greater then ſhewes it ſelfe at the firſt view, To you that know them not. This to my mother, 'Twill be two daies ere I ſhall ſee you, ſo I leaue you to your wiſedome. Hel. Sir, I can nothing ſay, But that I am your moſt obedient ſeruant. Ber.

Come, come, no more of that.

 Hel. And euer ſhall With true obſeruance ſeeke to eeke out that Wherein toward me my homely ſtarres haue faild To equall my great fortune. Ber. Let that goe: my haſt is verie great. Farwell: Hie home. Hel.

Pray ſir your pardon.

 Ber.

Well, what would you ſay?

 Hel. I am not worthie of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I ſay 'tis mine: and yet it is, But like a timorous theefe, moſt faine would ſteale What law does vouch mine owne. Ber.

What would you haue?

 Hel. Something, and ſcarſe ſo much: nothing indeed, I would not tell you what I would my Lord: Faith yes, Strangers and foes do ſunder, and not kiſſe. Ber.

I pray you ſtay not, but in haſt to horſe.

 Hel. I ſhall not breake your bidding, good my Lord: Where are my other men? Monſieur, farwell. Exit Ber. Go thou toward home, where I wil neuer come, Whilſt I can ſhake my ſword, or heare the drumme: Away, and for our flight. Par.

Brauely, Coragio.
Actus Tertius. Flouriſh. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two Frenchmen, with a troope of Souldiers. Duke. So that from point to point, now haue you heard The fundamentall reaſons of this warre, Whoſe great deciſion hath much blood let forth And more thirſts after. 1. Lord. Holy ſeemes the quarrell Vpon your Graces part: blacke and fearefull On the oppoſer. Duke. Therefore we meruaile much our Coſin France Would in ſo iuſt a buſineſſe, ſhut his boſome Againſt our borrowing prayers. French E. Good my Lord, The reaſons of our ſtare I cannot yeelde, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a Counſaile frames, By ſelfe vnable motion, therefore dare not Say what I thinke of it, ſince I haue found My ſelfe in my incertaine grounds to faile As often as I gueſt. Duke.

Be it his pleaſure.

 Fren. G. But I am ſure the yonger of our nature, That ſurfet on their eaſe, will day by day Come heere for Phyſicke. Duke. Welcome ſhall they bee: And all the honors that can flye from vs, Shall on them ſettle: you know your places well, When better fall, for your auailes they fell, To morrow to 'th the field. Flouriſh. Enter Counteſſe and Clowne. Count.

It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, ſaue that he comes not along with her.

 Clo.

By my troth I take my young Lord to be a verie melancholly man.

 Count.

By what obſeruance I pray you.

 Clo.

Why he will looke vppon his boote, and ſing: mend the Ruffe and ſing, aske queſtions and ſing, picke his teeth, and ſing: I know a man that had this tricke of melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a ſong.

 Lad.

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

 Clow.

I haue no minde to Isbell ſince I was at Court. Our old Lings, and our Isbels a' th Country, are nothing like your old Ling and your Isbels a' th Court: the brains of my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as an old man loues money, with no ſtomacke.

 Lad.

What haue we heere?

 Clo. In that you haue there. exit

A Letter.

I haue ſent you a daughter-in-Law, ſhee hath recouered the King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her, and ſworne to make the not eternall. You ſhall heare I am runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long diſtance. My duty to you.

Your vnfortunate ſonne, Bertram.

This is not well raſh and vnbridled boy, To flye the fauours of ſo good a King, To plucke his indignation on thy head, By the miſpriſing of a Maide too vertuous For the contempt of Empire. Enter Clowne. Clow.

O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within betweene two ſouldiers, and my yong Ladie.

 La.

What is the matter.

 Clo.

Nay there is ſome comfort in the newes, ſome comfort, your ſonne will not be kild ſo ſoone as I thoght he would.

 La.

Why ſhould he be kill'd?

 Clo.

So ſay I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he does, the danger is in ſtanding too't, that's the loſſe of men, though it be the getting of children. Heere they come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare your ſonne was run away.

 Enter Hellen and two Gentlemen. French E.

Saue you good Madam.

 Hel.

Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone.

 French G.

Do not ſay ſo.

 La. Thinke vpon patience, pray you Gentlemen, I haue felt ſo many quirkes of ioy and greefe, That the firſt face of neither on the ſtart Can woman me vntoo't. Where is my ſonne I pray you? Fren. G. Madam he's gone to ſerue the Duke of Florence, We met him thitherward, for thence we came: And after ſome diſpatch in hand at Court, Thither we bend againe. Hel. Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Paſport. When thou canſt get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer ſhall come off, and ſhew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie, that I am father too, then call me husband: but in ſuch a (then) I write a Neuer. This is a dreadfull ſentence. La.

Brought you this Letter Gentlemen?

 1. G.

I Madam, and for the Contents ſake are ſorrie for our paines.

 Old La. I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere, If thou engroſſeſt, all the greefes are thine, Thou robſt me of a moity: He was my ſonne, But I do waſh his name out of my blood, And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he? Fren. G.

I Madam.

 La.

And to be a ſouldier.

 Fren. G. Such is his noble purpoſe, and beleeu't The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor That good conuenience claimes. La.

Returne you thither.

 Fren. E.

I Madam, with the ſwifteſt wing of ſpeed.

 Hel. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France, 'Tis bitter. La.

Finde you that there?

 Hel.

I Madame.

 Fren. E.

'Tis but the boldneſſe of his hand haply, which his heart was not conſenting too.

 Lad. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife: There's nothing heere that is too good for him But onely ſhe, and ſhe deſerues a Lord That twenty ſuch rude boyes might tend vpon, And call her hourely Miſtris. Who was with him? Fren. E.

A ſeruant onely, and a Gentleman: whlch I haue ſometime knowne.

 La.

Parolles was it not?

 Fren. E.

I my good Ladie, hee.

 La. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickedneſſe, My ſonne corrupts a well deriued nature With his inducement. Fren. E.

Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of that, too much, which holds him much to haue.

 La.

Y' are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you when you ſee my ſonne, to tell him that his ſword can neuer winne the honor that he looſes: more Ile intreate you written to beare along.

 Fren. G.

We ſerue you Madam in that and all your worthieſt affaires.

 La. Not ſo, but as we change our courteſies, Will you draw neere? Exit. Hel. Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France. Nothing in France vntill he has no wife: Thou ſhalt haue none Roſſillion, none in France, Then haſt thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I That chaſe thee from thy Countrie, and expoſe Thoſe tender limbes of thine, to the euent Of the none-ſparing warre? And is it I, That driue thee from the ſportiue Court, where thou Was't ſhot at with faire eyes, to be the marke Of ſmoakie Musk • ts? O you leaden meſſengers, That ride vpon the violent ſpeede of fire, Fly with falſe ayme, moue the ſtill-peering aire That ſings with piercing, do not touch my Lord: Who euer ſhoots at him, I ſet him there. Who euer charges on his forward breſt I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't, And though I kill him not, I am the cauſe His death was ſo effected: Better 'twere I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd With ſharpe conſtraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miſeries which nature owes Were mine at once. No come thou home Roſſillion, Whence honor but of danger winnes a ſcarre, As oft it looſes all. I will be gone: My being heere it is, that holds thee hence, Shall I ſtay heere to doo't? No, no, although The ayre of Paradiſe did fan the houſe, And Angles offic'd all: I will be gone, That pittifull rumour may report my flight To conſolate thine eare. Come night, end day, For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile ſteale away. Exit. Flouriſh. Enter the Duke of Florence, Roſſillion, drum and trumpets, ſoldiers, Parrolles. Duke. The Generall of our horſe thou art, and we Great in our hope, lay our beſt loue and credence Vpon thy promiſing fortune▪ Ber. Sir it is A charge too heauy for my ſtrength, but yet Wee'l ſtriue to beare it for your worthy ſake, To th' extreme edge of hazard. Duke. Then go thou for • h, And fortune play vpon thy proſperous helme As thy auſpicious miſtris. Ber. This very day Great Mars I put my ſelfe into thy file, Make me but like my thoughts, and I ſhall proue A louer of thy drumme, hater of loue. Exeunt omnes E • ter Counteſſe & Steward. La. Alas! and would you take the letter of her: Might you not know ſhe would do, as ſhe has done, By ſending me a Letter. Reade it agen. Letter. I am S. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious loue hath ſo in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon With ſainted vow my faults to haue amended. Write, write, that from the bloodie courſe of warre, My deereſt Maſter your deare ſonne, may hie, Bleſſe him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre, His name with zealous feruour ſanctifie: His taken labours bid him me forgiue: I his deſpightfull Iuno ſent him forth, From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue, Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth. He is too good and faire for death, and mee, Whom I my ſelfe embrace, to ſet him free. Ah what ſharpe ſtings are in her mildeſt words? Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice ſo much, As letting her paſſe ſo: had I ſpoke with her, I could haue well diuerted her intents, Which thus ſhe hath preuented. Ste. Pardon me Madam, If I had giuen you this at ouer-night, She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet ſhe writes Purſuite would be but vaine. La. What Angell ſhall Bleſſe this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue, Vnleſſe her prayers, whom heauen delights to beare And loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrath Of greateſt Iuſtice. Write, write Rynaldo, To this vnworthy husband of his wife, Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth, That he does waigh too light: my greateſt greefe, Though little he do feele it, ſet downe ſharpely. Diſpatch the moſt conuenient meſſenger, When haply he ſhall heare that ſhe is gone, He will returne, and hope I may that ſhee Hearing ſo much, will ſpeede her foote againe, Led hither by pure loue: which of them both Is deereſt to me, I haue no skill in ſence To make diſtinction: prouide this Meſſenger: My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake, Greefe would haue teares, and ſorrow bids me ſpeake. Exeunt A Tucket afarre off. Enter old Widdow of Florence, her daughter, Violenta and Mariana, with other Citizens. Widdow. Nay come, For if they do approach the Citty, We ſhall looſe all the ſight. Diana. They ſay, the French Count has done Moſt honourable ſeruice. Wid. It is reported, That he has taken their great'ſt Commander, And that with his owne hand he ſlew The Dukes brother: we haue loſt our labour, They are gone a contrarie way • harke, you may know by their Trumpets. Maria. Come lets returne againe, And ſuffice our ſelues with the report of it. Well Diana, take heed of this French Earle, The honor of a Maide is her name, And no Legacie is ſo rich As honeſtie. Widdow. I haue told my neighbour How you haue beene ſolicited by a Gentleman His Companion. Maria.

I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles, a filthy Officer he is in thoſe ſuggeſtions for the young Earle, beware of them Diana; their promiſes, entiſements, oathes, tokens, and all theſe engines of luſt, are not the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beene ſeduced by them, and the miſerie is example, that ſo terrible ſhewes in the wracke of maiden-hood, cannot for all that diſſwade ſucceſſion, but that they are limed with the twigges that threatens them. I hope I neede not to aduiſe you further, but I hope your owne grace will keepe you where you are, though there were no further danger knowne, but the modeſtie which is ſo loſt.

 Dia.

You ſhall not neede to feare me.

 Enter Hellen. Wid.

I hope ſo: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know ſhe will lye at my houſe, thither they ſend one another, Ile queſtion her. God ſaue you pilgrim, whether are bound?

 Hel. To S. Iaques la grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beſeech you? Wid.

At the S. Francis heere beſide the Port.

 Hel.

Is this the way?

A march afarre. Wid. I marrie iſt. Harke you, they come this way: If you will tarrie holy Pilgrime But till the troopes come by, I will conduct you where you ſhall be lodg'd, The rather for I thinke I know your hoſteſſe As ample as my ſelfe. Hel.

Is it your ſelfe?

 Wid.

If you ſhall pleaſe ſo Pilgrime.

 Hel.

I thanke you, and will ſtay vpon your leiſure.

 Wid.

you came I thinke from France?

 Hel.

I did ſo.

 Wid. Heere you ſhall ſee a Countriman of yours That has done worthy ſeruice. Hel.

His name I pray you?

 Dia.

The Count Roſſillion: know you ſuch a one?

 Hel. But by the eare that heares moſt nobly of him: His face I know not. Dia. What ſomere he is He's brauely taken heere. He ſtole from France As 'tis reported: for the King had married him Againſt his liking. Thinke you it is ſo? Hel.

I ſurely meere the truth, I know his Lady.

 Dia. There is a Gentleman that ſerues the Count, Reports but courſely of her. Hel.

What's his name?

 Dia.

Monſieur Parrolles.

Hel. Oh I beleeue with him, In argument of praiſe, or to the worth Of the great Count himſelfe, ſhe is too meane To haue her name repeated, all her deſeruing Is a reſerued honeſtie, and that I haue not heard examin'd. Dian. Alas poore Ladie, 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a deteſting Lord. Wid. I write good creature, whereſoere ſhe is, Her hart waighes ſadly: this yong maid might do her A ſhrewd turne if ſhe pleas'd. Hel. How do you meane? May be the amorous Count ſolicites her In the vnlawfull purpoſe. Wid. He does indeede, And brokes with all that can in ſuch a ſuite Corrupt the tender honour of a Maide: But ſhe is arm'd for him, and keepes her guard In honeſteſt defence. Drumme and Colours. Enter Count Roſſillion, Parrolles, and the whole Armie. Mar.

The goddes forbid elſe.

 Wid. So, now they come: That is Anthonio the Dukes eldeſt ſonne, That Eſcalus. Hel.

Which is the Frenchman?

 Dia. Hee, That with the plume, 'tis a moſt gallant fellow, I would he lou'd his wife: if he were honeſter He were much goodlier. Is't not a handſom Gentleman Hel.

I like him well.

 Di. 'Tis pitty he is not honeſt: yonds that ſame knaue That leades him to theſe places: were I his Ladie, I would poiſon that vile Raſcall. Hel.

Which is he?

 Dia.

That Iacke an-apes with ſcarfes. Why is hee melancholly?

 Hel.

Perchance he • s hurt i' th battaile.

 Par.

Looſe our drum? Well.

 Mar.

He's ſhrewdly vext at ſomething. Looke he has ſpyed vs.

 Wid.

Marrie hang you.

 Mar.

And your curteſie, for a ring-carrier.

Exit. Wid. The troope is paſt: Come pilgrim, I wil bring you, Where you ſhall hoſt: Of inioyn'd penitents There's foure or fiue, to great S. Iaques bound, Alreadie at my houſe. Hel. I humbly thanke you: Pleaſe it this Matron, and this gentle Maide To eate with vs to night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me▪ and to requite you further, I will beſtow ſome precepts of this Virgin, Worthy the note. Both.

Wee'l take your offer kindly.

Exeunt Enter Count Roſſillion and the Frenchmen, as at firſt. Cap. E.

Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him haue his way.

 Cap. G.

If your Lordſhippe finde him not a Hilding, hold me no more in your reſpect.

 Cap. E.

On my life my Lord▪ a bubble.

 Ber. Do you thinke I am ſo farre Deceiued in him. Cap. E.

Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne direct knowledge, without any malice, but to ſpeake of him as my kinſman, hee's a moſt notable Coward, an infinite and endleſſe Lyar, an hourely promiſe-breaker, the owner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordſhips entertainment.

 Cap. G.

It were fit you knew him, leaſt▪ repoſing too farre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at ſome great and truſtie buſineſſe, in a maine daunger, fayle you.

 Ber.

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

 Cap. G.

None better then to let him fetch off his drumme, which you heare him ſo confidently vndertake to do.

 C.E.

I with a troop of Florentines wil ſodainly ſurprize him; ſuch I will haue whom I am ſure he knowes not from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinke him ſo, that he ſhall ſuppoſe no other but that he is carried into the Leager of the aduerſaries, when we bring him to our owne tents: be but your Lordſhip preſent at his examination, if he do not for the promiſe of his life, and in the higheſt compulſion of baſe feare, offer to betray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his power againſt you, and that with the diuine forfeite of his ſoule vpon oath, neuer truſt my iudgement in anie thing.

 Cap. G.

O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch his drumme, he ſayes he has a ſtratagem for't: when your Lordſhip ſees the bottome of this ſucceſſe in't, and to what mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be melted if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement, your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes.

 Enter Parrolles. Cap. E.

O for the loue of laughter hinder not the honor of his deſigne, let him fetch off his drumme in any hand.

 Ber.

How now Monſieur? This drumme ſticks ſorely in your diſpoſition.

 Cap. G.

A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme.

 Par.

But a drumme: Iſt but a drumme? A drum ſo loſt. There was excellent command, to charge in with our horſe vpon our owne wings, and to rend our owne ſouldiers.

 Cap. G.

That was not to be blam'd in the command of the ſeruice: it was a diſaſter of warre that Caeſar him ſelfe could not haue preuented, if he had beene there to command.

 Ber.

Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our ſucceſſe: ſome diſhonor wee had in the loſſe of that drum, but it is not to be recouered.

 Par.

It might haue beene recouered.

 Ber.

It might, but it is not now.

 Par.

It is to be recouered, but that the merit of ſeruice is ſildome attributed to the true and exact performer, I would haue that drumme or another, or hic iacet.

Ber.

Why if you haue a ſtomacke, too't Monſieur: if you thinke your myſterie in ſtratagem, can bring this inſtrument of honour againe into his natiue quarter, be magnanimious in the enterprize and go on, I wil grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you ſpeede well in it, the Duke ſhall both ſpeake of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatneſſe, euen to the vtmoſt ſyllable of your worthineſſe.

 Par.

By the hand of a ſouldier I will vndertake it.

 Ber.

But you muſt not now ſlumber in it.

 Par.

Ile about it this euening, and I will preſently pen downe my dilemma's, encourage my ſelfe in my certaintie, put my ſelfe into my mortall preparation: and by midnight looke to heare further from me.

 Ber.

May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it.

 Par.

I know not what the ſucceſſe wil be my Lord, but the attempt I vow.

 Ber. I know th' art valiant, And to the poſsibility of thy ſouldierſhip, Will ſubſcribe for thee: Farewell. Par.

I loue not many words.

Exit Cap. E.

No more then a fiſh loues water. Is not this a ſtrange fellow my Lord, that ſo confidently ſeemes to vndertake this buſineſſe, which he knowes is not to be done, damnes himſelfe to do, & dares better be damnd then to doo't.

 Cap. G.

You do not know him my Lord as we doe, certaine it is that he will ſteale himſelfe into a mans fauour, and for a weeke eſcape a great deale of diſcoueries, but when you finde him out, you haue him euer after.

 Ber.

Why do you thinke he will make no deede at all of this that ſo ſeriouſlie hee dooes addreſſe himſelfe vnto?

 Cap. E.

None in the world, but returne with an inuention, and clap vpon you two or three probable lies: but we haue almoſt imboſt him, you ſhall ſee his fall to night; for indeede he is not for your Lordſhippes reſpect.

 Cap. G.

Weele make you ſome ſport with the Foxe ere we caſe him. He was firſt ſmoak'd by the old Lord Lafew, when his diſguiſe and he is parted, tell me what a ſprat you ſhall finde him, which you ſhall ſee this verie night.

 Cap. E. I muſt go looke my twigges, He ſhall be caught. Ber.

Your brother he ſhall go along with me.

 Cap. G.

As't pleaſe your Lordſhip, Ile leaue you.

 Ber. Now wil I lead you to the houſe, and ſhew you The Laſſe I ſpoke of. Cap. E.

But you ſay ſhe's honeſt.

 Ber. That's all the fault: I ſpoke with hir but once, And found her wondrous cold, but I ſent to her By this ſame Coxcombe that we haue i' th winde Tokens and Letters, which ſhe did reſend, And this is all I haue done: She's a faire creature, Will you go ſee her? Cap. E.

With all my heart my Lord.

Exeunt Enter Hellen, and Widdow. Hel. If you miſdoubt me that I am not ſhee, I know not how I ſhall aſſure you further, But I ſhall looſe the grounds I worke vpon. Wid. Though my eſtate be falne, I was well borne, Nothing acquainted with theſe buſineſſes, And would not put my reputation now In any ſtaining act. Hel. Nor would I wiſh you. Firſt giue me truſt, the Count he is my husband, And what to your ſworne counſaile I haue ſpoken, Is ſo from word to word: and then you cannot By the good ayde that I of you ſhall borrow, Erre in beſtowing it. Wid. I ſhould beleeue you, For you haue ſhew'd me that which well approues Y' are great in fortune. Hel. Take this purſe of Gold, And let me buy your friendly helpe thus farre, Which I will ouer-pay, and pay againe When I haue found it. The Count he woes your daughter, Layes downe his wanton ſiedge before her beautie, Reſolue to carrie her: let her in fine conſent As wee'l direct her how 'tis beſt to beare it: Now his important blood will naught denie, That ſhee'l demand: a ring the Countie weares, That downward hath ſucceeded in his houſe From ſonne to ſonne, ſome foure or fiue diſcents, Since the firſt father wore it. This Ring he holds In moſt rich choice: yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not ſeeme too deere, How ere repented after. Wid.

Now I ſee the bottome of your purpoſe.

 Hel. You ſee it lawfull then, it is no more, But that your daughter ere ſhe ſeemes as wonne, Deſires this Ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, deliuers me to fill the time, Her ſelfe moſt chaſtly abſent: after To marry her, Ile adde three thouſand Crownes To what is paſt already. Wid. I haue yeelded: Inſtruct my daughter how ſhe ſhall perſeuer, That time and place with this deceite ſo lawfull May proue coherent. Euery night he comes With Muſickes of all ſorts, and ſongs compos'd To her vnworthineſſe: It nothing ſteeds vs To chide him from our eeues, for he perſiſts As if his life lay on't. Hel. Why then to night Let vs aſſay our plot, which if it ſpeed, Is wicked meaning in a lawfull deede; And lawfull meaning in a lawfull act, Where both not ſinne, and yet a ſinfull fact. But let's about it.
Actus Quartus. Enter one of the Frenchmen, with fiue or ſixe other ſouldiers in ambuſh. 1. Lord. E.

He can come no other way but by this hedge corner: when you ſallie vpon him, ſpeake what terrible Language you will: though you vnderſtand it not your ſelues, no matter: for we muſt not ſeeme to vnderſtand him, vnleſſe ſome one among vs, whom wee muſt produce for an Interpreter.

 1. Sol.

Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter.

 Lor. E.

Art not acquainted with him? knowes he not thy voice?

 1. Sol.

No ſir I warrant you.

 Lo. E.

But what linſie wolſy haſt thou to ſpeake to vs againe.

 1. Sol.

E'n ſuch as you ſpeake to me.

 Lo. E.

He muſt thinke vs ſome band of ſtrangers, i' th aduerſaries entertainment. Now he hath a ſmacke of all neighbouring Languages: therefore we muſt euery one be a man of his owne fancie, not to know what we ſpeak one to another: ſo we ſeeme to know, is to know ſtraight our purpoſe: Choughs language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you interpreter, you muſt ſeeme very politicke. But couch hoa, heere hee comes, to beguile two houres in a ſleepe, and then to returne & ſwear the lies he forges.

 Enter Parrolles. Par.

Ten a clocke: Within theſe three houres 'twill be time enough to goe home. What ſhall I ſay I haue done? It muſt bee a very plauſiue inuention that carries it. They beginne to ſmoake mee, and diſgraces haue of late, knock'd too often at my doore: I finde my tongue is too foole-hardie, but my heart hath the feare of Ma • s before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

 Lo. E.

This is the firſt truth that ere thine own tongue was guiltie of.

 Par.

What the diuell ſhould moue mee to vndertake the recouerie of this drumme, being not ignorant of the impoſſibility, and knowing I had no ſuch purpoſe? I muſt giue my ſelfe ſome hurts, and ſay I got them in exploit: yet ſlight ones will not carrie it. They will ſay, came you off with ſo little? And great ones I dare not giue, wherefore what's the inſtance. Tongue, I muſt put you into a Butter-womans mouth, and buy my ſelfe another of Baiazeths Mule, if you prattle mee into theſe perilles.

 Lo. E.

Is it poſſible he ſhould know what hee is, and be that he is.

 Par.

I would the cutting of my garments wold ſerue the turne, or the breaking of my Spaniſh ſword.

 Lo. E.

We cannot affoord you ſo.

 Par.

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

 Lo. E.

'Twould not do.

 Par.

Or to drowne my cloathes, and ſay I was ſtript.

 Lo. E.

Hardly ſerue.

 Par.

Though I ſwore I leapt from the window of the Citadell.

 Lo. E.

How deepe?

 Par.

Thirty fadome.

 Lo. E.

Three great oathes would ſcarſe make that be beleeued.

 Par.

I would I had any drumme of the enemies, I would ſweare I recouer'd it.

 Lo. E.

You ſhall heare one anon.

 Par.

A drumme now of the enemies.

 Alarum within. Lo E.

Throca movouſus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All.

Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.

Par. O ranſome, ranſome, Do not hide mine eyes. Inter.

Boskos thromuldo boskos.

Par. I know you are the Mu • kos Regiment, And I ſhall looſe my life for want of language. If there be heere German or Dane, Low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him ſpeake to me, Ile diſcouer that, which ſhal vndo the Florentine. Int.

Boskos vauvado, I vnderſtand thee, & can ſpeake thy tongue: Kerelybonto ſir, betake thee to thy faith, for ſeuenteene ponyards are at thy boſome.

 Par.

Oh.

 Inter. Oh pray, pray, pray, Manka re • ania dulche. Lo. E.

Oſcorbidulchos voliuorc • .

Int. The Generall is content to ſpare thee yet, And hoodwinkt as thou art, will leade thee on To gather from thee. Haply thou mayſt informe Something to ſaue thy life. Par. O let me liue, And all the ſecrets of our campe Ile ſhew, Their force, their purpoſes: Nay, Ile ſpeake that, Which you will wonder at. Inter.

But wilt thou faithfully?

 Par.

If I do not, damne me.

 Inter. Acordo linta. Come on, thou are granted ſpace. Exit A ſhort Alarum within. L.E. Go tell the Count Roſſillion and my brother, We haue caught the woodcocke, and will keepe him mufled Till we do heare from them. Sol.

Captaine I will.

 L.E. A will betray vs all vnto our ſelues, Informe on that. Sol.

So I will ſir.

 L.E.

Till then Ile keepe him darke and ſafely lockt.

 Exit Enter Bertram, and the Maide called Diana. Ber.

They told me that your name was Fontybell.

Dia.

No my good Lord, Diana.

Ber. Titled Goddeſſe, And worth it with addition: but faire ſoule, In your fine frame hath loue no qualitie? If the quicke fire of youth light not your minde, You are no Maiden but a monument When you are dead you ſhould be ſuch a one As you are now: for you are cold and ſterne, And now you ſhould be as your mother was When your ſweet ſelf • ▪ was got. Dia.

She then was honeſt.

 Ber.

So ſhould you be.

 Dia. No: My mother did but dutie, ſuch (my Lord) As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more a' that: I prethee do not ſtriue againſt my vowes: I was compell'd to her, but I loue thee By loues owne ſweet conſtraint, and will for euer Do thee all rights of ſeruice. Dia. I ſo you ſerue vs Till we ſerue you: But when you haue our Roſes, You barely leaue our thornes to pricke our ſelues, And mocke vs with our bareneſſe. Ber.

How haue I ſworne.

 Dia. Tis not the many oathes that makes the truth, But the plaine ſingle vow, that is vow'd true: What is not holie, that we ſweare not by, But take the high'ſt to witneſſe: then pray you tell me. If I ſhould ſweare by Ioues great attributes, I lou'd you deerely, would you beleeue my oathes, When I did loue you ill? This ha's no holding To ſweare by him whom I proteſt to loue That I will worke againſt him. Therefore your oathes Are words and poore conditions, but vnſeal'd At leſt in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change it: Be not ſo holy cruell: Loue is holie, And my integritie ne're knew the crafts That you do charge men with: Stand no more off, But giue thy ſelfe vnto my ſicke deſires, Who then recouers. Say thou art mine, and euer My loue as it beginnes, ſhall ſo perſeuer. Dia. I ſee that men make rope's in ſuch a ſcarre, That wee'l forſake our ſelues. Giue me that Ring. Ber. Ile lend it thee my deere; but haue no power To giue it from me. Dia.

Will you not my Lord?

 Ber. It is an honour longing to our houſe, Bequeathed downe from manie Anceſtors, Which were the greateſt obloquie i' th world, In me to looſe. Dian. Mine Honors ſuch a Ring, My chaſtities the Iewell of our houſe, Bequeathed downe from many Anceſtors, Which were the greateſt obloquie i' th world, In mee to looſe. Thus your owne proper wiſedome Brings in the Champion honor on my part, Againſt your vaine aſſault. Ber. Heere, take my Ring, My houſe, mine honor, yea my life be thine, And Ile be bid by thee. Dia▪ When midnight comes, knocke at my chamber window: Ile order take, my mother ſhall not heare. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you haue conquer'd my yet maiden-bed, Remaine there but an houre, nor ſpeake to mee: My reaſons are moſt ſtrong, and you ſhall know them, When backe againe this Ring ſhall be deliuer'd: And on your finger in the night, Ile put Another Ring, that what in time proceeds, May token to the future, our paſt deeds. Adieu till then, then faile not: you haue wonne A wife of me, though there my hope be done. Ber.

A heauen on earth I haue won by wooing thee.

 Di. For which, liue long to thank both heauen & me, You may ſo in the end. My mother told me iuſt how he would woo, As if ſhe ſate in's heart. She ſayes, all men Haue the like oathes: He had ſworne to marrie me When his wife's dead: therfore Ile lye with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are ſo braide, Marry that will, I liue and die a Maid: Onely in this diſguiſe, I think't no ſinne, To coſen him that would vniuſtly winne. Exit Enter the two French Captaines, and ſome two or three Souldiours. Cap. G.

You haue not giuen him his mothers letter.

 Cap E.

I haue deliu'red it an houre ſince, there is ſom thing in't that ſtings his nature: for on the reading it, he chang'd almoſt into another man.

 Cap. G.

He has much worthy blame laid vpon him, for ſhaking off ſo good a wife, and ſo ſweet a Lady.

 Cap. E.

Eſpecially, hee hath incurred the euerlaſting diſpleaſure of the King, who had euen tun'd his bounty to ſing happineſſe to him. I will tell you a thing, but you ſhall let it dwell darkly with you.

 Cap. G.

When you haue ſpoken it 'tis dead, and I am the graue of it.

 Cap. E.

Hee hath peruerted a young Gentlewoman heere in Florence, of a moſt chaſte renown, & this night he fleſhes his will in the ſpoyle of her honour: hee hath giuen her his monumentall Ring, and thinkes himſelfe made in the vnchaſte compoſition.

 Cap. G.

Now God delay our rebellion as we are our ſelues, what things are we.

 Cap. E.

Meerely our owne traitours. And as in the common courſe of all treaſons, we ſtill ſee them reueale themſelues, till they attaine to their abhorr'd ends: ſo he that in this action contriues againſt his owne Nobility in his proper ſtreame, ore-flowes himſelfe.

 Cap. G.

Is it not meant damnable in vs, to be Trumpeters of our vnlawfull intents? We ſhall not then haue his company to night?

 Cap. E.

Not till after midnight: for hee is dieted to his houre.

 Cap. G.

That approaches apace: I would gladly haue him ſee his company anathomiz'd, that hee might take a meaſure of his owne iudgements, wherein ſo curiouſly he had ſet this counterfeit.

 Cap. E.

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

 Cap. G.

In the meane time, what heare you of theſe Warres?

 Cap. E.

I heare there is an ouerture of peace.

 Cap. G.

Nay, I aſſure you a peace concluded.

 Cap. E.

What will Count Roſſillion do then? Will he trauaile higher, or returne againe into France?

 Cap. G.

I perceiue by this demand, you are not altogether of his councell.

 Cap. E.

Let it be forbid ſir, ſo ſhould I bee a great deale of his act.

 Cap. G.

Sir, his wife ſome two months ſince fledde from his houſe, her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Iaques le grand; which holy vndertaking, with moſt auſtere ſanctimonie ſhe accompliſht: and there reſiding, the tenderneſſe of her Nature, became as a prey to her greefe: in fine, made a groane of her laſt breath, & now ſhe ſings in heauen.

 Cap. E.

How is this iuſtified?

 Cap. G.

The ſtronger part of it by her owne Letters, which makes her ſtorie true, euen to the poynt of her death: her death it ſelfe, which could not be her office to ſay, is come: was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector of the place.

 Cap. E.

Hath the Count all this intelligence?

 Cap. G.

I, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the veritie.

 Cap. E.

I am heartily ſorrie that hee'l bee gladde of this.

 Cap. G.

How mightily ſometimes, we make vs comforts of our loſſes.

 Cap. E.

And how mightily ſome other times, wee drowne our gaine in teares, the great dignitie that his valour hath here acquir'd for him, ſhall at home be encountred with a ſhame as ample.

 Cap. G.

The webbe of our life, is of a mingled yarne, good and ill together: our vertues would bee proud, if our faults whipt them not, and our crimes would diſpaire if they were not cheriſh'd by our vertues.

Enter a Meſſenger.

How now? Where's your maſter?

 Ser.

He met the Duke in the ſtreet ſir, of whom hee hath taken a ſolemne leaue: his Lordſhippe will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him Letters of commendations to the King.

 Cap. E.

They ſhall bee no more then needfull there, if they were more then they can commend.

 Enter Count Roſſillion. Ber.

They cannot be too ſweete for the Kings tartneſſe, heere's his Lordſhip now. How now my Lord, i'ſt not after midnight?

 Ber.

I haue to night diſpatch'd ſixteene buſineſſes, a moneths length a peece, by an abſtract of ſucceſſe: I haue congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his neereſt; buried a wife, mourn'd for her▪ writ to my Ladie mother, I am returning, entertain'd my Conuoy, & betweene theſe maine parcels of diſpatch, affected many nicer needs: the laſt was the greateſt, but that I haue not ended yet.

 Cap. E.

If the buſineſſe bee of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haſt of your Lordſhip.

 Ber.

I meane the buſineſſe is not ended, as fearing to heare of it hereafter: but ſhall we haue this dialogue betweene the Foole and the Soldiour. Come, bring forth this counterfet module, ha • s deceiu'd mee, like a double-meaning Propheſier.

 Cap. E.

Bring him forth, ha's ſate i' th ſtockes all night poore gallant knaue.

 Ber.

No matter, his heeles haue deſeru'd it, in vſurping his ſpurres ſo long. How does he carry himſelfe?

 Cap. E.

I haue told your Lordſhip alreadie: The ſtockes carrie him. But to anſwer you as you would be vnderſtood, hee weepes like a wench that had ſhed her milke, he hath confeſt himſelfe to Morgan, whom hee ſuppoſes to be a Friar, frō the time of his remembrance to this very inſtant diſaſter of his ſetting i' th ſtockes: and what thinke you he hath confeſt?

 Ber.

Nothing of me, ha's a?

 Cap. E.

His confeſſion is taken, and it ſhall bee read to his face, if your Lordſhippe be in't, as I beleeue you are, you muſt haue the patience to heare it.

 Enter Parolles with his Interpreter. Ber.

A plague vpon him, muffeld; he can ſay nothing of me: huſh, huſh.

 Cap. G.

Hoodman comes: Portotartaroſſa.

Inter.

He calles for the tortures, what will you ſay without em.

 Par. I will confeſſe what I know without conſtraint, If ye pinch me like a Paſty, I can ſay no more. Int.

Bosko Chimurcho.

Cap.

Boblibindo chicurmurco.

Int.

You are a mercifull Generall: Our Generall bids you anſwer to what I ſhall aske you out of a Note.

 Par.

And truly, as I hope to liue.

 Int.

Firſt demand of him, how many horſe the Duke is ſtrong. What ſay you to that?

 Par.

Fiue or ſixe thouſand, but very weake and vnſeruiceable: the troopes are all ſcattered, and the Commanders verie poore rogues, vpon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to liue.

 Int.

Shall I ſet downe your anſwer ſo?

 Par.

Do, Ile take the Sacrament on't, how & which way you will: all's one to him.

 Ber.

What a paſt-ſauing ſlaue is this?

 Cap. G.

Y'are deceiu'd my Lord, this is Mounſieur Parrolles the gallant militariſt, that was his owne phraſe that had the whole theoricke of warre in the knot of his ſcarfe, and the practiſe in the chape of his dagger.

 Cap. E.

I will neuer truſt a man againe, for keeping his ſword cleane, nor beleeue he can haue euerie thing in him, by wearing his apparrell neatly.

 Int.

Well, that's ſet downe.

 Par.

Fiue or ſix thouſand horſe I ſed, I will ſay true, or thereabouts ſet downe, for Ile ſpeake truth.

 Cap. G.

He's very neere the truth in this.

 Ber.

But I con him no thankes for't in the nature he deliuers it.

 Par.

Poore rogues, I pray you ſay.

 Int.

Well, that's ſet downe.

 Par.

I humbly thanke you ſir, a truth's a truth, the Rogues are maruailous poore.

 Interp.

Demaund of him of what ſtrength they are a foot. What ſay you to that?

 Par.

By my troth ſir, if I were to liue this preſent houre, I will tell true. Let me ſee, Spurio a hundred & fiftie, Sebaſtian ſo many, Corambus ſo many, Iaques ſo many: Guiltian, Coſmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hundred fiftie each: Mine owne Company, Chitopher, Ʋaumond, Bentij, two hundred fiftie each: ſo that the muſter file, rotten and ſound, vppon my life amounts not to fifteene thouſand pole, halfe of the which, dare not ſhake the ſnow from off their Caſſockes, leaſt they ſhake themſelues to peeces.

 Ber.

What ſhall be done to him?

 Cap. G.

Nothing, but let him haue thankes. Demand of him my condition: and what credite I haue with the Duke.

 Int.

Well that's ſet downe: you ſhall demaund of him, whether one Captaine Dumaine bee i' th Campe, a Frenchman: what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honeſtie, and expertneſſe in warres: or whether he thinkes it were not poſſible with well-waighing ſummes of gold to corrupt him to a reuolt. What ſay you to this? What do you know of it?

 Par.

I beſeech you let me anſwer to the particular of the intergatories. Demand them ſingly.

 Int,

Do you know this Captaine Dumaine?

 Par.

I know him, a was a Botchers Prentize in Paris, from whence he was whipt for getting the Shrieues fool with childe, a dumbe innocent that could not ſay him nay.

 Ber.

Nay, by your leaue hold your hands, though I know his braines are forfeite to the next tile that fals.

 Int.

Well, is this Captaine in the Duke of Florences campe?

 Par.

Vpon my knowledge he is, and lowſie.

 Cay. G.

Nay looke not ſo vpon me: we ſhall heare of your Lord anon.

 Int.

What is his reputation with the Duke?

 Par.

The Duke knowes him for no other, but a poore Officer of mine, and writ to mee this other day, to turne him out a' th band. I thinke I haue his Letter in my pocket.

 Int.

Marry we'll ſearch.

 Par.

In good ſadneſſe I do not know, either it is there, or it is vpon a file with the Dukes other Letters, in my Tent.

 Int.

Heere 'tis, heere's a paper, ſhall I reade it to you?

 Par.

I do not know if it be it or no.

 Ber.

Our Interpreter do's it well.

 Cap. G.

Excellently.

 Int.

Dian, the Counts a foole, and full of gold.

Par.

That is not the Dukes letter ſir: that is an aduertiſement to a proper maide in Florence, one Diana, to take heede of the allurement of one Count Roſſillion, a fooliſh idle boy: but for all that very ruttiſh. I pray you ſir put it vp againe.

 Int.

Nay, Ile reade it firſt by your fauour.

 Par.

My meaning in't I proteſt was very honeſt in the behalfe of the maid: for I knew the young Count to be a dangerous and laſciuious boy, who is a whale to Virginity and deuours vp all the fry it finds.

 Ber.

Damnable both-ſides rogue.

 Int Let. When he ſweares oathes, hid him drop gold, and take it: After he ſcores, he neuer payes the ſcore: Halfe won is match well made, match and well make it, He nere payes after debts, take it before, And ſay a ſouldier (Dian) told thee this: Men are to mell with, boyes are not to kis. For count of this, the Counts a Fool • I know it, Who payes before, but not when he does owe it. Thine as he vow'd to thee in thine eare, Parolles. Ber.

He ſhall be whipt through the Armie with this rime in's forehead.

 Cap. E.

This is your deuoted friend ſir, the manifold Linguiſt, and the army-potent ſouldier.

 Ber.

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

 Int.

I perceiue ſir by your Generals lookes, wee ſhall be faine to hang you.

 Par.

My life ſir in any caſe: Not that I am afraide to dye, but that my offences beeing many, I would repent out the remainder of Nature. Let me liue ſir in a dungeon, i' th ſtockes, or any where, ſo I may liue.

 Int.

Wee'le ſee what may bee done, ſo you confeſſe freely: therefore once more to this Captaine Dumaine: you haue anſwer'd to his reputation with the Duke, and to his valour. What is his honeſtie?

 Par.

He will ſteale ſir an Egge out of a Cloiſter: for rapes and rauiſhments he paralels Neſſus. Hee profeſſes not keeping of oaths, in breaking em he is ſtronger then Hercules. He will lye ſir, with ſuch volubilitie, that you would thinke truth were a foole: drunkenneſſe is his beſt vertue, for he will be ſwine-drunke, and in his ſleepe he does little harme, ſaue to his bed-cloathes about him: but they know his conditions, and lay him in ſtraw. I haue but little more to ſay ſir of his honeſty, he ha's euerie thing that an honeſt man ſhould not haue; what an honeſt man ſhould haue, he has nothing.

 Cap. G.

I begin to loue him for this.

 Ber.

For this deſcription of thine honeſtie? A pox vpon him for me, he's more and more a Cat.

 Int.

What ſay you to his expertneſſe in warre?

 Par.

Faith ſir, ha's led the drumme before the Engliſh Tragedians: to belye him I will not, and more of his ſouldierſhip I know not, except in that Country, he had the honour to be the Officer at a place there called Mile-end, to inſtruct for the doubling of files. I would doe the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certaine.

 Cap. G.

He hath out-villain'd villanie ſo farre, that the raritie redeemes him.

 Ber.

A pox on him, he's a Cat ſtill.

 Int.

His qualities being at this poore price. I neede not to aske you, if Gold will corrupt him to reuolt.

 Par.

Sir, for a Cardceue he will ſell the fee-ſimple of his ſaluation, the inheritance of it, and cut th' intaile from all remainders, and a perpetuall ſucceſsion for it perpetually.

 Int.

What's his Brother, the other Captain Dumain?

 Cap. E.

Why do's he aske him of me?

 Int.

What's he?

 Par.

E'ne a Crow a' th ſame neſt: not altogether ſo great as the firſt in goodneſſe, but greater a great deale in euill. He excels his Brother for a coward, yet his Brother is reputed one of the beſt that is. In a retreate hee outrunnes any Lackey; marrie in comming on, hee ha's the Crampe.

 Int.

If your life be ſaued, will you vndertake to betray the Florentine.

 Par.

I, and the Captaine of his horſe, Count Roſſillion.

Int.

Ile whiſper with the Generall, and knowe his pleaſure.

 Par.

Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes, onely to ſeeme to deſerue well, and to beguile the ſuppoſition o' that laſciuious yong boy the Count, haue I run into this danger: yet who would haue ſuſpected an ambuſh where I was taken?

 Int.

There is no remedy ſir, but you muſt dye: the Generall ſayes, you that haue ſo traitorouſly diſcouerd the ſecrets of your army, and made ſuch peſtifferous reports of men very nobly held, can ſerue the world for no honeſt vſe: therefore you muſt dye. Come headeſman, off with his head.

 Par.

O Lord ſir let me liue, or let me ſee my death.

 Int. That ſhall you, and take your leaue of all your friends: So, looke about you, know you any heere? Count.

Good morrow noble Captaine.

 Lo. E.

God bleſſe you Captaine Parolles.

Cap. G.

God ſaue you noble Captaine.

 Lo. E.

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

Cap. G.

Good Captaine will you giue me a Copy of the ſonnet you writ to Diana in behalfe of the Count Roſſillion, and I were not a verie Coward, I'de compell it of you, but far you well.

Exeunt. Int.

You are vndone Captaine all but your ſcarfe, that has a knot on't yet.

 Par.

Who cannot be cruſh'd with a plot?

 Inter.

If you could finde out a Countrie where but women were that had receiued ſo much ſhame, you might begin an impudent Nation. Fare yee well ſir, I am for France too, we ſhall ſpeake of you there.

Exit Par. Yet am I thankfull: if my heart were great 'Twould burſt at this: Captaine Ile be no more, But I will eate, and drinke, and ſleepe as ſoft As Captaine ſhall. Simply the thing I am Shall make me liue: who knowes himſelfe a braggart Let him feare this; for it will come to paſſe, That euery braggart ſhall be found an Aſſe. Ruſt ſword, coole bluſhes, and Parrolles liue Safeſt in ſhame: being fool'd, by fool'rie thriue; There's place and meanes for euery man aliue. Ile after them. Exit. Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana. Hel. That you may well perceiue I haue not wrong'd you, One of the greateſt in the Chriſtian world Shall be my ſuretie: for whoſe throne 'tis needfull Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneele. Time was, I did him a deſired office Deere almoſt as his life, which gratitude Through flintie Tartars boſome would peepe forth, And anſwer thankes. I duly am inform'd, His grace is at Marcellae, to which place We haue conuenient conuoy: you muſt know I am ſuppoſed dead, the Army breaking, My husband hies him home, where heauen ayding, And by the leaue of my good Lord the King, Wee'l be before our welcome. Wid. Gentle Madam, You neuer had a ſeruant to whoſe truſt Your buſines was more welcome. Hel. Nor your Miſtris Euer a friend, whoſe thoughts more truly labour To recompence your loue: Doubt not but heauen Hath brought me vp to be your daughters dower, As it hath fated her to be my motiue And helper to a husband. But O ſtrange men, That can ſuch ſweet vſe make of what they hate, When ſawcie truſting of the coſin'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night, ſo luſt doth play With what it loathes, for that which is away, But more of this heereafter: you Diana, Vnder my poore inſtructions yet muſt ſuffer Something in my behalfe. Dia. Let death and honeſtie Go with your impoſitions, I am yours Vpon your will to ſuffer. Hel. Yet I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on ſummer, When Briars ſhall haue leaues as well as thornes, And be as ſweet as ſharpe: we muſt away, Our Wagon is prepar'd, and time reuiues vs, All's well that ends well, ſtill the fines the Crowne; What ere the courſe, the end is the renowne. Exeunt Enter Clowne, old Lady, and Lafew. Laf.

No, no, no, your ſonne was miſled with a ſnipt taffata fellow there, whoſe villanous ſaffron wold haue made all the vnbak'd and dowy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had beene aliue at this houre, and your ſonne heere at home, more aduanc • d by the King, then by that red-tail'd humble Bee I ſpeak of.

 La.

I would I had not knowne him, it was the death of the moſt vertuous gentlewoman, that euer Nature had praiſe for creating. If ſhe had pertaken of my fleſh and coſt mee the deereſt groanes of a mother, I could not haue owed her a more rooted loue.

 Laf.

Twas a good Lady, 'twas a good Lady. Wee may picke a thouſand ſallets ere wee light on ſuch another hearbe.

 Clo.

Indeed ſir ſhe was the ſweete Margerom of the ſallet, or rather the hearbe of grace.

 Laf.

They are not hearbes you knaue, they are noſe-hearbes.

 Clowne.

I am no great Nabuchadnezar ſir, I haue not much skill in grace.

 Laf.

Whether doeſt thou profeſſe thy ſelfe, a knaue or a foole?

 Clo.

A foole ſir at a womans ſeruice, and a knaue at a mans.

 Laf.

Your diſtinction.

 Clo.

I would couſen the man of his wife, and do his ſeruice.

 Laf.

So you were a knaue at his ſeruice indeed.

 Clo.

And I would giue his wife my bauble ſir to doe her ſeruice.

 Laf.

I will ſubſcribe for thee, thou art both knaue and foole.

 Clo.

At your ſeruice.

 Laf.

No, no, no.

 Clo.

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

 Laf.

Whoſe that, a Frenchman?

 Clo.

Faith ſir a has an Engliſh maine, but his fiſnomie is more hotter in France then there.

 Laf.

What prince is that?

 Clo.

The blacke prince ſir, alias the prince of darkeneſſe, alias the diuell.

 Laf.

Hold thee there's my purſe, I giue thee not this to ſuggeſt thee from thy maſter thou talk'ſt off, ſerue him ſtill.

 Clo.

I am a woodland fellow ſir, that alwaies loued a great fire, and the maſter I ſpeak of euer keeps a good fire, but ſure he is the Prince of the world, let his Nobilitie remaine in's Court. I am for the houſe with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pompe to enter: ſome that humble themſelues may, but the manie will be too chill and tender, and theyle bee for the flowrie way that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire.

 Laf.

Go thy waies, I begin to bee a wearie of thee, and I tell thee ſo before, becauſe I would not fall out with thee. Go thy wayes, let my horſes be wel look'd too, without any trickes.

 Clo.

If I put any trickes vpon em ſir, they ſhall bee Iades trickes, which are their owne right by the law of Nature.

exit Laf.

A ſhrewd knaue and an vnhappie.

 Lady.

So a is. My Lord that's gone made himſelfe much ſport out of him, by his authoritie hee remaines heere, which he thinkes is a pattent for his ſawcineſſe, and indeede he has no pace, but runnes where he will.

 Laf.

I like him well, 'tis not amiſſe: and I was about to tell you, ſince I heard of the good Ladies death, and that my Lord your ſonne was vpon his returne home. I moued the King my maſter to ſpeake in the behalfe of my daughter, which in the minoritie of them both, his Maieſtie out of a ſelfe gracious remembrance did firſt propoſe, his Highneſſe hath promis'd me to doe it, and to ſtoppe vp the diſpleaſure he hath conceiued againſt your ſonne, there is no fitter matter. How do's your Ladyſhip like it?

 La.

With verie much content my Lord, and I wiſh it happily effected.

 Laf.

His Highneſſe comes poſt from Marcellus, of as able bodie as when he number'd thirty, a will be heere to morrow, or I am deceiu'd by him that in ſuch intelligence hath ſeldome fail'd.

 La.

Ir reioyces me, that I hope I ſhall ſee him ere I die. I haue letters that my ſonne will be heere to night: I ſhall beſeech your Lordſhip to remaine with mee, till they meete together.

 Laf.

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

 Lad.

You neede but pleade your honourable priuiledge.

 Laf.

Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, but I thanke my God, it holds yet.

 Enter Clowne. Clo.

O Madam, yonders my Lord your ſonne with a patch of veluet on's face, whether there bee a ſcar vnder't or no, the Veluet knowes, but 'tis a goodly patch of Veluet, his left cheeke is a cheeke of two pile and a halfe, but his right cheeke is worne bare.

 Laf. A ſcarre nobly got, Or a noble ſcarre, is a good liu'rie of honor, So belike is that. Clo.

But it is your carbinado'd face.

 Laf. Let vs go ſee your ſonne I pray you, I long to talke With the yong noble ſouldier. Clowne.

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

 Exeunt
Actus Quintus. Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana, with two Attendants. Hel. But this exceeding poſting day and night, Muſt wear your ſpirits low, we cannot helpe it: But ſince you haue made the daies and nights as one, To weare your gentle limbes in my affayres, Be bold you do ſo grow in my requitall, As nothing can vnroote you. In happie time, Enter a gentle Aſtringer. This man may helpe me to his Maieſties eare, If he would ſpend his power. God ſaue you ſir. Gent.

And you.

 Hel.

Sir, I haue ſeene you in the Court of France.

 Gent.

I haue beene ſometimes there.

 Hel. I do preſume ſir, that you are not falne From the report that goes vpon your goodneſſe, And therefore goaded with moſt ſharpe occaſions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The vſe of your owne vertues, for the which I ſhall continue thankefull. Gent.

What's your will?

 Hel. That it will pleaſe you To giue this poore petition to the King, And ayde me with that ſtore of power you haue To come into his preſence. Gen.

The Kings not heere.

 Hel.

Not heere ſir?

 Gen. Not indeed, He hence remou'd laſt night, and with more haſt Then is his vſe. Wid.

Lord how we looſe our paines.

 Hel. All's well that ends well yet, Though time ſeeme ſo aduerſe, and meanes vnfit: I do beſeech you, whither is he gone? Gent. Marrie as I take it to Roſſillion, Whither I am going. Hel. I do beſeech you ſir, Since you are like to ſee the King before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I preſume ſhall render you no blame, But rather make you thanke your paines for it, I will come after you with what good ſpeede Our meanes will make vs meanes. Gent.

This Ile do for you.

 Hel.

And you ſhall finde your ſelfe to be well thankt what e're falles more. We muſt to horſe againe, Go, go, prouide.

 Enter Clowne and Parrolles. Par.

Good Mr Lauatch giue my Lord Lafew this letter, I haue ere now ſir beene better knowne to you, when I haue held familiaritie with freſher cloathes: but I am now ſir muddied in fortunes mood, and ſmell ſomewhat ſtrong of her ſtrong diſpleaſure.

 Clo.

Truely, Fortunes diſpleaſure is but ſluttiſh if it ſmell ſo ſtrongly as thou ſpeak'ſt of: I will hencefoorth eate no Fiſh of Fortunes butt'ring. Pre thee alow the winde.

 Par.

Nay you neede not to ſtop your noſe ſir: I ſpake but by a Metaphor.

 Clo.

Indeed ſir, if your Metaphor ſtinke, I will ſtop my noſe, or againſt any mans Metaphor. Prethe get thee further.

 Par.

Pray you ſir deliuer me this paper.

 Clo.

Foh, prethee ſtand away: a paper from fortunes cloſe-ſtoole, to giue to a Nobleman. Looke heere he comes himſelfe.

 Enter Lafew. Clo.

Heere is a purre of Fortunes ſir, or of Fortunes Cat, but not a Muſcat, that ha's falne into the vncleane fiſh-pond of her diſpleaſure, and as he ſayes is muddied withall. Pray you ſir, vſe the Carpe as you may, for he lookes like a poore decayed, ingenious, fooliſh, raſcally knaue. I doe pittie his diſtreſſe in my ſmiles of comfort, and leaue him to your Lordſhip.

 Par.

My Lord I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly ſcratch'd.

 Laf.

And what would you haue me to doe? 'Tis too late to paire her nailes now. Wherein haue you played the knaue with fortune that ſhe ſhould ſcratch you, who of her ſelfe is a good Lady, and would not haue knaues thriue long vnder? There's a Cardecue for you: Let the Iuſtices make you and fortune friends; I am for other buſineſſe.

 Par.

I beſeech your honour to heare mee one ſingle word▪

Laf.

you begge a ſingle peny more: Come you ſhall ha • t, ſaue your word.

 Par.

My name my good Lord is Parrolles.

Laf.

You begge more then word then. Cox my paſſion, giue me your hand: How does your drumme?

 Par.

O my good Lord, you were the firſt that found mee.

 Laf.

Was I inſooth? And I was the firſt that loſt thee.

 Par.

It lies in you my Lord to bring me in ſome grace for you did bring me out.

 Laf.

Out vpon thee knaue, doeſt thou put vpon mee at once both the offiee of God and the diuel: one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kings comming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talke of you laſt night, though you are a foole and a knaue, you ſhall eate, go too, follow.

 Par.

I praiſe God for you.

 Flouriſh. Enter King, old Lady, Lafew, the two French Lords, with attendants. Kin. We loſt a Iewell of her, and our eſteeme Was made much poorer by it: but your ſonne, As mad in folly, lack'd the ſence to know Her eſtimation home. Old La. 'Tis paſt my Liege, And I beſeech your Maieſtie to make it Naturall rebellion, done i' th blade of youth, When oyle and fire, too ſtrong for reaſons force, Ore-beares it, and burnes on. Kin. My honour'd Lady, I haue forgiuen and forgotten all, Though my reuenges were high bent vpon him, And watch'd the time to ſhoote. Laf. This I muſt ſay, But firſt I begge my pardon: the yong Lord Did to his Maieſty, his Mother, and his Ladie, Offence of mighty note; but to himſelfe The greateſt wrong of all. He loſt a wife, Whoſe beauty did aſtoniſh the ſuruey Of richeſt eies: whoſe words all eares tooke captiue, Whoſe deere perfection, hearts that ſcorn'd to ſerue, Humbly call'd Miſtris. Kin. Praiſing what is loſt, Makes the remembrance deere. Well, call him hither, We are reconcil'd, and the firſt view ſhall kill All repetition: Let him not aske our pardon, The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper then obliuion, we do burie Th' incenſing reliques of it. Let him approach A ſtranger, no offender; and informe him So 'tis our will he ſhould▪ Gent.

I ſhall my Liege.

 Kin. What ſayes he to your daughter, Haue you ſpoke? Laf.

All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes.

 Kin.

Then ſhall we haue a match. I haue letters ſent me, that ſets him high in fame.

 Enter Count Bertram. Laf.

He lookes well on't.

 Kin. I am not a day of ſeaſon, For thou maiſt ſee a ſun-ſhine, and a haile In me at once: But to the brighteſt beames Diſtracted clouds giue way, ſo ſtand thou forth, The time is faire againe. Ber. My high repented blames Deere Soueraigne pardon to me. Kin. All is whole, Not one word more of the conſumed time, Let's take the inſtant by the forward top: For we are old, and on our quick'ſt decrees Th' inaudible, and noiſeleſſe foot of time Steales, ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this Lord? Ber. Admiringly my Liege, at firſt I ſtucke my choice vpon her, ere my heart Durſt make too bold a herauld of my tongue: Where the impreſſion of mine eye enfixing, Contempt his ſcornfull Perſpectiue did lend me, Which warpt the line, of euerie other fauour, Scorn'd a faire colour, or expreſt it ſtolne, Extended or contracted all proportions To a moſt hideous obiect. Thence it came, That ſhe whom all men prais'd, and whom my ſelfe, Since I haue loſt, haue lou'd; was in mine eye The duſt that did offend it. Kin. Well excus'd: That thou didſt loue her, ſtrikes ſome ſcores away From the great compt: but loue that comes too late, Like a remorſefull pardon ſlowly carried To the great ſender, turnes a ſowre offence, Crying, that's good that's gone: Our raſh faults, Make triuiall price of ſerious things we haue, Not knowing them, vntill we know their graue, Oft our diſpleaſures to our ſelues vniuſt, Deſtroy our friends, and after weepe their duſt: Our owne loue waking, cries to ſee what's don,e While ſhamefull hate ſleepes out the afternoone. Be this ſweet Helens knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for faire Maudlin, The maine conſents are had, and heere wee'l ſtay To ſee our widdowers ſecond marriage day: Which better then the firſt, O deere heauen bleſſe, Or, ere they meete in me, O Nature ceſſe. Laf. Come on my ſonne, in whom my houſes name Muſt be digeſted: giue a fauour from you To ſparkle in the ſpirits of my daughter, That ſhe may quickly come. By my old beard, And eu'rie haire that's on't, Helen that's dead Was a ſweet creature: ſuch a ring as this, The laſt that ere I tooke her leaue at Court, I ſaw vpon her finger. Ber.

Hers it was not.

 King. Now pray you let me ſee it. For mine eye, While I was ſpeaking, oft was faſten'd too't: This Ring was mine, and when I gaue it Hellen, I bad her if her fortunes euer ſtoode Neceſſitied to helpe, that by this token I would releeue her. Had you that craft to reaue her Of what ſhould ſtead her moſt? Ber. My gracious Soueraigne, How ere it pleaſes you to take it ſo, The ring was neuer hers. Old La. Sonne, on my life I haue ſeene her weare it, and ſhe reckon'd it At her liues rate. Laf.

I am ſure I ſaw her weare it.

 Ber. You are deceiu'd my Lord, ſhe neuer ſaw it: In Florence was it from a caſement throwne mee, Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: Noble ſhe was, and thought I ſtood ingag'd▪ but when I had ſubſcrib'd To mine owne fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not anſwer in that courſe of Honour As ſhe had made the ouerture, ſhe ceaſt In heauie ſatisfaction, and would neuer Receiue the Ring againe. Kin. Platus himſelfe, That knowes the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in natures myſterie more ſcience, Then I haue in this Ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helens, Who euer gaue it you: then if you know That you are well acquainted with your ſelfe, Confeſſe 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her. She call'd the Saints to ſuretie, That ſhe would neuer put it from her finger, Vnleſſe ſhe gaue it to your ſelfe in bed, Where you haue neuer come: or ſent it vs Vpon her great diſaſter. Ber.

She neuer ſaw it.

 Kin. Thou ſpeak'ſt it falſely: as I loue mine Honor, And mak'ſt connecturall feares to come into me, Which I would faine ſhut out, if it ſhould proue That thou art ſo inhumane, 'twill not proue ſo: And yet I know not, thou didſt hate her deadly, And ſhe is dead, which nothing but to cloſe Her eyes my ſelfe, could win me to beleeue, More then to ſee this Ring. Take him away, My fore-paſt proofes, how ere the matter fall Shall taze my feares of little vanitie, Hauing vainly fear'd too little. Away with him, Wee'l ſift this matter further. Ber. If you ſhall proue This Ring was euer hers, you ſhall as eaſie Proue that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet ſhe neuer was. Enter a Gentleman. King.

I am wrap • d in diſmall thinkings.

 Gen. Gracious Soueraigne. Whether I haue beene too blame or no, I know not, Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for foure or fiue remoues come ſhort, To tender it her ſelfe. I vndertooke it, Vanquiſh'd thereto by the faire grace and ſpeech Of the poore ſuppliant, who by this I know Is heere attending: her buſineſſe lookes in her With an importing viſage, and ſhe told me In a ſweet verball breefe, it did concerne Your Highneſſe with her ſelfe.

A Letter.

Ʋpon his many proteſtations to marrie mee when his wife was dead, I bluſh to ſay it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Roſſillion a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my honors payed to him. Hee ſtole from Florence, taking no leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iuſtice: Grant it me, O King, in you it beſt lies, otherwiſe a ſeducer flouriſhes, and a poore Maid is vndone.

Diana Capilet.

Laf.

I will buy me a ſonne in Law in a faire, and toule for this. Ile none of him.

 Kin. The heauens haue thought well on thee Lafew, To bring forth this diſcou'rie, ſeeke theſe ſutors: Go ſpeedily, and bring againe the Count. Enter Bertram. I am a-feard the life of Hellen (Ladie) Was fowly ſnatcht. Old La.

Now iuſtice on the doers.

 King. I wonder ſir, ſir, wiues are monſters to you, And that you flye them as you ſweare them Lordſhip, Yet you deſire to marry. What woman's that? Enter Widdow, Diana, and Parrolles. Dia. I am my Lord a wretched Florentine, Deriued from the ancient Capilet, My ſuite as I do vnderſtand you know, And therefore know how farre I may be pittied. Wid. I am her Mother ſir, whoſe age and honour Both ſuffer vnder this complaint we bring, And both ſhall ceaſe, without your remedie. King.

Come hether Count, do you know theſe Women?

 Ber. My Lord, I neither can nor will denie, But that I know them, do they charge me further? Dia.

Why do you looke ſo ſtrange vpon your wife?

 Ber.

She's none of mine my Lord.

 Dia. If you ſhall marrie You giue away this hand, and that is mine, You giue away heauens vowes, and thoſe are mine: You giue away my ſelfe, which is knowne mine: For I by vow am ſo embodied yours, That ſhe which marries you, muſt marrie me, Either both or none. Laf.

your reputation comes too ſhort for my daughter, you are no husband for her.

 Ber. My Lord, this is a fond and deſperate creature, Whom ſometime I haue laugh'd with: Let your highnes Lay a more noble thought vpon mine honour, Then for to thinke that I would ſinke it heere. Kin. Sir for my thoughts, you haue them il to friend, Till your deeds gaine them fairer: proue your honor, Then in my thought it lies. Dian. Good my Lord, Aske him vpon his oath, if hee do's thinke He had not my virginity. Kin.

What ſaiſt thou to her?

 Ber. She's impudent my Lord, And was a common gameſter to the Campe. Dia. He do's me wrong my Lord: If I were ſo, He might haue bought me at a common price. Do not beleeue him. O behold this Ring, Whoſe high reſpect and rich validitie Did lacke a Paralell: yet for all that He gaue it to a Commoner a' th Campe If I be one. Coun. He bluſhes, and 'tis hit: Of ſixe preceding Anceſtors, that Iemme Confer'd by teſtament to 'th ſequent iſſue Hath it beene owed and worne. This is his wife, That Ring's a thouſand proofes. King. Me thought you ſaide You ſaw one heere in Court could witneſſe it. Dia. I did my Lord, but loath am to produce So bad an inſtrument, his names Parrolles. Laf.

I ſaw the man to day, if man he bee.

 Kin.

Finde him, and bring him hether.

 Roſ. What of him: He's quoted for a moſt pe fidious ſlaue With all the ſpots a' th world, taxt and deboſh'd, Whoſe nature ſickens: but to ſpeake a truth, Am I, or that or this for what he'l vtter, That will ſpeake any thing. Kin.

She hath that Ring of yours.

 Roſ. I thinke ſhe has; certaine it is I lyk'd her, And boorded her i' th wanton way of youth: She knew her diſtance, and did angle for mee, Madding my eagerneſſe with her reſtraint, As all impediments in fancies courſe Are motiues of more fancie, and in fine, Her inſuite comming with her moderne grace, Subdu'd me to her rate, ſhe got the Ring, And I had that which any inferiour might At Market price haue bought. Dia. I muſt be patient: You that haue turn'd off a firſt ſo noble wife, May iuſtly dyet me. I pray you yet, (Since you lacke vertue, I will looſe a husband) Send for your Ring, I will returne it home, And giue me mine againe. Roſ.

I haue it not.

 Kin.

What Ring was yours I pray you?

 Dian.

Sir much like the ſame vpon your finger.

 Kin.

Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late.

 Dia.

And this was it I gaue him being a bed.

 Kin. The ſtory then goes falſe, you threw it him Out of a Caſement. Dia.

I haue ſpoke the truth.

Enter Parolles. Roſ.

My Lord, I do confeſſe the ring was hers.

 Kin. You boggle ſhrewdly, euery feather ſtarts you: Is this the man you ſpeake of? Dia.

I, my Lord.

 Kin. Tell me ſirrah, but tell me true I charge you, Not fearing the diſpleaſure of your maſter: Which on your iuſt proceeding, Ile keepe off, By him and by this woman heere, what know you? Par.

So pleaſe your Maieſty, my maſter hath bin an honourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him, which Gentlemen haue.

 Kin.

Come, come, to' th' purpoſe: Did hee loue this woman?

 Par.

Faith ſir he did loue her, but how.

 Kin.

How I pray you?

 Par.

He did loue her ſir, as a Gent. loues a Woman.

 Kin.

How is that?

 Par.

He lou'd her ſir, and lou'd her not.

 Kin.

As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equiuocall Companion is this?

 Par.

I am a poore man, and at your Maieſties command.

 Laf.

Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtie Orator.

 Dian.

Do you know he promiſt me marriage?

 Par.

Faith I know more then Ile ſpeake.

 Kin.

But wilt thou not ſpeake all thou know'ſt?

 Par.

Yes ſo pleaſe your Maieſty: I did goe betweene them as I ſaid, but more then that he loued her, for indeede he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and of Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knewe of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promiſing her marriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will to ſpeake of, therefore I will not ſpeake what I know.

 Kin.

Thou haſt ſpoken all alreadie, vnleſſe thou canſt ſay they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy euidence, therefore ſtand aſide. This Ring you ſay was yours.

 Dia.

I my good Lord.

 Kin.

Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you?

 Dia.

It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it.

 Kin.

Who lent it you?

 Dia.

It was not lent me neither.

 Kin.

Where did you finde it then?

 Dia.

I found it not.

 Kin. If it were yours by none of all theſe wayes, How could you giue it him? Dia.

I neuer gaue it him.

 Laf.

This womans an eaſie gloue my Lord, ſhe goes off and on at pleaſure.

 Kin.

This Ring was mine, I gaue it his firſt wife.

 Dia.

It might be yours or hers for ought I know.

 Kin. Take her away, I do not like her now, To priſon with her: and away with him, Vnleſſe thou telſt me where thou hadſt this Ring, Thou dieſt within this houre. Dia.

Ile neuer tell you.

 Kin.

Take her away.

 Dia.

Ile put in baile my liedge.

 Kin.

I thinke thee now ſome common Cuſtomer.

 Dia.

By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you.

 King.

Wherefore haſt thou accuſde him al this while.

 Dia. Becauſe he's guiltie, and he is not guilty: He knowes I am no Maid, and hee'l ſweare too't: Ile ſweare I am a Maid, and he knowes not. Great King I am no ſtrumpet, by my life, I am either Maid, or elſe this old mans wife. Kin.

She does abuſe our eares, to priſon with her.

 Dia. Good mother fetch my bayle. Stay Royall ſir, The Ieweller that owes the Ring is ſent for, And he ſhall ſurety me. But for this Lord, Who hath abus'd me as he knowes himſelfe, Though yet he neuer harm'd me, heere I quit him. He knowes himſelfe my bed he hath defil'd, And at that time he got his wife with childe: Dead though ſhe be, ſhe feeles her yong one kicke: So there's my riddle, one that's dead is quicke, And now behold the meaning. Enter Hellen and Widdow. Kin. Is there no exorciſt Beguiles the truer Office of mine eyes? Is't reall that I ſee? Hel. No my good Lord, 'Tis but the ſhadow of a wife you ſee, The name, and not the thing. Roſ.

Both, both, O pardon.

 Hel. Oh my good Lord, when I was like this Maid, I found you wondrous kinde, there is your Ring, And looke you, heeres your letter: this it ſayes, When from my finger you can get this Ring, And is by me with childe, &c. This is done, Will you be mine now you are doubly wonne? Roſ. If ſhe my Liege can make me know this clearly, Ile loue her dearely, euer, euer dearly. Hel. If it appeare not plaine, and proue vntrue, Deadly diuorce ſtep betweene me and you. O my deere mother do I ſee you liuing? Laf. Mine eyes ſmell Onions, I ſhall weepe anon: Good Tom Drumme lend me a handkercher. So I thanke thee, waite on me home, Ile make ſport with thee: Let thy curtſies alone, they are ſcuruy ones. King Let vs from point to point this ſtorie know, To make the euen truth in pleaſure flow: If thou beeſt yet a freſh vncropped flower, Chooſe thou thy husband, and Ile pay thy dower. For I can gueſſe, that by thy honeſt ayde, Thou keptſt a wife her ſelfe, thy ſelfe a Maide▪ Of that and all the progreſſe more and leſſe, Reſolduedly more leaſure ſhall expreſſe: All yet ſeemes well, and if it end ſo meete, The bitter paſt, more welcome is the ſweet. Flouriſh. THe Kings a Begger, now the Play is done, All is well ended, if this ſuite be wonne, That you expreſſe Content: which we will pay, With ſtrift to pleaſe you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts, Your gentle hands lends vs, and take our hearts. Exeunt omn.
FINIS.
Twelfe Night, Or what you will.
Actus Primus,
Scaena Prima. Enter Orſino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords. Duke. IF Muſicke be the food of Loue, play on, Giue me exceſſe of it: that ſurfetting, The appetite may ſicken, and ſo dye. That ſtraine agen, it had a dying fall: O, it came ore my eare, like the ſweet ſound That breathes vpon a banke of Violets; Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more, 'Tis not ſo ſweet now, as it was before. O ſpirit of Loue, how quicke and freſh art thou, That notwithſtanding thy capacitie, Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there, Of what validity, and pitch ſo ere, But falles into abatement, and low price Euen in a minute; ſo full of ſhapes is fancie, That it alone, is high fantaſticall. Cu.

Will you go hunt my Lord?

 Du.

What Curio?

 Cu.

The Hart.

 Du. Why ſo I do, the Nobleſt that I haue: O when mine eyes did ſee Oliuia firſt, Me thought ſhe purg'd the ayre of peſtilence; That inſtant was I turn'd into a Hart, And my deſires like fell and cruell hounds, Ere ſince purſue me. How now what newes from her? Enter Valentine. Val. So pleaſe my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do returne this anſwer: The Element it ſelfe, till ſeuen yeares heate, Shall not behold her face at ample view: But like a Cloyſtreſſe ſhe will vailed walke, And water once a day her Chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to ſeaſon A brothers dead loue, which ſhe would keepe freſh And laſting, in her ſad remembrance. Du. O ſhe that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of loue but to a brother, How will ſhe loue, when the rich golden ſhaft Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections elſe That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart, Theſe ſoueraigne thrones, are all ſupply'd and fill'd Her ſweete perfections with one ſelfe king: Away before me, to ſweet beds of Flowres, Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors. Vio.

What Country (Friends) is this?

 Cap.

This is Illyria Ladie.

 Vio. And what ſhould I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elizium, Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you ſaylors? Cap.

It is perchance that you your ſelfe were ſaued.

 Vio.

O my poore brother, and ſo perchance may he be.

 Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance, Aſſure your ſelfe, after our ſhip did ſplit, When you, and thoſe poore number ſaued with you, Hung on our driuing boate: I ſaw your brother Moſt prouident in perill, binde himſelfe, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practiſe) To a ſtrong Maſte, that liu'd vpon the ſea: Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe, I ſaw him hold acquaintance with the waues, So long as I could ſee. Ʋio. For ſaying ſo, there's Gold: Mine owne eſcape vnfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy ſpeech ſerues for authoritie The like of him. Know'ſt thou this Countrey? Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne Not three houres trauaile from this very place: Vio.

Who gouernes heere?

 Cap.

A noble Duke in nature, as in name.

 Vio.

What is his name?

 Cap.

Orſino.

Vio. Orſino: I haue heard my father name him. He was a Batchellor then. Cap. And ſo is now, or was ſo very late: For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas freſh in murmure (as you know What great ones do, the leſſe will prattle of,) That he did ſeeke the loue of faire Oliuia. Vio.

What's ſhee?

 Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count That dide ſome tweluemonth ſince, then leauing her In the protection of his ſonne, her brother, Who ſhortly alſo dide: for whoſe deere loue (They ſay) ſhe hath abiur'd the ſight And company of men. Vio. O that I ſeru'd that Lady, And might not be deliuered to the world Till I had made mine owne occaſion mellow What my eſtate is. Cap That were hard to compaſſe, Becauſe ſhe will admit no kinde of ſuite, No not the Dukes. Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine, And though that nature, with a beauteous wall Doth oft cloſe in pollution: yet of thee I will beleeue thou haſt a minde that ſuites With this thy faire and outward charracter. I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteouſly) Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde, For ſuch diſguiſe as haply ſhall become The forme of my intent. Ile ſerue this Duke, Thou ſhalt preſent me as an Eunuch to him, It may be worth thy paines: for I can ſing, And ſpeake to him in many ſorts of Muſicke, That will allow me very worth his ſeruice. What elſe may hap, to time I will commit, Onely ſhape thou thy ſilence to my wit. Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee, When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not ſee. Ʋio.

I thanke thee: Lead me on.

Exeunt
Scaena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Maria. Sir To.

What a plague meanes my Neece to take the death of her brother thus? I am ſure care's an enemie to life.

 Mar.

By my troth ſir Toby, you muſt come in earlyer a nights▪ your Coſin, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill houres.

 To.

Why let her except, before excepted.

 Ma.

I, but you muſt confine your ſelfe within the modeſt limits of order.

 To.

Confine? Ile confine my ſelfe no finer then I am: theſe cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and ſo bee theſe boots too: and they be not, let them hang themſelues in their owne ſtraps.

 Ma.

That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I heard my Lady talke of it yeſterday: and of a fooliſh knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer

 To.

Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?

 Ma.

I he.

 To.

He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

 Ma.

What's that to th' purpoſe?

 To.

Why he ha's three thouſand ducates a yeare.

 Ma.

I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all theſe ducates: He's a very foole, and a prodigall.

 To.

Fie, that you'l ſay ſo: he playes o' th Viol-de-ga • -boys, and ſpeaks three or four languages word for word without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature.

 Ma.

He hath indeed, almoſt naturall: for beſides that he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath the gift of a Coward, to allay the guſt he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely haue the gift of a graue.

 Tob.

By this hand they are ſcoundrels and ſubſtractor▪ that ſay ſo of him. Who are they?

 Ma.

They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly in your company.

 To.

With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke to her as long as there is a paſſage in my throat, & drinke in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coyſtrill that will not drinke to my Neece▪ till his braines turne o' th toe, like a pariſh top. What wench? Caſtiliano vulgo: for here coms Sir Andrew Agueface.

Enter Sir Andrew. And.

Sir Toby Belch. How now ſir Toby Belch?

 To.

Sweet ſir Andrew.

And.

Bleſſe you faire Shrew.

 Mar.

And you too ſir.

 Tob.

Accoſt Sir Andrew, accoſt.

 And.

What's that?

 To.

My Neeces Chamber-maid.

 Ma.

Good Miſtris accoſt, I deſire better acquaintance

 Ma.

My name is Mary ſir.

 And.

Good miſtris Mary, accoſt.

 To,

You miſtake knight: Accoſt, is front her, boord her, woe her, aſſayle her.

 And.

By my troth I would not vndertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of Accoſt?

 Ma.

Far you well Gentlemen.

 To.

And thou let part ſo Sir Andrew, would thou mightſt neuer draw ſword agen.

 And.

And you part ſo miſtris, I would I might neuer draw ſword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue fooles in hand?

 Ma.

Sir, I haue not you by 'th hand.

 An.

Marry but you ſhall haue, and heeres my hand.

 Ma.

Now ſir▪ thought is free: I pray you bring your hand to 'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke.

 An.

Wherefore (ſweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?

 Ma.

It's dry ſir.

 And.

Why I thinke ſo: I am not ſuch an aſſe, but I can keepe my hand dry. But what's your ieſt?

 Ma.

A dry ieſt Sir.

 And.

Are you full of them?

 Ma.

I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now I let go your hand, I am barren.

Exit Maria To.

O knight, thou lack'ſt a cup of Canarie: when did I ſee thee ſo put downe?

 An.

Neuer in your life I thinke, vnleſſe you ſee Canarie put me downe: mee thinkes ſometimes I haue no more wit then a Chriſtian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme to my wit.

 To.

No queſtion.

 An.

And I thought that, I'de forſweare it. Ile ride home to morrow ſir Toby.

To.

Pur-quoy my deere knight?

 An.

What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had beſtowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing dancing, and beare-bayting; O had I but followed the Arts.

 To.

Then hadſt thou had an excellent head of haire.

 An.

Why, would that haue mended my haire?

 To.

Paſt queſtion, for thou ſeeſt it will not coole my nature

 An

But it becoms we wel enough, doſt not?

 To.

Excellent, it hangs like flax on a diſtaffe: & I hope to ſee a huſwife take thee between her legs, & ſpin it off.

 An.

Faith Ile home to morrow ſir Toby, your niece wil not be ſeene, or if ſhe be it's four to one, ſhe'l none of me: the Count himſelfe here hard by, wooes her,

 To.

Shee'l none o' th Count, ſhe'l not match aboue hir degree, neither in eſtate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her ſwear't. Tut there's life in't man.

 And.

Ile ſtay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o' th ſtrangeſt minde i' th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels ſometimes altogether.

 To.

Art thou good at theſe kicke-chawſes Knight?

 And.

As any man in Illyria, whatſoeuer he be, vnder the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with an old man.

 To.

What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

 And.

Faith, I can cut a caper.

 To.

And I can cut the Mutton too't.

 And.

And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, ſimply as ſtrong as any man in Illyria.

 To.

Wherefore are theſe things hid? Wherefore haue theſe gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take duſt, like miſtris Mals picture? Why doſt thou not goe to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto? My verie walke ſhould be a Iigge: I would not ſo much as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooeſt thou meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by the excellent conſtitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder the ſtarre of a Galliard.

 And,

I, 'tis ſtrong, and it does indifferent well in a dam'd colour'd ſtocke. Shall we ſit about ſome Reuels?

 To.

What ſhall we do elſe: were we not borne vnder Taurus?

 And.

Taurus? That ſides and heart.

 To.

No ſir, it is leggs and thighes: let me ſee thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.

Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire. Val.

If the Duke continue theſe fauours towards you Ceſario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known you but three dayes, and already you are no ſtranger.

 Vio.

You either feare his humour, or my negligence, that you call in queſtion the continuance of his loue. Is he inconſtant ſir, in his fauours.

 Ʋal.

No beleeue me.

 Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. Vio.

I thanke you: heere comes the Count.

 Duke.

Who ſaw Ceſario hoa?

 Vio.

On your attendance my Lord heere.

 Du Stand you a-while aloofe. Ceſario, Thou knowſt no leſſe, but all: I haue vnclaſp'd To thee the booke euen of my ſecret ſoule. Therefore good youth, addreſſe thy gate vnto her, Be not deni'de acceſſe, ſtand at her doores, And tell them, there thy fixed foot ſhall grow Till thou haue audience. Ʋio. Sure my Noble Lord, If ſhe be ſo abandon'd to her ſorrow As it is ſpoke, ſhe neuer will admit me. Du, Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds, Rather then make vnprofited returne, Vio.

Say I do ſpeake with her (my Lord) what then?

 Du. O then, vnfold the paſsion of my loue, Surprize her with diſcourſe of my deere faith; It ſhall become thee well to act my woes: She will attend it better in thy youth, Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aſpect. Vio.

I thinke not ſo, my Lord.

 Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it; For they ſhall yet belye thy happy yeeres, That ſay thou art a man: Dianas lip Is not more ſmooth, and rubious: thy ſmall pipe Is as the maidens organ, ſhrill, and ſound, And all is ſemblatiue a womans part. I know thy conſtellation is right apt For this affayre: ſome foure or fiue attend him, All if you will: for I my ſelfe am beſt When leaſt in companie: proſper well in this, And thou ſhalt liue as freely as thy Lord, To call his fortunes thine. Ʋio. Ile do my beſt To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull ſtrife, Who ere I woe, my ſelfe would be his wife. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Maria, and Clowne. Ma.

Nay, either tell me where thou haſt bin, or I will not open my lippes ſo wide as a briſsle may enter, in way of thy excuſe: my Lady will hang thee for thy abſence.

 Clo.

Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this world, needs to feare no colours.

 Ma.

Make that good.

 Clo.

He ſhall ſee none to feare.

 Ma.

A good lenton anſwer: I can tell thee where yt ſaying was borne, of I feare no colours.

 Clo.

Where good miſtris Mary?

 Ma.

In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to ſay in your foolerie.

 Clo.

Well, God giue them wiſedome that haue it: & thoſe that are fooles, let them vſe their talents.

 Ma.

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?

 Clo.

Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage: and for turning away, let ſummer beare it out.

 Ma.

You are reſolute then?

 Clo.

Not ſo neyther, but I am reſolu'd on two points

 Ma.

That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both breake, your gaskins fall.

 Clo.

Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if ſir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eues fleſh, as any in Illyria.

 Ma.

Peace you rogue, no more o' that: here comes my Lady: make your excuſe wiſely, you were beſt.

 Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio. Clo.

Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling: thoſe wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue fooles: and I that am ſure I Iacke thee, may paſſe for a wiſe man. For what ſaies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole, then a fooliſh wit. God bleſſe thee Lady.

 Ol.

Take the foole away.

 Clo.

Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie.

 Ol.

Go too, y' are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: beſides you grow diſ-honeſt.

 Clo.

Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counſell wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole not dry: bid the diſhoneſt man mend himſelf, if he mend, he is no longer diſhoneſt; if hee cannot, let the Botcher mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu that tranſgreſſes, is but patcht with ſinne, and ſin that amends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this ſimple Sillogiſme will ſerue, ſo: if it will not, vvhat remedy? As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, ſo beauties a flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I ſay againe, take her away.

 Ol.

Sir, I bad them take away you.

 Clo.

Miſpriſion in the higheſt degree. Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to ſay, as I weare not motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to proue you a foole.

 Ol.

Can you do it?

 Clo.

Dexteriouſly, good Madona.

 Ol.

Make your proofe.

 Clo.

I muſt catechize you for it Madona, Good my Mouſe of vertue anſwer mee.

 Ol.

Well ſir, for want of other idleneſſe, Ile bide your proofe.

 Clo.

Good Madona, why mournſt thou?

 Ol.

Good foole, for my brothers death.

 Clo.

I thinke his ſoule is in hell, Madona.

 Ol.

I know his ſoule is in heauen, foole.

 Clo.

The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your Brothers ſoule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole, Gentlemen.

 Ol.

What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he not mend?

 Mal.

Yes, and ſhall do, till the pangs of death ſhake him: Infirmity that decaies the wiſe, doth euer make the better foole.

 Clow.

God ſend you ſir, a ſpeedie Infirmity, for the better increaſing your folly: Sir Toby will be ſworn that I am no Fox, but he wil not paſſe his word for two pence that you are no Foole.

 Ol.

How ſay you to that Maluolio?

 Mal.

I maruell your Ladyſhip takes delight in ſuch a barren raſcall: I ſaw him put down the other day, with an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a ſtone. Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you laugh and miniſter occaſion to him, he is gag'd. I proteſt I take theſe Wiſemen, that crow ſo at theſe ſet kinde of fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies.

 Ol.

O you are ficke of ſelfe-loue Maluolio, and taſte with a diſtemper'd appetite. To be generous, guitleſſe, and of free diſpoſition, is to take thoſe things for Bird-bolts, that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no ſlander in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle; nor no rayling, in a knowne diſcreet man, though hee do nothing but reproue.

 Clo.

Now Mercury indue thee with leaſing, for thou ſpeak'ſt well of fooles.

 Enter Maria. Mar.

Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman, much deſires to ſpeake with you.

 Ol.

From the Count Orſino, is it?

 Ma

I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and well attended.

 Ol.

Who of my people hold him in delay▪

Ma.

Sir Toby Madam, your kinſman.

 Ol.

Fetch him off I pray you, he ſpeakes nothing but madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a • ſuit from the Count, I am ſicke, or not at home. What you will, to diſmiſſe it.

Exit Maluo.

Now you ſee ſir, how your fooling growes old, & people diſlike it.

 Clo.

Thou haſt ſpoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldeſt ſonne ſhould be a foole: whoſe ſcull, Ioue cramme with braines, for heere he comes.

Enter Sir Toby.

One of thy kin has a moſt weake Pia-mater.

Ol.

By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the gate Coſin?

 To.

A Gentleman.

 Ol.

A Gentleman? What Gentleman?

 To.

'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o' theſe pickle herring: How now Sot.

 Clo.

Good Sir Toby.

Ol.

Coſin, Coſin, how haue you come ſo earely by this Lethargie?

 To.

Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the gate.

 Ol.

I marry, what is he?

 To.

Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue me faith ſay I. Well, it's all one.

Exit Ol.

What's a drunken man like, foole?

 Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man: One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the ſecond maddes him, and a third drownes him. Ol.

Go thou and ſeeke the Crowner, and let him ſitte o' my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's drown'd: go looke after him.

 Clo.

He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole ſhall looke to the madman.

 Enter Maluolio. Mal.

Madam, yond young fellow ſweares hee will ſpeake with you. I told him you were ſicke, he takes on him to vnderſtand ſo much, and therefore comes to ſpeak with you. I told him you were aſleepe, he ſeems to haue a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to ſpeake with you. What is to be ſaid to him Ladie, hee's fortified againſt any deniall.

 Ol.

Tell him, he ſhall not ſpeake with me.

 Mal.

Ha's beene told ſo: and hee ſayes hee'l ſtand at your doore like a Sheriffes poſt, and be the ſupporter to a bench, but hee'l ſpeake with you.

 Ol.

What kinde o' man is he?

 Mal.

Why of mankinde.

 Ol.

What manner of man?

 Mal.

Of verie ill manner: hee'l ſpeake with you, will you, or no.

 Ol.

Of what perſonage, and yeeres is he?

 Mal.

Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough for a boy: as a ſquaſh is before tis a peſcod, or a Codling when tis almoſt an Apple: Tis with him in ſtanding water, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd, and he ſpeakes verie ſhrewiſhly: One would thinke his mothers milke were ſcarſe out of him.

 Ol.

Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman.

 Mal.

Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.

Exit. Enter Maria. Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face, Wee'l once more heare Orſinos Embaſſie. Enter Ʋiolenta. Vio.

The honorable Ladie of the houſe, which is ſhe?

 Ol.

Speake to me, I ſhall anſwer for her: your will.

 Ʋio.

Moſt radiant, exquiſite, and vnmatchable beautie. I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the houſe, for I neuer ſaw her. I would bee loath to caſt away my ſpeech: for beſides that it is excellently well pend, I haue taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee ſuſtaine no ſcorne; I am very comptible, euen to the leaſt ſiniſter vſage.

 Ol.

Whence came you ſir?

 Vio.

I can ſay little more then I haue ſtudied, & that queſtion's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee modeſt aſſurance, if you be the Ladie of the houſe, that may proceede in my ſpeech.

 Ol.

Are you a Comedian?

 Vio.

No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie phangs of malice, I ſweare) I am not that I play. Are you the Ladie of the houſe?

 Ol.

If I do not vſurpe my ſelfe, I am.

 Ʋio.

Moſt certaine, if you are ſhe, you do vſurp your ſelfe: for what is yours to beſtowe, is, not yours to reſerue. But this is from my Commiſſion: I will on with my ſpeech in your praiſe, and then ſhew you the heart of my meſſage.

 Ol.

Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you the praiſe.

 Vio.

Alas, I tooke great paines to ſtudie it, and 'tis Poeticall.

 Ol.

It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep it in. I heard you were ſawcy at my gates, & allowd your approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reaſon, be breefe: 'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in ſo skipping a dialogue.

 Ma.

Will you hoyſt ſayle ſir, here lies your way.

 Vio.

No good ſwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, ſweete Ladie; tell me your minde, I am a meſſenger.

 Ol.

Sure you haue ſome hiddeous matter to deliuer, when the curteſie of it is ſo fearefull. Speake your office.

 Vio.

It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter.

 Ol.

Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?

 Vio.

The rudeneſſe that hath appear'd in mee, haue I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as ſecret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity; to any others, prophanation.

 Ol. Giue vs the place alone, We will heare this diuinitie. Now ſir, what is your text? Vio.

Moſt ſweet Ladie.

 Ol.

A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee ſaide of it. Where lies your Text?

 Vio.

In Orſinoes boſome.

 Ol.

In his boſome? In what chapter of his boſome?

 Vio.

To anſwer by the method in the firſt of his hart.

 Ol.

O, I haue read it: it is hereſie. Haue you no more to ſay?

 Vio.

Good Madam, let me ſee your face.

 Ol.

Haue 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 ſhew you the picture. Looke you ſir, ſuch a one I was this preſent: Iſt not well done?

 Ʋio.

Excellently done, if God did all.

 Ol.

'Tis in graine ſir, 'twill endure winde and weather.

 Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whoſe red and white, Natures owne ſweet, and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'ſt ſhee aliue, If you will leade theſe graces to the graue, And leaue the world no copie. Ol.

O ſir, I will not be ſo hard-hearted: I will giue out diuers ſcedules of my beautie. It ſhalbe Inuentoried and euery particle and vtenſile labell'd to my will: As, Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes, with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & ſo forth. Were you ſent hither to praiſe me?

 Vio. I ſee you what you are, you are too proud: But if you were the diuell, you are faire: My Lord, and maſter loues you: O ſuch loue Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd The non-pareil of beautie. Ol.

How does he loue me?

 Vio. With adorations, fertill teares, With groanes that thunder loue, with ſighes of fire. Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him Yet I ſuppoſe him vertuous, know him noble, Of great eſtate, of freſh and ſtainleſſe youth; In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in dimenſion, and the ſhape of nature, A gracious perſon; But yet I cannot loue him: He might haue tooke his anſwer long ago. Vio. If I did loue you in my maſters flame, With ſuch a ſuffring, ſuch a deadly life: In your deniall, I would finde no ſence, I would not vnderſtand it. Ol.

Why, what would you?

 Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate, And call vpon my ſoule within the houſe, Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, And ſing them lowd euen in the dead of night: Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, And make the babling Goſsip of the aire, Cry out Oliuia: O you ſhould not reſt Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth, But you ſhould pittie me. Ol. You might do much: What is your Parentage? Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my ſtate is well: I am a Gentleman. Ol. Get you to your Lord: I cannot loue him: let him ſend no more, Vnleſſe (perchance) you come to me againe, To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well: I thanke you for your paines: ſpend this for mee. Vio. I am no feede poaſt, Lady; keepe your purſe, My Maſter, not my ſelfe, lackes recompence. Loue make his heart of flint, that you ſhal loue, And let your feruour like my maſters be, Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie. Exit Ol. What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my ſtate is well; I am a Gentleman. Ile be ſworne thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and ſpirit. Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too faſt: ſoft, ſoft, Vnleſſe the Maſter were the man. How now? Euen ſo quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections With an inuiſible, and ſubtle ſtealth To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio. Enter Maluolio. Mal.

Heere Madam, at your ſeruice.

 Ol. Run after that ſame peeuiſh Meſſenger The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it. Deſire him not to flatter with his Lord, Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to morrow, Ile giue him reaſons for't: hie thee Maluolio. Mal.

Madam, I will.

Exit. Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde: Fate, ſhew thy force, our ſelues we do not owe, What is decreed, muſt be: and be this ſo.
Finis, Actus primus.
Actus Secundus,
Scaena prima. Enter Antonio & Sebaſtian. Ant.

Will you ſtay no longer: nor will you not that I go with you.

 Seb.

By your patience, no: my ſtarres ſhine darkely ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps diſtemper yours; therefore I ſhall craue of you your leaue, that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence for your loue, to lay any of them on you.

 An.

Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

 Seb.

No ſooth ſir: my determinate voyage is meere extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you ſo excellent a touch of modeſtie, that you will not extort from me, what I am willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners, the rather to expreſſe my ſelfe: you muſt know of mee then Antonio, my name is Sebaſtian (which I call'd Rodorigo) my father was that Sebaſtian of Meſſaline, whom I know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my ſelfe, and a ſiſter, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had beene pleas'd, would we had ſo ended. But you ſir, alter'd that, for ſome houre before you tooke me from the breach of the ſea, was my ſiſter drown'd.

 Ant.

Alas the day.

 Seb.

A Lady ſir, though it was ſaid ſhee much reſembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but • hogh I could not with ſuch eſtimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue that, yet thus farre I will boldly publiſh her, ſhee bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is drown'd already ſir with ſalt water, though I ſeeme to drowne her remembrance againe with more.

 Ant.

Pardon me ſir, your bad entertainment.

 Seb.

O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble.

 Ant.

If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee be your ſeruant.

 Seb.

If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, deſire it not. Fare ye well at once, my boſome is full of kindneſſe, and I am yet ſo neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the leaſt occaſion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am bound to the Count Orſino's Court, farewell.

Exit Ant. The gentleneſſe of all the gods go with thee: I haue many enemies in Orſino's Court, Elſe would I very ſhortly ſee thee there: But come what may, I do adore thee ſo, That danger ſhall ſeeme ſport, and I will go. Exit.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Viola and Maluolio, at ſeuerall doores. Mal.

Were not you eu'n now, with the Counteſſe Oliuia?

Vio.

Euen now ſir, on a moderate pace, I haue ſince ariu'd but hither.

 Mal.

She returnes this Ring to you (ſir) you might haue ſaued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your ſelfe. She adds moreouer, that you ſhould put your Lord into a deſperate aſſurance, ſhe will none of him. And one thing more, that you be neuer ſo hardie: o come againe in his affaires, vnleſſe it bee to report your Lords taking of this: receiue it ſo.

 Vio.

She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it.

 Mal.

Come ſir, you peeuiſhly threw it to her: and her will is, it ſhould be ſo return'd: If it bee worth ſtooping for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that findes it.

Exit. Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady? Fortune forbid my out-ſide haue not charm'd her: She made good view of me, indeed ſo much, That me thought her eyes had loſt her tongue, For ſhe did ſpeake in ſtarts diſtractedly. She loues me ſure, the cunning of her paſsion Inuites me in this churliſh meſſenger: None of my Lords Ring? Why he ſent her none; I am the man, if it be ſo, as tis, Poore Lady, ſhe were better loue a dreame: Diſguiſe, I ſee thou art a wickedneſſe, Wherein the pregnant enemie does much. How eaſie is it, for the proper falſe In womens waxen hearts to ſet their formes: Alas, O frailtie is the cauſe, not wee, For ſuch as we are made, if ſuch we bee: How will this fadge? My maſter loues her deerely, And I (poore monſter) fond aſmuch on him: And ſhe (miſtaken) ſeemes to dote on me: What will become of this? As I am man, My ſtate is deſperate for my maiſters loue: As I am woman (now alas the day) What thriftleſſe ſighes ſhall poore Oliuia breath? O time, thou muſt vntangle this, not I, It is too hard a knot for me t'vnty.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. To.

Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo ſurgere, thou know'ſt.

 And.

Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to be vp late, is to be vp late.

 To.

A falſe concluſion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne. To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early: ſo that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes. Does not our liues conſiſt of the foure Elements?

 And.

Faith ſo they ſay, but I thinke it rather conſiſts of eating and drinking.

 To.

Th' art a ſcholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke Marian I ſay, a ſtoope of wine.

 Enter Clowne. And.

Heere comes the foole yfaith.

 Clo.

How now my harts: Did you neuer ſee the Picture of we three?

 To.

Welcome aſſe, now let's haue a catch.

 And.

By my troth the foole has an excellent breaſt. I had rather then forty ſhillings I had ſuch a legge, and ſo ſweet a breath to ſing, as the foole has. Inſooth thou waſt in very gracious fooling laſt night, when thou ſpok'ſt of Pigrogromitus, of the Ʋapians paſsing the Equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I ſent thee ſixe pence for thy Lemon, hadſt it?

 Clo.

I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios noſe is no Whip-ſtocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the Mermidons are no bottle-ale houſes.

 An.

Excellent: Why this is the beſt fooling, when all is done. Now a ſong.

 To.

Come on, there is ſixe pence for you. Let's haue a ſong.

 An.

There's a teſtrill of me too: if one knight giue a

 Clo.

Would you haue a loue-ſong, or a ſong of good life?

 To.

A loue ſong, a loue ſong.

 An.

I, I. I care not for good life.

Clowne ſings. O Miſtris mine where are you roming? O ſtay and heare, your true loues coming, That can ſing both high and low. Trip no further prettie ſweeting. Iourneys end in louers meeting, Euery wiſe mans ſonne doth know. An.

Excellent good, ifaith.

 To.

Good, good.

 Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter, Preſent mirth, hath preſent laughter: What's to come, is ſtill vnſure. In delay there lies no plentie, Then come kiſſe me ſweet and twentie: Youths a ſtuffe will not endure. An.

A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight.

 To.

A contagious breath.

 An.

Very ſweet, and contagious ifaith.

 To.

To heare by the noſe, it is dulcet in contagion. But ſhall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three ſoules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?

 And.

And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a Catch.

 Clo.

Byrlady ſir, and ſome dogs will catch well.

 An.

Moſt certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue.

Clo.

Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I ſhall be conſtrain'd in't, to call thee knaue, Knight.

 An.

'Tis not the firſt time I haue conſtrained one to call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo.

I ſhall neuer begin if I hold my peace.

 An.

Good ifaith: Come begin.

Catch ſung Enter Maria. Mar.

What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and bid him turne you out of doores, neuer truſt me.

 To,

My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios a Peg-a-ramſie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I conſanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie, There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady.

Clo.

Beſhrew me, the knights in admirable fooling.

 An.

I, he do's well enough if he be diſpos'd, and ſo do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more naturall.

 To.

O the twelfe day of December.

Mar.

For the loue o' God peace.

 Enter Maluolio. Mal.

My maſters are you mad? Or what are you? Haue you no wit, manners, nor honeſtie, but to gabble like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouſe of my Ladies 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?

 To.

We did keepe time ſir in our Catches. Snecke vp.

 Mal.

Sir Toby, I muſt be round with you. My Lady bad me tell you, that though ſhe harbors you as her kinſman, ſhe's nothing ally'd to your diſorders. If you can ſeparate your ſelfe and your miſdemeanors, you are welcome to the houſe: if not, and it would pleaſe you to take leaue of her, ſhe is very willing to bid you farewell.

 To.

Farewell deere heart, ſince I muſt needs be gone.

 Mar.

Nay good Sir Toby.

Clo.

His eyes do ſhew his dayes are almoſt done.

 Mal.

Is't euen ſo?

 To.

But I will neuer dye.

 Clo.

Sir Toby there you lye.

 Mal.

This is much credit to you.

 To.

Shall I bid him go.

Clo.

What and if you do?

 To.

Shall I bid him go, and ſpare not?

Clo.

O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

To.

Out o' tune ſir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward? Doſt thou thinke becauſe thou art vertuous, there ſhall be no more Cakes and Ale?

 Clo.

Yes by S. Anne, and Ginger ſhall bee hotte y' th mouth too.

 To.

Th' art i' th right. Goe ſir, rub your Chaine with crums. A ſtope of Wine Maria.

Mal.

Miſtris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies ſauour at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue meanes for this vnciuill rule; the ſhall know of it by this hand.

Exit Mar.

Go ſhake your eares.

 An.

'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake promiſe with him, and make a foole of him.

 To.

Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

 Mar.

Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, ſhe is much out of quiet. For Monſieur Maluolio, let me alone with him: If I do not gull him into an ayword, and make him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough to lye ſtraight in my bed: I know I can do it.

 To.

Poſſeſſe vs, poſſeſſe vs, tell vs ſomething of him.

 Mar.

Marrie ſir, ſometimes he is a kinde of Puritane.

 An.

O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge.

 To.

What for being a Puritan, thy exquiſite reaſon, deere knight.

 An.

I haue no exquiſite reaſon for't, but I haue reaſon good enough.

 Mar.

The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing conſtantly but a time-pleaſer, an affection'd Aſſe, that cons State without booke, and vtters it by great ſwarths. The beſt perſwaded of himſelfe: ſo cram'd (as he thinkes) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will my reuenge finde notable cauſe to worke.

 To.

What wilt thou do?

 Mar.

I will drop in his way ſome obſcure Epiſtles of loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the ſhape of his legge, the manner of his gate, the expreſſure of his eye, forehead, and complection, he ſhall finde himſelfe moſt feelingly perſonated. I can write very like my Ladie your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make diſtinction of our hands.

 To.

Excellent, I ſmell a deuice.

 An.

I hau't in my noſe too.

 To.

He ſhall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop that they come from my Neece, and that ſhee's in loue with him.

 Mar.

My purpoſe is indeed a horſe of that colour.

 An.

And your horſe now would make him an Aſſe.

 Mar.

Aſſe, I doubt not.

 An.

O twill be admirable.

 Mar.

Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Phyſicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let the Foole make a third, where he ſhall finde the Letter: obſerue his conſtruction of it: For this night to bed, and dreame on the euent: Farewell.

Exit To.

Good night Penthiſilea.

An.

Before me ſhe's a good wench.

 To.

She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me: what o' that?

 An.

I was ador'd once too.

 To.

Let's to bed knight: Thou hadſt neede ſend for more money.

 An.

If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way out.

 To.

Send for money knight, if thou haſt her not i' th end, call me Cut.

 An.

If I do not, neuer truſt me, take it how you will.

 To.

Come, come, Ile go burne ſome Sacke, tis too late to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.

Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Du. Giue me ſome Muſick; Now good morow frends. Now good Ceſario, but that peece of ſong, That old and Anticke ſong we heard laſt night; Me thought it did releeue my paſſion much, More then light ayres, and recollected termes Of theſe moſt briske and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verſe. Cur.

He is not heere (ſo pleaſe your Lordſhippe) that ſhould ſing it?

 Du.

Who was it?

 Cur.

Feſt • the leſter my Lord, a foole that the Ladie Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the houſe.

 Du.

Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.

Muſicke playes. Come hither Boy, if euer thou ſhalt loue In the ſweet pangs of it, remember me: For ſuch as I am, all true Louers are, Vnſtaid and skittiſh in all motions elſe, Saue in the conſtant image of the creature That is belou'd. How doſt thou like this tune? Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the ſeate Where loue is thron • d. Du. Thou doſt ſpeake maſterly, My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye Hath ſtaid vpon ſome fauour that it loues: Hath it not boy? Vio.

A little, by your fauour.

 Du.

What kinde of woman iſt?

 Ʋio.

Of your complection.

 Du.

She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?

 Vio.

About your yeeres my Lord.

 Du. Too old by heauen: Let ſtill the woman take An elder then her ſelfe, ſo weares ſhe to him; So ſwayes ſhe leuell in her husbands heart: For boy, howeuer we do praiſe our ſeiues, Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme, More longing, wauering, ſooner loſt and worne, Then womens are. Ʋio.

I thinke it well my Lord.

 Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy ſelfe, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as Roſes, whoſe faire flowre Being once diſplaid, doth fall that verie howre. Vio. And ſo they are: alas, that they are ſo: To die, euen when they to perfection grow. Enter Curio & Clowne. Du. O fellow come, the ſong we had laſt night: Marke it Ceſario, it is old and plaine; The Spinſters and the Knitters in the Sun, And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones, Do vſe to chaunt it: it is ſilly ſooth, And dallies with the innocence of loue, Like the old age. Clo.

Are you ready Sir?

 Duke.

I prethee ſing.

 Muſicke. The Song. Come away, come away death, And in ſad cypreſſe let me be laide. Fye away, fie away breath, I am ſlaine by a faire cruell maide: My ſhrowd of white, ſtuck all with Ew, O prepare it. My part of death no one ſo true did ſhare it. Not a flower, not a flower ſweete On my blacke coffin, let there be ſtrewne: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poore corpes, where my bones ſhall be throwne: A thouſand thouſand ſighes to ſaue, lay me ô where Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there. Du.

There's for thy paines.

 Clo.

No paines ſir, I take pleaſure in ſinging ſir.

 Du.

Ile pay thy pleaſure then.

 Clo.

Truely ſir, and pleaſure will be paide one time, or another.

 Du.

Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee.

 Clo.

Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of ſuch conſtancie put to Sea, that their buſineſſe might be euery thing, and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

Exit Du. Let all the reſt giue place: Once more Ceſario, Get thee to yond ſame ſoueraigne crueltie: Tell her my loue, more noble then the world Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands, The parts that fortune hath beſtow'd vpon her: Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune: But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems That nature prankes her in, attracts my ſoule. Vio.

But if ſhe cannot loue you ſir.

 Du.

It cannot be ſo anſwer'd.

 Vio. Sooth but you muſt. Say that ſome Lady, as perhappes there is, Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her: You tel her ſo: Muſt ſhe not then be anſwer'd? Du. There is no womans ſides Can bide the beating of ſo ſtrong a paſſion, As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart So bigge, to hold ſo much, they lacke retention. Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite, No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat, That ſuffer ſurfet, cloyment, and reuolt, But mine is all as hungry as the Sea, And can digeſt as much, make no compare Betweene that loue a woman can beare me, And that I owe Oliuia. Ʋio.

I but I know.

 Du.

What doſt thou knowe?

 Ʋio. Too well what loue women to men may owe: In faith they are as true of heart, as we. My Father had a daughter lou'd a man As it might be perhaps, were I a woman I ſhould your Lordſhip. Du.

And what's her hiſtory?

 Vio. A blanke my Lord: ſhe neuer told her loue, But let concealment like a worme i' th budde Feede on her damaske cheeke: ſhe pin'd in thought, And with a greene and yellow melancholly, She ſate like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede? We men may ſay more, ſweare more, but indeed Our ſhewes are more then will: for ſtill we proue Much in our vowes, but little in our loue. Du. But di'de thy ſiſter of her loue my Boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers houſe, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, ſhall I to this Lady? Du. I that's the Theame, To her in haſte: giue her this Iewell: ſay, My loue can giue no place, bide no denay. exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. To.

Come thy wayes Signior Fabian.

Fab.

Nay Ile come: if I looſe a ſcruple of this ſport, let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly.

 To.

Wouldſt thou not be glad to haue the niggardly Raſcally ſheepe-biter, come by ſome notable ſhame?

 Fa.

I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere.

 To.

To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and we will foole him blacke and blew, ſhall we not ſir Andrew?

 An.

And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.

 Enter Maria. To.

Heere comes the little villaine: How now my Mettle of India?

 Mar.

Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i' the Sunne practiſing behauiour to his own ſhadow this halfe houre: obſerue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Cloſe in the name of ieaſting, lye thou there: for heere comes the Trowt, that muſt be caught with tickling.

Exit Enter Maluolio. Mal.

'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me ſhe did affect me, and I haue heard her ſelf come thus neere, that ſhould ſhee fancie, it ſhould bee one of my complection. Beſides ſhe vſes me with a more exalted reſpect, then any one elſe that followes her. What ſhould I thinke on't?

 To.

Heere's an ouer-weening rogue.

 Fa.

Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes.

 And.

Slight I could ſo beate the Rogue.

 To.

Peace I ſay.

 Mal.

To be Count Maluolio.

To.

Ah Rogue.

 An.

Piſtoll him, piſtoll him.

 To.

Peace, peace.

 Mal.

There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

 An.

Fie on him Iezabel.

 Fa.

O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination blowes him.

 Mal.

Hauing beene three moneths married to her, ſitting in my ſtate.

 To.

O for a ſtone-bow to hit him in the eye.

 Mal.

Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I haue left Oliuia ſleeping.

 To.

Fire and Brimſtone.

 Fa.

O peace, peace.

 Mal.

And then to haue the humor of ſtate: and after a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my place, as I would they ſhould doe theirs: to aske for my kinſman Toby.

To.

Boltes and ſhackles.

 Fa.

Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now.

 Mal.

Seauen of my people with an obedient ſtart, make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance winde vp my watch, or play with my ſome rich Iewell: Toby approaches; curtſies there to me.

 To.

Shall this fellow liue?

 Fa.

Though our ſilence be drawne from vs with cars, yet peace.

 Mal.

I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my familiar ſmile with an auſtere regard of controll.

 To.

And do's not Toby take you a blow o' the lippes, then?

 Mal.

Saying, Coſine Toby, my Fortunes hauing caſt me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of ſpeech.

 To.

What, what?

 Mal.

You muſt amend your drunkenneſſe.

 To.

Out ſcab.

 Fab.

Nay patience, or we breake the ſinewes of our plot?

 Mal.

Beſides you waſte the treaſure of your time, with a fooliſh knight.

 And.

That's mee I warrant you.

 Mal.

One ſir Andrew.

And.

I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole.

 Mal.

What employment haue we heere?

 Fa.

Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin.

 To.

Oh peace, and the ſpirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him.

 Mal.

By my life this is my Ladies hand: theſe bee her very C's▪ her Ʋ's, and her T's, and thus makes ſhee het great P's. It is in contempt of queſtion her hand.

 An.

Her C's, her Ʋ's, and her T's: why that?

 Mal.

To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wiſhes: Her very Phra • es: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impreſſure her Lucrece, with which ſhe vſes to ſeale: tis my Lady: To whom ſhould this be?

 Fab.

This winnes him, Liuer and all.

 Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no man muſt know. No man muſt know. What followes? The numbers alter • d: No man muſt know, If this ſhould be thee Maluolio? To.

Marrie hang thee brocke.

 Mal. I may command where I adore, but ſilence like a Lucreſſe knife: With bloodleſſe ſtroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth ſway my life. Fa.

A fuſtian riddle.

 To.

Excellent Wench, ſay I.

 Mal.

M.O.A.I. doth ſway my life. Nay but firſt let me ſee, let me ſee, let me ſee.

 Fab.

What diſh a poyſon has ſhe dreſt him?

 To.

And with what wing the ſtallion checkes at it?

 Mal.

I may command, where I adore: Why ſhee may command me: I ſerue her, ſhe is my Ladie. Why this is euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obſtruction in this, and the end: What ſhould that Alphabeticall poſition portend, if I could make that reſemble ſomething in me? Softly, M.O.A.I.

To

O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold ſent.

 Fab.

Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee as ranke as a Fox.

 Mal.

M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name.

 Fab.

Did not I ſay he would worke it out, the Curre is excellent at faults.

 Mal.

M. But then there is no conſonancy in the ſequell that ſuffers vnder probation: A. ſhould follow, but O. does.

 Fa.

And O ſhall end, I hope.

 To.

I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O.

Mal.

And then I. comes behind.

 Fa.

I, and you had any eye behinde you, you • might ſee more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before you.

 Mal.

M, O, A, I. This ſimulation is not as the former: and yet to cruſh this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery one of theſe Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes proſe: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my ſtars I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatneſſe: Some are become great, ſome atcheeues greatneſſe, and ſome haue greatneſſe thruſt vppon em. Thy fates open theyr hands, let thy blood and ſpirit embrace them, and to invre thy ſelfe to what thou art like to be: caſt thy humble ſlough, and appeare freſh. Be oppoſite with a kinſman, ſurly with ſeruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of ſtate; put thy ſelfe into the tricke of ſingularitie. Shee thus aduiſes thee, that ſighes for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow ſtockings, and wiſh'd to ſee thee euer croſſe garter'd: I ſay remember, goe too, thou art made if thou deſir'ſt to be ſo: If not, let me ſee thee a ſteward ſtill, the fellow of ſeruants, and not woorthie to touch Fortunes ſingers Farewell, Shee that would alter ſeruices with thee, tht fortunate vnhappy daylight and champian diſcouers not more: This is open, I will bee proud, I will reade pollticke Authours, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will waſh off groſſe acquaintance, I will be point deuiſe, the very man. I do not now foole my ſelfe, to let imagination iade mee; for euery reaſon excites to this, that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow ſtockings of late, ſhee did praiſe my legge being croſſe-garter'd, and in this ſhe manifeſts her ſelfe to my loue, & with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to theſe habites of her liking. I thanke my ſtarres, I am happy: I will bee ſtrange, ſtout, in yellow ſtockings, and croſſe Garter'd, euen with the ſwiftneſſe of putting on. Ioue, and my ſtarres be praiſed. Heere is yet a poſtſcript. Thou canſt not chooſe but know who I am. If thou entertainſt my loue, let it appeare in thy ſmiling, thy ſmiles become thee well. Therefore in my preſence ſtill ſmile, deero my ſweete, I prethee. Ioue I thanke thee, I will ſmile, I wil do euery thing that thou wilt haue me.

Exit Fab.

I will not giue my part of this ſport for a penſion of thouſands to be paid from the Sophy.

 To.

I could marry this wench for this deuice.

 An.

So could I too.

 To.

And aske no other dowry with her, but ſuch another ieſt.

 Enter Maria. An.

Nor I neither.

 Fab.

Heere comes my noble gull catcher.

 To.

Wilt thou ſet thy foote o' my necke.

 An.

Or o' mine either?

 To.

Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom thy bondſlaue?

 An.

Ifaith, or I either?

 Tob.

Why, thou haſt put him in ſuch a dreame, that when the image of it leaues him, he muſt run mad.

 Ma.

Nay but ſay true, do's it worke vpon him?

 To.

Like Aqua vite with a Midwife.

 Mar.

If you will then ſee the fruites of the ſport, mark his firſt approach before my Lady: hee will come to her in yellow ſtockings, and 'tis a colour ſhe abhorres, and croſſe garter'd, a faſhion ſhee deteſts: and hee will ſmile vpon her, which will now be ſo vnſuteable to her diſpoſition, being addicted to a melancholly, as ſhee is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil ſee it follow me.

 To.

To the gates of Tartar, thou moſt excellent diuell of wit.

 And.

Ile make one too.

Exeunt. Finis Actus ſecundus
Actus Tertius,
Scaena prima. Enter Ʋiola and Clowne. Vio.

Saue thee Friend and thy Muſick: doſt thou liue by thy Tabor?

 Clo.

No ſir, I liue by the Church.

 Vio.

Art thou a Churchman?

 Clo.

No ſuch matter ſir, I do liue by the Church: For, I do liue at my houſe, and my houſe dooth ſtand by the Church

 Vio.

So thou maiſt ſay the Kings lyes by a begger, if a begger dwell neer him: or the Church ſtands by thy Tabor, if thy Tabor ſtand by the Church.

 Clo.

You haue ſaid ſir: To ſee this age: A ſentence is but a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the wrong ſide may be turn'd outward.

 Vio.

Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with words, may quickely make them wanton.

 Clo.

I would therefore my ſiſter had had no name Sir.

 Vio.

Why man?

 Clo.

Why ſir, her names a word, and to dallie with that word, might make my ſiſter wanton: But indeede, words are very Raſcals, ſince bonds diſgrac'd them.

 Vio.

Thy reaſon man?

 Clo.

Troth ſir, I can yeeld you none without wordes, and wordes are growne ſo falſe, I am loath to proue reaſon with them.

 Vio.

I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'ſt for nothing.

 Clo.

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 inuiſible.

 Ʋio.

Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole?

 Clo.

No indeed ſir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, ſhee will keepe no foole ſir, till ſhe be married, and fooles are as like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Huſbands the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir corrupter of words.

 Vio.

I ſaw thee late at the Count Orſino's.

Clo.

Foolery ſir, does walke about the Orbe like the Sun, it ſhines euery where. I would be ſorry ſir, but the Foole ſhould be as oft with your Maſter, as with my Miſtris: I thinke I ſaw your wiſedome there.

 Vio.

Nay, and thou paſſe vpon me, Ile no more with thee. Hold there's expences for thee.

 Clo.

Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, ſend thee a beard.

 Vi • ▪

By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almoſt ſicke for one, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is thy Lady within?

 Clo

Would not a paire of theſe haue bred ſir?

 Vio.

Yes being kept together, and put to vſe.

 Clo.

I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia ſir, to bring a Creſſida to this Troylus.

Vio.

I vnderſtand you ſir, tis well begg'd.

 Clo.

The matter I hope is not great ſir; begging, but a begger: Creſſida was a begger. My Lady is within ſir. I will conſter 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 ouer-worne.

exit Vio. This fellow is wiſe enough to play the foole, And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit: He muſt obſerue their mood on whom he ieſts, The quality of perſons, and the time: And like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a Wiſe-mans Art: For folly that he wiſely ſhewes, is fit; But wiſemens folly falne, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir Toby and Andrew. To.

Saue you Gentleman.

 Ʋio.

And you ſir.

 And.

Dieu vou guard Monſieur.

Vio.

Et vouz ouſie voſtre ſeruiture.

An.

I hope ſir, you are, and I am yours.

 To.

Will you incounter the houſe, my Neece is deſirous you ſhould enter, if your trade be to her.

 Vio.

I am bound to your Neece ſir, I meane ſhe is the liſt of my voyage.

 To.

Taſte your legges ſir, put them to motion.

 Vio.

My legges do better vnderſtand me ſir, then I vnderſtand what you meane by bidding me taſte my legs.

 To.

I meane to go ſir, to enter.

 Vio.

I will anſwer you with gate and entrance, but we are preuented.

Enter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman.

Moſt excellent accompliſh'd Lady, the heauens raine Odours on you.

 And.

That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel.

 Vio.

My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne moſt pregnant and vouchſafed eare.

 And.

Odours, pregnant, and vouchſafed: Ile get 'em all three already.

 Ol.

Let the Garden doore be ſhut, and leaue mee to my hearing. Giue me your hand ſir.

 Ʋio.

My dutie Madam, and moſt humble ſeruice •

Ol.

What is your name?

 Vio.

Ceſario is your ſeruants name, faire Princeſſe.

 Ol.

My ſeruant ſir? 'Twas neuer merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd complement: y' are ſeruant to the Count Orſino youth.

 Vio.

And he is yours, and his muſt needs be yours: your ſeruants ſeruant, is your ſeruant Madam.

 Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me. Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalfe. Ol. O by your leaue I pray you. I bad you neuer ſpeake againe of him; But would you vndertake another ſuite I had rather heare you, to ſolicit that, Then Muſicke from the ſpheares. Vio.

Deere Lady.

 Ol. Giue me leaue, beſeech you: I did ſend, After the laſt enchantment you did heare, A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuſe My ſelfe, my ſeruant, and I feare me you: Vnder your hard conſtruction muſt I ſit, To force that on you in a ſhamefull cunning Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? Haue you not ſet mine Honor at the ſtake, And baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing Enough is ſhewne, a Cipreſſe, not a boſome, Hides my heart: ſo let me heare you ſpeake. Vio.

I pittie you.

 Ol.

That's a degree to loue.

 Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe That verie oft we pitty enemies. Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to ſmile agen: O world, how apt the poore are to be proud? If one ſhould be a prey, how much the better To fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe? Clocke ſtrikes. The clocke vpbraides me with the waſte of time: Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you, And yet when wit and youth is come to harueſt, your wife is like to reape a proper man: There lies your way, due Weſt. Vio. Then Weſtward hoe: Grace and good diſpoſition attend your Ladyſhip: you'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me: Ol.

Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkſt of me?

 Vio.

That you do thinke you are not what you are.

 Ol.

If I thinke ſo, I thinke the ſame of you.

 Ʋio.

Then thinke you right: I am not what I am.

 Ol.

I would you were, as I would haue you be.

 Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am? I wiſh it might, for now I am your foole. Ol. O what a deale of ſcorne, lookes beautifull? In the contempt and anger of his lip, A murdrous guilt ſhewes not it ſelfe more ſoone, Then loue that would ſeeme hid: Loues night, is noone. Ceſario, by the Roſes of the Spring, By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing, I loue 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; Loue ſought, is good: but giuen vnſought, is better. Ʋio. By innocence I ſweare, and by my youth, I haue one heart, one boſome, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor neuer none Shall miſtris be of it, ſaue I alone. And ſo adieu good Madam, neuer more, Will I my Maſters teares to you deplore. Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayſt moue That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue. Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. And.

No faith, Ile not ſtay a iot longer:

 To.

Thy reaſon deere venom, giue thy reaſon.

 Fab.

You muſt neede • yeelde your reaſon, Sir Andrew?

 And.

Marry I ſaw your Neece do more fauours to the Counts Seruing-man, then euer ſhe beſtow'd vpon mee: I ſaw't i' th Orchard.

 To.

Did ſhe ſee the while, old boy, tell me that.

 And.

As plaine as I ſee you now.

 Fab.

This was a great argument of loue in her toward you.

 And.

S'light; will you make an Aſſe o'me.

 Fab.

I will proue it legitimate ſir, vpon the Oathes of iudgement, and reaſon.

 To.

And they haue beene grand Iurie men, ſince before Noah was a Saylor.

 Fab.

Shee did ſhew fauour to the youth in your ſight, onely to exaſperate you, to awake your dormouſe valour, to put fire in your Heart, and brimſtone in your Liuer: you ſhould then haue accoſted her, and with ſome excellent ieſts, fire-new from the mint, you ſhould haue bangd the youth into dumbeneſſe: this was look'd for at your hand, and this was b • ulkt: the double gilt of this opportunitie you let time waſh off▪ and you are now ſayld into the North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang like an yſickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnleſſe you do redeeme it, by ſome laudable attempt, either of valour or policie.

 And.

And't be any way, it muſt be with Valour, for policie I hate: I had as liefe be a Browniſt, as a Politician.

 To.

Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the baſis of valour. Challenge me the Counts youth to ſight with him hurt him in eleuen places, my Neece ſhall take note of it, and aſſure thy ſelfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world, can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman, then report of valour.

 Fab.

There is no way but this ſir Andrew.

An.

Will either of you beare me a challenge to him?

 To

• o, write it in a martial hand, be curſt and briefe: it is no matter how wittie, ſo it bee eloquent, and full of inuention: taunt hi • with the licenſe of Inke: if thou thou'ſt him ſome thrice, it ſhall not be amiſſe, and as many Lyes, as will lye in thy ſheete of paper, although the ſheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in England, ſet 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle enough in thy inke, though thou write with a Goo • e-pen, no matter: about it.

 And.

Where ſhall I finde you?

 To.

Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.

 Exit Sir Andrew. Fa.

This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby.

To.

I haue beene deere to him lad, ſome two thouſand ſtrong, or ſo.

 Fa.

We ſhall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le not deliuer't.

 To.

Neuer truſt me then: and by all meanes ſtirre on the youth to an anſwer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you finde ſo much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the foote of a flea, Ile eate the reſt of th' anatomy.

 Fab.

And his oppoſit the youth beares in his viſage no great preſage of cruelty.

 Enter Maria. To.

Looke where the youngeſt Wren of mine comes.

 Mar.

If you deſire the ſpleene, and will laughe your ſelues into ſtitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is turned Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no chriſtian that meanes to be ſaued by beleeuing rightly, can euer beleeue ſuch impoſſible paſſages of groſſeneſſe. Hee's in yellow ſtockings.

 To.

And croſſe garter'd?

 Mar.

Moſt villanouſly: like a Pedant that keepes a Schoole i' th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murtherer. He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt, to betray him: He does ſmile his face into more lynes, then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the Indies: you haue not ſeene ſuch a thing as tis: I can hardly forbeare hu • ling things at him, I know my Ladie will ſtrike him: if ſhee doe, hee'l ſmile, and take't for a great fauour.

 To.

Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.

 Exeunt Omnes.
Scaena Tertia. Enter Sebaſtian and Anthonio. Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you, But ſince you make your pleaſure of your paines, I will no further chide you. Ant. I could not ſtay behinde you: my deſire (More ſharpe then filed ſteele) did ſpurre me forth, And not all loue to ſee you (though ſo much As might haue drawne one to a longer voyage) But iealouſie, what might befall your rrauell, Being skilleſſe in theſe parts: which to a ſtranger, Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proue Rough, and vnhoſpitable. My willing loue, The rather by theſe arguments of feare Set forth in your purſuite. Seb. My kinde Anthonio, I can no other anſwer make, but thankes, And thankes: and euer oft good turnes, Are ſhuffel'd off with ſuch vncurrant pay: But were my worth, as is my conſcience firme, You ſhould finde better dealing: what's to do? Shall we go ſee the reliques of this Towne? Ant.

To morrow ſir, beſt firſt go ſee your Lodging?

 Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night I pray you let vs ſatisfie our eyes With the memorials, and the things of fame That do renowne this City. Ant. Would youl'd pardon me: I do not without danger walke theſe ſtreetes. Once in a ſea-fight 'gainſt the Count his gallies, I did ſome ſeruice, of ſuch note indeede, That were I tane heere, it would ſcarſe be anſwer'd. Seb.

Belike you ſlew great number of his people.

 Ant. Th offence is not of ſuch a bloody nature, Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrell Might well haue giuen vs bloody argument: It might haue ſince bene anſwer'd in repaying What we tooke from them, which for Traffiques ſake Moſt of our City did. Onely my ſelfe ſtood out, For which if I be lapſed in this place I ſhall pay deere. Seb.

Do not then walke too open.

 Ant. It doth not fit me: hold ſir, here's my purſe, In the South Suburbes at the Elephant Is beſt to lodge: I will beſpeake our dyet, Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge With viewing of the Towne, there ſhall you haue me. Seb.

Why I your purſe?

 Ant. Haply your eye ſhall light vpon ſome toy You haue deſire to purchaſe: and your ſtore I thinke is not for idle Markets, ſir. Seb. Ile be your purſe-bearer, and leaue you For an houre. Ant.

To th' Elephant.

 Seb.

I do remember.

Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Oliuia and Maria. Ol. I haue ſent after him, he ſayes hee'l come: How ſhall I feaſt him? What beſtow of him? For youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd. I ſpeake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is ſad, and ciuill, And ſuites well for a ſeruant with my fortunes, Where is Maluolio? Mar. He's comming Madame: But in very ſtrange manner. He is ſure poſſeſt Madam. Ol.

Why what's the matter, does he raue?

 Mar.

No Madam, he does nothing but ſmile: your Ladyſhip were beſt to haue ſome guard about you, if hee come, for ſure the man is tainted in's wits.

 Ol. Go call him hither. Enter Maluolio. I am as madde as hee, If ſad and merry madneſſe equall bee. How now Maluolio? Mal.

Sweet Lady, ho, ho.

 Ol.

Smil'ſt thou? I ſent for thee vpon a ſad occaſion.

 Mal. Sad Lady, I could be ſad: This does make ſome obſtruction in the blood: This croſſe-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. Mal. Why how doeſt thou man? What is the matter with thee? Mal.

Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in my legges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds ſhall be executed. I thinke we doe know the ſweet Romane hand.

 Ol.

Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio?

 Mal.

To bed? I ſweet heart, and Ile come to thee.

 Ol.

God comfort thee: Why doſt thou ſmile ſo, and kiſſe thy hand ſo oft?

 Mar.

How do you Maluolio?

 Maluo. At your requeſt: Yes Nightingales anſwere Dawes. Mar.

Why appeare you with this ridiculous boldneſſe before my Lady.

 Mal.

Be not afraid of greatneſſe: 'twas well writ.

 Ol.

What meanſt thou by that Maluolio?

 Mal.

Some are borne great.

 Ol.

Ha?

 Mal.

Some atcheeue greatneſſe.

 Ol.

What ſayſt thou?

 Mal.

And ſome haue greatneſſe thruſt vpon them.

 Ol.

Heauen reſtore thee.

 Mal.

Remember who commended thy yellow ſtockings.

 Ol.

Thy yellow ſtockings?

 Mal.

And wiſh'd to ſee thee croſſe garter'd.

 Ol.

Croſſe garter'd?

 Mal.

Go too, thou art made, if thou deſir'ſt to be ſo.

 Ol.

Am I made?

 Mal.

If not, let me ſee thee a ſeruant ſtill.

 Ol.

Why this is verie Midſommer madneſſe.

 Enter Seruant. Ser.

Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count Orſino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: he attends your Ladyſhips pleaſure.

 Ol. Ile come to him.

Good Maria, let this fellow be look • d too. Where's my Coſine Toby, let ſome of my people haue a ſpeciall care of him, I would not haue him miſcarrie for the halfe of my Dowry.

exit Mal.

Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worſe man then ſir Toby to looke to me. This concurres directly with the Letter, ſhe ſends him on purpoſe, that I may appeare ſtubborne to him: for ſhe incites me to that in the Letter. Caſt thy humble ſlough ſayes ſhe: be oppoſite with a Kinſman, ſurly with ſeruants, let thy tongue langer with arguments of ſtate, put thy ſelfe into the tricke of ſingularity: and conſequently ſetts downe the manner how: as a ſad face, a reuerend carriage, a ſlow tongue, in the habite of ſome Sir of note, and ſo foorth. I haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make me thankefull. And when ſhe went away now, let this Fellow be look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after my degree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither, that no dramme of a ſcruple, no ſcruple of a ſcruple, no obſtacle, no incredulous or vnſafe circumſtance: What can be ſaide? Nothing that can be, can come betweene me, and the full proſpect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

 Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria. To.

Which way is hee in the name of ſanctity. If all the diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himſelfe poſſeſt him, yet Ile ſpeake to him.

 Fab. Heere he is, heere he is: how iſt with you ſir? How iſt with you man? Mal.

Go off, I diſcard you: let me enioy my priuate: go off.

 Mar.

Lo, how hollow the ſ • end ſpeakes within him; did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to haue a care of him.

 Mal.

Ah ha, does ſhe ſo?

 To.

Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee muſt deale gently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio? How iſt with you? What man, defie the diuell: conſider, he's an enemy to mankinde.

 Mal.

Do you know what you ſay?

 Mar.

La you, and you ſpeake ill of the diuell, how he takes it at heart Pray God he be not bewitch'd.

 Fab.

Carry his water to th' wiſe woman.

 Mar.

Marry and it ſhall be done to morrow morning if I liue. My Lady would not looſe him for more then ile ſay.

 Mal.

How now miſtris?

 Mar.

Oh Lord.

 To.

Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe you not ſee you moue him? Let me alone with him.

 Fa.

No way but gentleneſſe, gently, gently: the Fiend is rough, and will not be roughly vs'd.

 To.

Why how now my bawcock? how doſt yu chuck?

 Mal.

Sir.

 To.

I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for grauity to play at cherrie pit with ſathan Hang him foul Col • i • r.

 Mar.

Get him to ſay his prayers, good ſir Toby gette him to pray.

 Mal.

My prayers Minx.

 Mar.

No I warrant you, he will not heare of godlyneſſe.

 Mal.

Go hang your ſelues all: you are ydle ſhallowe things, I am not of your element, you ſhall knowe more heereafter.

Exit To.

Iſt poſsible?

 Fa.

If this were plaid vpon a ſtage now, I could condemne it as an improbable fiction.

 To

His very genius hath taken the infection of the deuice man.

 Mar.

Nay purſue him now, leaſt the deuice take ayre, and taint.

 Fa.

Why we ſhall make him mad indeede.

 Mar.

The houſe will be the quieter.

 To.

Come, wee'l haue him in a darke room & bound. My Neece is already in the beleefe that he's mad: we may carry it thus for our pleaſure, and his pennance, til our very paſtime tyred out of breath, prompt vs to haue mercy on him: at which time, we wil bring the deuice to the bar and crowne thee for a finder of madmen: but ſee, but ſee.

 Enter Sir Andrew. Fa.

More matter for a May morning.

 An.

Heere's the Challenge, reade it: I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.

 Fab.

Iſt ſo ſawcy?

 And.

I, iſt? I warrant him: do but read.

 To. Giue me. Youth, whatſoeuer thou art, thou art but a ſcuruy fellow. Fa.

Good, and valiant.

 To.

Wonder not, nor admire not in thy minde why I doe call thee ſo, for I will ſhew thee no reaſon for't.

Fa.

A good note, that keepes you from the blow of ye Law

 To.

Thou comſt to the Lady Oliuia, and in my ſight ſhe vſes thee kindly: but thou lyeſt in thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for.

Fa.

Very breefe, and to exceeding good ſence-leſſe.

 To.

I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chance to kill me.

Fa.

Good.

 To.

Thou kilſt me like a rogue and a villaine.

Fa.

Still you keepe o' th windie ſide of the Law: good.

 Tob.

Fartheewell, and God haue mercie vpon one of our ſoules. He may haue mercie vpon mine, but my hope is better, and ſo looke to thy ſelfe. Thy friend as thou vſeſt him, & thy ſworne enemie, Andrew Ague-cheeke.

 To. If this Letter moue him not, his legges cannot: Ile giu't him. Mar.

You may haue verie ſit occaſion fot't: he is now in ſome commerce with my Ladie, and will by and by depart.

 To.

Go ſir Andrew: ſcout mee for him at the corner of the Orchard like a bum-Baylie: ſo ſoone as euer thou ſeeſt him, draw, and as thou draw'ſt, ſweare horrible: for • t comes to paſſe oft, that a terrible oath, with a ſwaggering accent ſharpely twang'd off, giues manhoode more approbation, then euer proofe it ſelfe would haue earn'd him. Away.

 And.

Nay let me alone for ſwearing.

Exit To.

Now will not I deliuer his Letter: for the behauiour of the yong Gentleman, giues him out to be of good capacity, and breeding: his employment betweene his Lord and my Neece, confirmes no leſſe. Therefore, this Letter being ſo excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth: he will finde it comes from a Clodde-pole. But ſir, I will deliuer his Challenge by word of mouth; ſet vpon Ague-cheeke a notable report of valor, and driue the Gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receiue it) into a moſt hideous opinion of his rage, skill, furie, and impetuoſitie. This will ſo fright them both, that they wil kill one another by the looke, like Cockatrices.

 Enter Oliuia and Ʋiola. Fab.

Heere he comes with your Neece, giue them way till he take leaue, and preſently after him.

 To

I wil meditate the while vpon ſome horrid meſſage for a Challenge.

 Ol. I haue ſaid too much vnto a hart of ſtone, And laid mine honour too vnchary on't: There's ſomething in me that reproues my fault: But ſuch a head-ſtrong potent fault it is, That it but mockes reproofe. Vio. With the ſame hauiour that your paſſion beares, Goes on my Maſters greefes. Ol. Heere, weare this Iewell for me, tis my picture: Refuſe it not, it hath no tongue, to vex you: And I beſeech you come againe to morrow. What ſhall you aske of me that Ile deny, That honour (ſau'd) may vpon asking giue. Ʋio.

Nothing but this, your true loue for my maſter.

 Ol. How with mine honor may I giue him that, Which I haue giuen to you. Vio

I will acquit you.

 Ol. Well▪ come againe to morrow: far-thee-well, A Fiend like thee might beare my ſoule to hell. Enter Toby and Fabian. To.

Gentleman, God ſaue thee.

 Vio.

And you ſir.

 To.

That defence thou haſt, betake the too't: of what nature the wrongs are thou haſt done him, I knowe not: but thy intercepter full of deſpight, bloody as the Hunter, attends thee at the Orchard end: diſmount thy tucke, be yare in thy preparation, for thy aſſaylant is quick, skilfull, and deadly.

 Vio.

You miſtake ſir I am ſure, no man hath any quarrell to me: my remembrance is very free and cleere from any image of offence done to any man.

 To.

You'l finde it otherwiſe I aſſure you: therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your gard: for your oppoſite hath in him what youth, ſtrength, skill, and wrath, can furniſh man withall.

 Vio.

I pray you ſir what is he?

 To.

He is knight dubb'd with vnhatch'd Rapier, and on carpet conſideration, but he is a diuell in priuate brall, ſoules and bodies hath he diuorc'd three, and his incenſement at this moment is ſo implacable, that ſatisfaction can be none, but by pangs of death and ſepulcher: Hob, nob, is his word: giu't or take't.

 Vio.

I will returne againe into the houſe, and deſire ſome conduct of the Lady. I am no fighter, I haue heard of ſome kinde of men, that put quarrells purpoſely on others, to taſte their valour: belike this is a man of that quirke.

 To.

Sir, no: his indignation deriues it ſelfe out of a very computent iniurie, therefore get you on, and giue him his deſire. Backe you ſhall not to the houſe, vnleſſe you vndertake that with me, which with as much ſafetie you might anſwer him: therefore on, or ſtrippe your ſword ſtarke naked: for meddle you muſt that's certain, or forſweare to weare iron about you.

 Vio.

This is as vnciuill as ſtrange. I beſeech you doe 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.

 To.

I will doe ſo. Signiour Fabian, ſtay you by this Gentleman, till my returne.

Exit Toby. Vio.

Pray you ſir, do you know of this matter?

 Fab.

I know the knight is incenſt againſt you, euen to a mortall arbitrement, but nothing of the circumſtance more.

 Vio.

I beſeech you what manner of man is he?

 Fab.

Nothing of that wonderfull promiſe to read him by his forme, as you are like to finde him in the proofe of his valour. He is indeede ſir, the moſt skilfull, bloudy, & fatall oppoſite that you could poſsibly haue found in anie part of Illyria: will you walke towards him, I will make your peace with him, if I can.

 Vio.

I ſhall bee much bound to you for't: I am one, that had rather go with ſir Prieſt, then ſir knight: I care not who knowes ſo much of my mettle.

Exeunt. Enter Toby and Andrew. To.

Why man hee • s a verie diuell, I haue not ſeen ſuch a firago: I had a paſſe with him, rapier, ſcabberd, and all: and he giues me the ſtucke in with ſuch a mortall motion that it is ineuitable: and on the anſwer, he payes you as ſurely, as your feete hits the ground they ſtep on. They ſay, he has bin Fencer to the Sophy.

 And.

Pox on't, Ile not meddle with him.

 To. I but he will not now be pacified, Fabian can ſcarſe hold him yonder. An.

Plague on't, and I thought he had beene vallant, and ſo cunning in Fence, I'de haue ſeene him damn'd ere I'de haue challeng'd him. Let him let the matter ſlip, and Ile giue him my horſe, gray Capilet.

 To.

Ile make the motion: ſtand heere, make a good ſhew on't, this ſhall end without the perdition of ſoules, marry Ile ride your horſe as well as I ride you.

Enter Fabian and Viola.

I haue his horſe to take vp the quarrell, I haue perſwaded him the youths a diuell.

 Fa.

He is as horribly conceited of him: and pants, & lookes pale, as if a Beare were at his heeles.

 To.

There's no remedie ſir, he will fight with you for's oath ſake: marrie hee hath better bethought him of his quarrell, and hee findes that now ſcarſe to bee worth talking of: therefore draw for the ſupportance of his vowe, he proteſts he will not hurt you.

 Vio.

Pray God defend me: a little thing would make me tell them how much I lacke of a man.

 Fab.

Giue ground if you ſee him furious.

 To.

Come ſir Andrew, there's no remedie, the Gentleman will for his honors ſake haue one bowt with you: he cannot by the Duello auoide it: but hee has promiſed me, as he is a Gentleman and a Soldiour, he will not hurt you. Come on, too't.

 And.

Pray God he keepe his oath.

 Enter Antonio. Vio.

I do aſſure you tis againſt my will.

 Ant. Put vp your ſword: if this yong Gentleman Haue done offence, I take the fault on me: If you offend him, I for him defie you. To.

You ſir? Why, what are you?

 Ant. One ſir, that for his loue dares yet do more Then you haue heard him brag to you he will. To.

Nay, if you be an vndertaker, I am for you.

 Enter Officers. Fab.

O good ſir Toby hold: heere come the Officers.

 To.

Ile be with you anon.

 Vio.

Pray ſir, put your ſword vp if you pleaſe.

 And.

Marry will I ſir: and for that I promis'd you Ile be as good as my word. Hee will beare you eaſily, and raines well.

 1. Off.

This is the man, do thy Office.

 2 Off.

Anthonio, I arreſt thee at the ſuit of Count Orſino

An.

You do miſtake me ſir.

 1. Off. No ſir, no iot: I know your fauour well: Though now you haue no ſea-cap on your head: Take him away, he knowes I know him well. Ant. I muſt obey. This comes with ſeeking you: But there's no remedie, I ſhall anſwer it: What will you do: now my neceſſitie Makes me to aske you for my purſe. It greeues mee Much more, for what I cannot do for you, Then what befals my ſelfe: you ſtand amaz'd, But be of comfort. 2 Off.

Come ſir away.

 Ant.

I muſt entreat of you ſome of that money.

 Vio. What money ſir? For the fayre kindneſſe you haue ſhew'd me heere, And part being prompted by your preſent trouble, Out of my leane and low ability Ile lend you ſome • hing: my hauing is not much, Ile make diuiſion of my preſent with you: Hold, there's halfe my Coffer. Ant. Will you deny me now, Iſt poſſible that my deſerts to you Can lacke perſwaſion. Do not tempt my miſery, Leaſt that it make me ſo vnſound a man As to vpbraid you with thoſe kindneſſes That I haue done for you. Vio. I know of none, Nor know I you by voyce, or any feature: I hate ingratitude more in a man, Then lying, vainneſſe, babling drunkenneſſe, Or any taint of vice, whoſe ſtrong corruption Inhabites our fraile blood. Ant.

Oh heauens themſelues.

 2. Off.

Come ſir, I pray you go.

 Ant. Let me ſpeake a little. This youth that you ſee heere, I ſnatch'd one halfe out of the iawes of death, Releeu'd him with ſuch ſanctitie of Ioue; And to his image, which me thought did promiſe Moſt venerable worth, did I deuotion. 1. Off.

What's that to vs, the time goes by: Away.

 Ant. But oh, how vilde an idoll proues this God: Thou haſt Sebaſtian done good feature, ſhame. In Nature, there's no blemiſh but the minde: None can be call'd deform'd, but the vnkinde. Vertue is beauty, but the beauteous euill Are empty trunkes, ore-flouriſh'd by the deuill. 1. Off. The man growes mad, away with him: Come, come ſir. Ant.

Leade me on.

Exit Vio. Me thinkes his words do from ſuch paſsion flye That he beleeues himſelfe, ſo do not I: Proue true imagination, oh proue true, That I deere brother, be now tane for you. To.

Come hither Knight, come hither Fabian: Weel whiſper ore a couplet or two of moſt ſage ſawes.

 Vio. He nam'd Sebaſtian: I my brother know Yet liuing in my glaſſe: euen ſuch, and ſo In fauour was my Brother, and he went Still in this faſhion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate: Oh if it proue, Tempeſts are kinde, and ſalt waues freſh in loue. To.

A very diſhoneſt paltry boy, and more a coward then a Hare, his diſhoneſty appeares, in leauing his frend heere in neceſſity, and denying him: and for his cowardſhip aske Fabian.

Fab.

A Coward, a moſt deuout Coward, religious in it.

 And,

Slid Ile after him againe, and beate him.

 To.

Do, cuffe him ſoundly, but neuer draw thy ſword

 And.

And I do not.

 Fab.

Come, let's ſee the euent.

 To.

I dare lay any money, twill be nothing yet.

Exit
Actus Quartus,
Scaena prima. Enter Sebaſtian and Clowne. Clo.

Will you make me beleeue, that I am not ſent for you?

 Seb. Go too, go too, thou art a fooliſh fellow, Let me be cleere of thee. Clo.

Well held our yfaith: No, I do not know you, nor I am not ſent to you by my Lady, to bid you come ſpeake with her: nor your name is not Maſter C • ſario, nor this is not my noſe neyther: Nothing that is ſo, is ſo.

 Seb.

I prethee vent thy folly ſome-where elſe, thou know'ſt not me.

 Clo.

Vent my folly: He has heard that word of ſome great man, and now applyes it to a foole. Vent my folly: I am affraid this great lubber the World will proue a Cockney: I prethee now vngird thy ſtrangenes, and tell me what I ſhall vent to my Lady? Shall I vent to hir that thou art comming?

 Seb.

I prethee fooliſh greeke depart from me, there's money for thee, if you tarry longer, I ſhall giue worſe paiment.

 Clo.

By my troth thou haſt an open hand: theſe Wiſemen that giue fooles money, get themſelues a good report, after foureteene yeares purchaſe.

 Enter Andrew, Toby, and Fabian. And.

Now ſir, haue I met you again: ther's for you.

 Seb. Why there's for thee, and there, and there, Are all the people mad? To

Hold ſir, or Ile throw your dagger ore the houſe.

 Clo.

This will I tell my Lady ſtraight, I would not be in ſome of your coats for two pence.

 To.

Come on ſir, hold.

 An.

Nay let him alone, Ile go another way to worke with him: Ile haue an action of Battery againſt him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I ſtroke him firſt, yet it's no matter for that.

 Seb.

Let go thy hand.

 To.

Come ſir, I will not let you go. Come my yong ſouldier put vp your yron: you are well fleſh'd: Come on.

 Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldſt yu now? If thou dar'ſt tempt me further, draw thy ſword. To.

What, what? Nay then I muſt haue an Ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

 Enter Oliuia. Ol.

Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold.

 To.

Madam.

 Ol. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch, Fit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues, Where manners nere were preach'd: out of my ſight. Be not offended, deere Ceſario: Rudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend, Let thy fayre wiſedome, not thy paſsion ſway In this vnciuill, and vniuſt extent Againſt thy peace. Go with me to my houſe, And heare thou there how many fruitleſſe prankes This Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou thereby Mayſt ſmile at this: Thou ſhalt not chooſe but goe: Do not denie, beſhrew his ſoule for mee, He ſtarted one poore heart of mine, in thee. Seb. What relliſh is in this? How runs the ſtreame? Or I am mad, or elſe this is a dreame: Let fancie ſtill my ſenſe in Lethe ſleepe, If it be thus to dreame, ſtill let me ſleepe. Ol.

Nay come I prethee, would thoud'ſt be rul'd by me

 Seb.

Madam, I will.

 Ol.

O ſay ſo, and ſo be.

Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Maria and Clowne. Mar.

Nay, I prethee put on this gown, & this beard, make him beleeue thou art ſir Topas the Curate, doe it quickly. Ile call ſir Toby the whilſt.

 Clo.

Well, Ile put it on, and I will diſſemble my ſelfe in't, and I would I were the firſt that euer diſſembled in ſuch a gowne. I am not tall enough to become the function well, nor leane enough to bee thought a good Studient: but to be ſaid an honeſt man and a good houſkeeper goes as fairely, as to ſay, a carefull man, & a great ſcholler. The Competitors enter.

 Enter Toby. To.

Ioue bleſſe thee M. Parſon.

 Clo.

Bonos dies ſir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prage that neuer ſaw pen and inke, very wittily ſayd to a Neece of King Gorbodacke, that that is, is: ſo I being M. Parſon, am M. Parſon; for what is that, but that? and is, but is?

 To.

To him • r Topas.

Clow.

What hoa, I ſay, Peace in this priſon.

 To.

The knaue counterfets well: a good knaue.

 Maluolio within. Mal.

Who cals there?

 Clo.

Sir Topas the Curate, who comes to viſit Maluolio the Lunaticke.

 Mal.

Sir Topas, ſir Topas, good ſir Topas goe to my Ladie.

 Clo.

Out hyperbolicall fiend, how vexeſt thou this man? Talkeſt thou nothing but of Ladies?

 Tob.

Well ſaid M. Parſon.

 Mal.

Sir Topas, neuer was man thus wronged, good ſir Topas do not thinke I am mad: they haue layde mee heere in hideous darkneſſe.

 Clo.

Fye, thou diſhoneſt ſathan: I call thee by the moſt modeſt termes, for I am one of thoſe gentle ones, that will vſe the diuell himſelfe with curteſie: ſayſt thou that houſe is darke?

 Mal.

As hell ſir Topas.

Clo.

Why it hath bay Windowes tranſparant as baricadoes, and the cleere ſtores toward the South north, are as luſtrous as Ebony: and yet complaineſt thou of obſtruction?

 Mal.

I am not mad ſir Topas, I ſay to you this houſe is darke.

 Clo.

Madman thou erreſt: I ſay there is no darkneſſe but ignorance, in which thou art more puzel'd then the Aegyptians in their fogge.

 Mal.

I ſay this houſe is as darke as Ignorance, thogh Ignorance were as darke as hell; and I ſay there was neuer man thus abus'd, I am no more madde then you are, make the triall of it in any conſtant queſtion.

 Clo.

What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning Wilde-fowle?

 Mal.

That the ſoule of our grandam, might happily inhabite a bird.

 Clo.

What thinkſt thou of his opinion?

 Mal.

I thinke nobly of the ſoule, and no way aproue his opinion.

 Clo.

Fare thee well: remaine thou ſtill in darkeneſſe, thou ſhalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow of thy wits, and feare to kill a Woodcocke, leſt thou diſpoſſeſſe the ſoule of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

 Mal.

Sir Topas, ſir Topas.

Tob.

My moſt exquiſite ſir Topas.

Clo.

Nay I am for all waters.

 Mar.

Thou mightſt haue done this without thy berd and gowne, he ſees thee not.

 To.

To him in thine owne voyce, and bring me word how thou findſt him: I would we were well ridde of this knauery. If he may bee conueniently deliuer'd, I would he were, for I am now ſo farre in offence with my Niece, that I cannot purſue with any ſafety this ſport the vppeſhot. Come by and by to my Chamber.

Exit Clo.

Hey Robin, iolly Robin, tell me how thy Lady does.

 Mal.

Foole.

 Clo.

My Lady is vnkind, perdie.

Mal.

Foole.

 Clo.

Alas why is ſhe ſo?

 Mal.

Foole, I ſay.

 Clo.

She loues another. Who calles, ha?

 Mal.

Good foole, as euer thou wilt deſerue well at my hand, helpe me to a Candle, and pen, inke, and paper: as I am a Gentleman, I will liue to bee thankefull to thee for't.

 Clo.

M. Maluolio?

 Mal.

I good Foole.

 Clo.

Alas ſir, how fell you beſides your fiue witts?

 Mall.

Foole, there was neuer man ſo notoriouſlie abus'd: I am as well in my wits (foole) as thou art.

 Clo.

But as well: then you are mad indeede, if you be no better in your wits then a foole.

 Mal.

They haue heere propertied me: keepe mee in darkeneſſe, ſend Miniſters to me, Aſſes, and doe all they can to face me out of my wits.

 Clo.

Aduiſe you what you ſay: the Miniſter is heere. Maluolio, Maluolio, thy wittes the heauens reſtore: endeauour thy ſelfe to ſleepe, and leaue thy vaine bibble babble.

 Mal.

Sir Topas.

Clo. Maintaine 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. Mal.

Foole, foole, foole I ſay.

 Clo.

Alas ſir be patient. What ſay you ſir, I am ſhent for ſpeaking to you.

 Mal.

Good foole, helpe me to ſome light, and ſome paper, I tell thee I am as well in my wittes, as any man in Illyria.

 Clo.

Well-a-day, that you were ſir.

 Mal.

By this hand I am: good foole, ſome inke, paper, and light: and conuey what I will ſet downe to my Lady: it ſhall aduantage thee more, then euer the bearing of Letter did.

 Clo.

I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you not mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit.

 Mal.

Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true.

 Clo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I ſee his brains I will fetch you light, and paper, and inke. Mal. Foole, Ile requite it in the higheſt degree: I prethee be gone. Clo. I am gone ſir, and anon ſir, Ile be with you againe: In a trice, like to the old vice, your neede to ſuſtaine. Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath, cries ah ha, to the diuell: Like a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad, Adieu good man diuell. Exit
Scaena Tertia. Enter Sebaſtian. This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne, This pearle ſhe gaue me, I do feel't, and ſee't, And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madneſſe. Where's Anthonio then, I could not finde him at the Elephant, Yet there he was, and there I found this credite, That he did range the towne to ſeeke me out, His councell now might do me golden ſeruice, For though my ſoule diſputes well with my ſence, That this may be ſome error, but no madneſſe, Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune, So farre exceed all inſtance, all diſcourſe, That I am readie to diſtruſt mine eyes, And wrangle with my reaſon that perſwades me To any other truſt, but that I am mad, Or elſe the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere ſo, She could not ſway her houſe, command her followers, Take, and giue backe affayres, and their diſpatch, With ſuch a ſmooth, diſcreet, and ſtable bearing As I perceiue ſhe do's: there's ſomething in't That is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes. Enter Oliuia, and Prieſt. Ol. Blame not this haſte of mine: if you meane well Now go with me, and with this holy man Into the Chantry by: there before him, And vnderneath that conſecrated roofe, Plight me the full aſſurance of your faith, That my moſt iealious, and too doubtfull ſoule May liue at peace. He ſhall conceale it, Whiles you are willing it ſhall come to note, What time we will our celebration keepe According to my birth, what do you ſay? Seb. Ile follow this good man, and go with you, And hauing ſworne truth, euer will be true. Ol. Then lead the way good father, & heauens ſo ſhine, That they may fairely note this acte of mine. Exeunt.
Finis Actus Quartus.
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima. Enter Clowne and Fabian. Fab.

Now as thou lou'ſt me, let me ſee his Letter.

 Clo.

Good M. Fabian, grant me another requeſt.

 Fab.

Any thing.

 Clo.

Do not deſire to ſee this Letter.

 Fab.

This is to giue a dogge, and in recompence deſire my dogge againe.

 Enter Duke, Ʋiola, Curio, and Lords. Duke.

Belong you to the Lady Oliuia, friends?

 Clo.

I ſir, we are ſome of her trappings.

 Duke.

I know thee well: how doeſt thou my good Fellow?

 Clo.

Truely ſir, the better for my foes, and the worſe for my friends.

 Du.

Iuſt the contrary: the better for thy friends.

 Clo.

No ſir, the worſe.

 Du.

How can that be?

 Clo.

Marry ſir, they praiſe me, and make an aſſe of me, now my foes tell me plainly, I am an Aſſe: ſo that by my foes ſir, I profit in the knowledge of my ſelfe, and by my friends I am abuſed: ſo that concluſions to be as kiſſes, if your foure negatiues make your two affirmatiues, why then the worſe for my friends, and the better for my foes.

 Du.

Why this is excellent.

 Clo.

By my troth ſir, no: though it pleaſe you to be one of my friends.

 Du.

Thou ſhalt not be the worſe for me, there's gold.

 Clo.

But that it would be double dealing ſir, I would you could make it another.

 Du.

O you giue me ill counſell.

 Clo.

Put your grace in your pocket ſir, for this once, and let your fleſh and blood obey it.

 Du.

Well, I will be ſo much a ſinner to be a double dealer: there's another.

 Clo.

Primo, ſecundo, tertio, is a good play, and the olde ſaying is, the third payes for all: the triplex ſir, is a good tripping meaſure, or the belles of S. Bennet ſir, may put you in minde, one, two, three.

 Du.

You can foole no more money out of mee 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.

 Clo.

Marry ſir, lullaby to your bountie till I come agen. I go ſir, but I would not haue you to thinke, that my deſire of hauing is the ſinne of couetouſneſſe: but as you ſay ſir, let your bounty take a nappe, I will awake it anon.

Exit Enter Anthonio and Officers. Vio.

Here comes the man ſir, that did reſcue mee.

 Du. That face of his I do remember well, yet when I ſaw it laſt, it was beſmear'd As blacke as Vulcan, in the ſmoake of warre: A bawbling Veſſell was he Captaine of, For ſhallow draught and bulke vnprizable, With which ſuch ſcathfull grapple did he make, With the moſt noble bottome of our Fleete, That very enuy, and the tongue of loſſe Cride fame and honor on him: What's the matter? 1 Offi. Orſino, this is that Anthonio That tooke the Phoenix, and her fraught from Candy, And this is he that did the Tiger boord, When your yong Nephew Titus loſt his legge; Heere in the ſtreets, deſperate of ſhame and ſtate, In priuate brabble did we apprehend him. Ʋio. He did me kindneſſe ſir, drew on my ſide, But in concluſion put ſtrange ſpeech vpon me, I know not what 'twas, but diſtraction. Du. Notable Pyrate, thou ſalt-water Theefe, What fooliſh boldneſſe brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou in termes ſo bloudie, and ſo deere Haſt made thine enemies? Ant. Orſino: Noble ſir, Be pleas'd that I ſhake off theſe names you giue mee: Anthonio neuer yet was Theefe, or Pyrate, Though I confeſſe, on baſe and ground enough Orſino's enemie. A witchcraft drew me hither: That moſt ingratefull boy there by your ſide, From the rude ſeas enrag'd and foamy mouth Did I redeeme: a wracke paſt hope he was: His life I gaue him, and did thereto adde My loue without retention, or reſtraint, All his in dedication. For his ſake, Did I expoſe my ſelfe (pure for his loue) Into the danger of this aduerſe Towne, 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 twentie yeeres remoued thing While one would winke: denide me mine owne purſe, Which I had recommended to his vſe, Not halfe an houre before. Vio.

How can this be?

 Du.

When came he to this Towne?

 Ant. To day my Lord: and for three months before, No intrim, not a minutes vacancie, Both day and night did we keepe companie. Enter Oliuia and attendants. Du. Heere comes the Counteſſe, now heauen walkes on earth: But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madneſſe, Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee, But more of that anon. Take him aſide. Ol. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue, Wherein Oliuia may ſeeme ſeruiceable? Ceſario, you do not keepe promiſe with me. Vio.

Madam:

 Du.

Gracious Oliuia.

Ol.

What do you ſay Ceſario? Good my Lord.

 Ʋio.

My Lord would ſpeake, my dutie huſhes me.

 Ol. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord, It is as fat and fulſome to mine eare As howling after Muſicke. Du.

Still ſo cruell?

 Ol.

Still ſo conſtant Lord.

 Du. What to peruerſeneſſe? you vnciuill Ladie To whoſe ingrate, and vnauſpicious Altars My ſoule the faithfull'ſt offrings haue breath'd out That ere deuotion tender'd. What ſhall I do? Ol

Euen what it pleaſe my Lord, that ſhal becom him

 Du. Why ſhould I not, (had I the heart to do it) Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death Kill what I loue: (a ſauage iealouſie, That ſometime ſauours nobly) but heare me this: Since you to non-regardance caſt my faith, And that I partly know the inſtrument That ſcrewes me from my true place in your fauour: Liue you the Marble-breſted Tirant ſtill. But this your Minion, whom I know you loue, And whom, by heauen I ſweare, I tender deerely, Him will I teare out of that cruell eye, Where he ſits crowned in his maſters ſpight. Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in miſchiefe: Ile ſacrifice the Lambe that I do loue, To ſpight a Rauens heart within a Doue. Ʋio. And I moſt iocund, apt, and willinglie, To do you reſt, a thouſand deaths would dye. Ol.

Where goes Ceſario?

Vio. After him I loue, More then I loue theſe eyes, more then my life, More by all mores, then ere I ſhall loue wife. If I do feigne, you witneſſes aboue Puniſh my life, for tainting of my loue. Ol.

Aye me deteſted, how am I beguil'd?

 Ʋio.

Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?

 Ol. Haſt thou forgot thy ſelfe? Is it ſo long? Call forth the holy Father. Du.

Come, away.

 Ol.

Whether my Lord? Ceſario, Husband, ſtay.

 Du.

Husband?

 Ol.

I Husband. Can he that deny?

 Du.

Her husband, ſirrah?

 Vio.

No my Lord, not I.

 Ol. Alas, it is the baſeneſſe of thy feare, That makes thee ſtrangle thy propriety: Feare not Ceſario, take thy fortunes vp, 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 reuerence Heere to vnfold, though lately we intended To keepe in darkeneſſe, what occaſion now Reueales before 'tis ripe: what thou doſt know Hath newly paſt, betweene this youth, and me. Prieſt. A Contract of eternall bond of loue, Confirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands, Atteſted by the holy cloſe of lippes, Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings, And all the Ceremonie of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my teſtimony: Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my graue I haue trauail'd but two houres. Du. 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 quickely grow, That thine owne trip ſhall be thine ouerthrow: Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feete, Where thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet. Vio.

My Lord, I do proteſt.

 Ol. O do not ſweare, Hold little faith, though thou haſt too much feare. Enter Sir Andrew. And.

For the loue of God a Surgeon, ſend one preſently to ſir Toby.

Ol.

What's the matter?

 And.

H'as broke my head a-croſſe, and has giuen Sir Toby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God your helpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home.

 Ol.

Who has done this ſir Andrew?

 And.

The Counts Gentleman, one Ceſario: we tooke him for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell incardinate.

 Du.

My Gentleman Ceſario?

 And.

Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my head for nothing, and that that I did, I was ſet on to do't by ſir Toby.

Vio. Why do you ſpeake to me, I neuer hurt you: you drew your ſword vpon me without cauſe, But I beſpake you faire, and hurt you not. Enter Toby and Clowne. And.

If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurt me: I thinke you ſet nothing by a bloody Coxecombe. Heere comes ſir Toby halting, you ſhall heare more: but if he had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd you other gates then he did.

 Du.

How now Gentleman? how iſt with you?

 To. That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't: Sot, didſt ſee Dicke Surgeon, ſot? Clo.

O he's drunke ſir Toby an houre agone: his eyes were ſet at eight i' th morning.

 To.

Then he's a Rogue, and a paſſy meaſures panyn: I hate a drunken rogue.

 Ol.

Away with him? Who hath made this hauocke with them?

 And.

Ile helpe you ſir Toby, becauſe we'll be dreſt together.

 To.

Will you helpe an Aſſe-head, and a coxcombe, & a knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull?

 Ol.

Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd too.

 Enter Sebaſtian. Seb. I am ſorry Madam I haue hurt your kinſman: But had it beene the brother of my blood, I muſt haue done no leſſe with wit and ſafety. You throw a ſtrange regard vpon me, and by that I do perceiue it hath offended you: Pardon me (ſweet one) euen for the vowes We made each other, but ſo late ago. Du. One face, one voice, one habit, and two perſons, A naturall Perſpectiue, that is, and is not. Seb. Anthonio: O my deere Anthonio, How haue the houres rack'd, and tortur'd me, Since I haue loſt thee? Ant.

Sebaſtian are you?

 Seb.

Fear'ſt thou that Anthonio?

 Ant. How haue you made diuiſion of your ſelfe, An apple cleft in two, is not more twin Then theſe two creatures. Which is Sebaſtian? Ol.

Moſt wonderfull.

 Seb. Do I ſtand there? I neuer had a brother: Nor can there be that Deity in my nature Of heere, and euery where. I had a ſiſter, Whom the blinde waues and ſurges haue deuour'd: Of charity, what kinne are you to me? What Countreyman? What name? What Parentage? Ʋio. Of Meſſaline: Sebaſtian was my Father, Such a Sebaſtian was my brother too: So went he ſuited to his watery tombe: If ſpirits can aſſume both forme and ſuite, You come to fright vs. Seb. A ſpirit I am indeed, But am in that dimenſion groſſely clad, Which from the wombe I did participate. Were you a woman, a • the reſt goes euen, I ſhould my teares let fall vpon your cheeke, And ſay, thrice welcome drowned Viola. Vio.

My father had a moale vpon his brow.

 Seb.

And ſo had mine.

 Vio. And dide that day when Viola from her birth Had numbred thirteene yeares. Seb. O that record is liuely in my ſoule, He finiſhed indeed his mortall acte That day that made my ſiſter thirteene yeares. Vio. If nothing lets to make vs happie both, But this my maſculine vſurp'd attyre: Do not embrace me, till each circumſtance, Of place, time, fortune, do co-here and iumpe That I am Viola, which to confirme, Ile bring you to a Captaine in this Towne, Where lye my maiden weeds: by whoſe gentle helpe, I was preſeru'd to ſerue this Noble Count: All the occurrence of my fortune ſince Hath beene betweene this Lady, and this Lord. Seb. So comes it Lady, you haue beene miſtooke: But Nature to her bias drew in that. You would haue bin contracted to a Maid, Nor are you therein (by my life) deceiu'd, You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. Du. Be not amaz'd, right noble is his blood: If this be ſo, as yet the glaſſe ſeemes true, I ſhall haue ſhare in this moſt happy wracke, Boy, thou haſt ſaide to me a thouſand times, Thou neuer ſhould'ſt loue woman like to me. Vio. And all thoſe ſayings, will I ouer ſweare, And all thoſe ſwearings keepe as true in ſoule, As doth that Orbed Continent, the fire, That ſeuers day ftom night. Du. Giue me thy hand, And let me ſee thee in thy womans weedes. Ʋio. The Captaine that did bring me firſt on ſhore Hath my Maides garments: he vpon ſome Action Is now in durance, at Maluolio's ſuite, A Gentleman, and follower of my Ladies. Ol. He ſhall inlarge him: fetch Maluolio hither, And yet alas, now I remember me, They ſay poore Gentleman, he's much diſtract. Enter Clowne with a Letter, and Fabian. A moſt extracting frenſie of mine owne From my remembrance, clearly baniſht his. How does he ſirrah? Cl.

Truely Madam, he holds Belzebub at the ſtaues end as well as a man in his caſe may do: has heere writ a letter to you, I ſhould haue giuen't you to day morning. But as a madmans Epiſtles are no Goſpels, ſo it skilles not much when they are deliuer'd.

 Ol.

Open't, and read it.

 Clo.

Looke then to be well edified, when the Foole deliuers the Madman. By the Lord Madam.

Ol.

How now, art thou mad?

 Clo.

No Madam, I do but reade madneſſe: and your Ladyſhip will haue it as it ought to bee, you muſt allow Vox.

Ol.

Prethee reade i' thy right wits.

 Clo.

So I do Madona: but to reade his right wits, is to reade thus: therefore, perpend my Princeſſe, and giue eare.

 Ol.

Read it you, ſirrah.

 Fab.

Reads. By the Lord Madam, you wrong me, and the world ſhall know it: Though you haue put mee into darkeneſſe, and giuen your drunken Coſine rule ouer me, yet haue I the benefit of my ſenſes as well as your Ladieſhip. I haue your owne letter, that induced mee to the ſemblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but to do my ſelfe much right, or you much ſhame: thinke of me as you pleaſe. I leaue my duty a little vnthought of, and ſpeake out of my iniury.

The madly vs'd Maluolio. Ol.

Did he write this?

 Clo.

I Madame.

 Du.

This ſauours not much of diſtraction.

 Ol. See him deliuer'd Fabian, bring him hither: My Lord, ſo pleaſe you, theſe things further thought on, To thinke me as well a ſiſter, as a wife, One day ſhall crowne th' alliance on't, ſo pleaſe you, Heere at my houſe, and at my proper coſt. Du. Madam, I am moſt apt t' embrace your offer: Your Maſter quits you; and for your ſeruice done him, So much againſt the mettle of your ſex, So farre beneath your ſoft and tender breeding, And ſince you call'd me Maſter, for ſo long: Heere is my hand, you ſhall from this time bee your Maſters Miſtris. Ol.

A ſiſter, you are ſhe.

 Enter Maluolio. Du.

Is this the Madman?

 Ol.

I my Lord, this ſame: How now Maluolio?

 Mal. Madam, you haue done me wrong, Notorious wrong. Ol.

Haue I Maluolio? No.

 Mal. Lady you haue, pray you peruſe that Letter. You muſt not now denie it is your hand, Write from it if you can, in hand, or phraſe, Or ſay, tis not your ſeale, not your inuention: You can ſay none of this. Well, grant it then, And tell me in the modeſtie of honor, Why you haue giuen me ſuch cleare lights of fauour, Bad me come ſmiling, and croſſe-garter'd to you, To put on yellow ſtockings, and to frowne Vpon ſir Toby, and the lighter people: And acting this in an obedient hope, Why haue you ſuffer'd me to be impriſon'd, Kept in a darke houſe, viſited by the Prieſt, And made the moſt notorious gecke and gull, That ere inuention plaid on? Tell me why? Ol. Alas Maluolio, this is not my writing, Though I confeſſe much like the Charracter: But out of queſtion, tis Marias hand. And now I do bethinke me, it was ſhee Firſt told me thou waſt mad; then cam'ſt in ſmiling, And in ſuch formes, which heere were preſuppos'd Vpon thee in the Letter: prethee be content, This practice hath moſt ſhrewdly paſt vpon thee: But when we know the grounds, and authors of it, Thou ſhalt be both the Plaintiffe and the Iudge Of thine owne cauſe. Fab. Good Madam heare me ſpeake, And let no quarrell, nor no braule to come, Taint the condition of this preſent houre, Which I haue wondred at. In hope it ſhall not, Moſt freely I confeſſe my ſelfe, and Toby Set this deuice againſt Maluolio heere, Vpon ſome ſtubborne and vncourteous parts We had conceiu'd againſt him. Maria writ The Letter, at ſir Tobyes great importance, In recompence whereof, he hath married her: How with a ſportfull malice it was follow'd, May rather plucke on laughter then reuenge, If that the iniuries be iuſtly weigh'd, That haue on both ſides paſt. Ol.

Alas poore Foole, how haue they baffel'd thee?

 Clo.

Why ſome are borne great, ſome atchieue greatneſſe, and ſome haue greatneſſe throwne vpon them. I was one ſir, in this Enterlude, one ſir Topas ſir, but that's all one: By the Lotd Foole, I am not mad: but do you remember, Madam, why laugh you at ſuch a barren raſcall, and you ſmile not he's gag'd: and thus the whirlegigge of time, brings in his reuenges.

 Mal.

Ile be reueng'd on the whole packe of you?

 Ol.

He hath bene moſt notoriouſly abus'd.

 Du. Purſue him, and entreate him to a peace: He hath not told vs of the Captaine yet, When that is knowne, and golden time conuents A ſolemne Combination ſhall be made Of our deere ſoules. Meane time ſweet ſiſter, We will not part from hence. Ceſaerio come (For ſo you ſhall be while you are a man:) But when in other habites you are ſeene, Orſino's Miſtris, and his fancies Queene. Exeunt Clowne ſings. When that I was and a little tine boy, with hey, ho, the winde and the raine: A fooliſh thing was but a toy, for the raine it raineth euery day. But when I came to mans eſtate, with hey ho, &c. Gainſt Knaues and Theeues men ſhut their gate, for the raine, &c. But when I came alas to wine, with hey ho, &c. By ſwaggering could I neuer thriue, for the raine, &c. But when I came vnto my beds, with hey ho▪ &c. With toſpottes ſtill had drunken heades, for the raine, &c. A great while ago the world begon, hey ho, &c. But that's all one, our Play is done, and wee'l ſtriue to pleaſe you euery day.
FINIS.
The Winters Tale.
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Camillo and Archidamus. Arch.

IF you ſhall chance (Camillo) to viſit Bohemia, on the like occaſion whereon my ſeruices are now on-foot, you ſhall ſee (as I haue ſaid) great difference betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia.

Cam.

I thinke, this comming Summer, the King of Sicilia meanes to pay Bohemia the Viſitation, which hee iuſtly owes him.

 Arch.

Wherein our Entertainment ſhall ſhame vs: we will be iuſtified in our Loues: for indeed—

 Cam.

'Beſeech you—

 Arch.

Verely I ſpeake it in the freedome of my knowledge: we cannot with ſuch magnificence— in ſo rare— I know not what to ſay— Wee will giue you ſleepie Drinkes, that your Sences (vn-intelligent of our inſufficience) may, though they cannot prayſe vs, as little accuſe vs.

 Cam.

You pay a great deale to deare, for what's giuen freely.

 Arch.

'Beleeue me, I ſpeake as my vnderſtanding inſtructs me, and as mine honeſtie puts it to vtterance.

 Cam.

Sicilia cannot ſhew himſelfe ouer-kind to Bohemia: They were trayn'd together in their Child-hoods; and there rooted betwixt them then ſuch an affection, which cannot chuſe but braunch now. Since their more mature Dignities, and Royall Neceſſities, made ſeperation of their Societie, their Encounters (though not Perſonall) hath been Royally attornyed with enter-change of Gifts, Letters, louing Embaſſies, that they haue ſeem'd to be together, though abſent: ſhooke hands, as ouer a Vaſt; and embrac'd as it were from the ends of oppoſed Winds. The Heauens continue their Loues.

 Arch.

I thinke there is not in the World, either Malice or Matter, to alter it. You haue an vnſpeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius: it is a Gentleman of the greateſt Promiſe, that euer came into my Note.

 Cam.

I very well agree with you, in the hopes of him: it is a gallant Child; one, that (indeed) Phyſicks the Subiect, makes old hearts freſh: they that went on Crutches ere he was borne, deſire yet their life, to ſee him a Man.

 Arch.

Would they elſe be content to die?

 Cam.

Yes; if there were no other excuſe, why they ſhould deſire to liue.

 Arch.

If the King had no Sonne, they would deſire to liue on Crutches till he had one.

Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius, Polixenes, Camillo. Pol. Nine Changes of the Watry-Starre hath been The Shepheards Note, ſince we haue left our Throne Without a Burthen: Time as long againe Would be fill'd vp (my Brother) with our Thanks, And yet we ſhould, for perpetuitie, Goe hence in debt: And therefore, like a Cypher (Yet ſtanding in rich place) I multiply With one we thanke you, many thouſands moe, That goe before it. Leo. Stay your Thanks a while, And pay them when you part. Pol. Sir, that's to morrow: I am queſtion'd by my feares, of what may chance, Or breed vpon our abſence, that may blow No ſneaping Winds at home, to make vs ſay, This is put forth too truly: beſides, I haue ſtay'd To tyre your Royaltie. Leo. We are tougher (Brother) Then you can put vs to't. Pol.

No longer ſtay.

 Leo.

One Seue'night longer.

 Pol.

Very ſooth, to morrow.

 Leo.

Wee'le part the time betweene's then: and in that Ile no gaine-ſaying.

 Pol. Preſſe me not ('beſeech you) ſo: There is no Tongue that moues; none, none i' th' World So ſoone as yours, could win me: ſo it ſhould now, Were there neceſſitie in your requeſt, although 'Twere needfull I deny'd it. My Affaires Doe euen drag me home-ward: which to hinder, Were (in your Loue) a Whip to me; my ſtay, To you a Charge, and Trouble: to ſaue both, Farewell (our Brother.) Leo.

Tongue-ty'd our Queene? ſpeake you.

 Her. I had thought (Sir) to haue held my peace, vntill You had drawne Oathes 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 proclaym'd, ſay this to him, He's beat from his beſt ward. Leo.

Well ſaid, Hermione.

Her. To tell, he longs to ſee his Sonne, were ſtrong: But let him ſay ſo then, and let him goe; But let him ſweare ſo, and he ſhall not ſtay, Wee'l thwack him hence with Diſtaffes. Yet of your Royall preſence, Ile aduenture The borrow of a Weeke. When at Bohemia You take my Lord, Ile giue him my Commiſſion, To let him there a Moneth, behind the Geſt Prefix'd for's parting: yet (good-deed) Leontes, I loue thee not a Iarre o' th' Clock, behind What Lady ſhe her Lord. You'le ſtay? Pol.

No, Madame.

 Her.

Nay, but you will?

 Pol.

I may not verely.

 Her. Verely? You put me off with limber Vowes: but I, Though you would ſeek t' vnſphere the Stars with Oaths, Should yet ſay, Sir, no going: Verely You ſhall not goe; a Ladyes Verely 'is As potent as a Lords. Will you goe yet? Force me to keepe you as a Priſoner, Not like a Gueſt: ſo you ſhall pay your Fees When you depart, and ſaue your Thanks. How ſay you? My Priſoner? or my Gueſt? by your dread Verely, One of them you ſhall be. Pol. Your Gueſt then, Madame: To be your Priſoner, ſhould import offending; Which is for me, leſſe eaſie to commit, Then you to puniſh. Her. Not your Gaoler then, But your kind Hoſteſſe. Come, Ile queſtion you Of my Lords Tricks, and yours, when you were Boyes: You were pretty Lordings then? Pol. We were (faire Queene) Two Lads, that thought there was no more behind, But ſuch a day to morrow, as to day, And to be Boy eternall. Her. Was not my Lord The verver Wag o' th' two? Pol. We were as twyn'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 weake Spirits ne're been higher rear'd With ſtronger blood, we ſhould haue anſwer'd Heauen Boldly, not guilty; the Impoſition clear'd, Hereditarie ours. Her. By this we gather You haue tript ſince. Pol. O my moſt ſacred Lady, Temptations haue ſince then been borne to's: for In thoſe vnfledg'd dayes, was my Wife a Girle; Your precious ſelfe had then not croſs'd the eyes Of my young Play fellow. Her Grace to boot: Of this make no concluſion, leaſt you ſay Your Queene and I are Deuils: yet goe on, Th' offences we haue made you doe, wee'le anſwere, If you firſt ſinn'd with vs: and that with vs You did continue fault; and that you ſlipt not With any, but with vs. Leo.

Is he woon yet?

 Her.

Hee'le ſtay (my Lord.)

 Leo. At my requeſt he would not: Hermione (my deareſt) thou neuer ſpoak'ſt To better purpoſe. Her.

Neuer?

 Leo.

Neuer, but once.

 Her. What? haue I twice ſaid well? when was't before? I prethee tell me: cram's with prayſe, and make's As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongueleſſe, Slaughters a thouſand▪ wayting vpon that. Our prayſes are our Wages. You may ride's With one ſoft Kiſſe a thouſand Furlongs, ere With Spur we heat an Acre. But to th' Goale: My laſt good deed, was to entreat his ſtay. What was my firſt? it ha's 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 haue't: I long. Leo. Why, that was when Three crabbed Moneths had ſowr'd themſelues to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white Hand: A clap thy ſelfe, my Loue; then didſt thou vtter, I am yours for euer. Her. 'Tis Grace indeed. Why lo-you now; I haue ſpoke to th' purpoſe twice: The one, for euer earn'd a Royall Husband; Th' other, for ſome while a Friend. Leo. Too hot, too hot: To mingle friendſhip farre, is mingling bloods. I haue Tremor Cordis on me: my heart daunces, But not for ioy; not ioy. This Entertainment May a free face put on: deriue a Libertie From Heartineſſe, from Bountie, fertile Boſome, And well become the Agent: 't may; I graunt: But to be padling Palmes, and pinching Fingers, As now they are, and making practis'd Smiles As in a Looking-Glaſſe; and then to ſigh, as 'twere The Mort o' th' Deere: oh, that is entertainment My Boſome likes not, nor my Browes. Mamillius, Art thou my Boy? Mam.

I, my good Lord.

 Leo. I' fecks: Why that's my Bawcock: what? has't ſmutch'd thy Noſe? They ſay it is a Coppy out of mine. Come Captaine, We muſt be neat; not neat, but cleanly, Captaine: And yet the Steere, the Heycfer, and the Calfe, Are all call'd Neat. Still Virginalling Vpon his Palme? How now (you wanton Calfe) Art thou my Calfe? Mam.

Yes, if you will (my Lord.)

 Leo. Thou want'ſt a rough paſh, & the ſhoots that I haue To be full, like me: yet they ſay we are Almoſt as like as Egges; Women ſay ſo, (That will ſay any thing.) But were they falſe As o're-dy'd Blacks, as Wind, as Waters; falſe As Dice are to be wiſh'd, by one that fixes No borne 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true, To ſay this Boy were like me. Come (Sir Page) Looke on me with your Welkin eye: ſweet Villaine, Moſt dear'ſt, my Collop: Can thy Dam, may't be Affection? thy Intention ſtabs the Center. Thou do'ſt make poſſible things not ſo held, Communicat'ſt with Dreames (how can this be?) With what's vnreall: thou coactiue art, And fellow'ſt nothing. Then 'tis very credent, Thou may'ſt co-ioyne with ſomething, and thou do'ſt, (And that beyond Commiſſion) and I find it, (And that to the infection of my Braines, And hardning of my Browes.) Pol.

What meanes Sicilia?

 Her.

He ſomething ſeemes vnſetled.

 Pol.

How? my Lord?

 Leo.

What cheere? how is't with you, beſt Brother?

 Her. You look as if you held a Brow of much diſtraction: Are you mou'd (my Lord?) Leo. No, in good earneſt. How ſometimes Nature will betray it's folly? It's tenderneſſe? and make it ſelfe a Paſtime To harder boſomes? Looking on the Lynes Of my Boyes face, me thoughts I did requoyle Twentie three yeeres, and ſaw my ſelfe vn-breech'd, In my greene Veluet Coat; my Dagger muzzel • d, Leaſt it ſhould bite it's Maſter, and ſo proue (As Ornaments oft do's) too dangerous: How like (me thought) I then was to this Kernell, This Squaſh, this Gentleman. Mine honeſt Friend, Will you take Egges for Money? Mam.

No (my Lord) Ile fight.

 Leo. You will: why happy man be's dole. My Brother Are you ſo fond of your young Prince, as we Doe ſeeme to be of ours? Pol. If at home (Sir) He's all my Exerciſe, my Mirth, my Matter; Now my ſworne Friend, and then mine Enemy; My Paraſite my Souldier: Stateſ-man; all: He makes a Iulyes day, ſhort as December, And with his varying child-neſſe, cures in me Thoughts, that would thick my blood. Leo. So ſtands this Squire Offic'd with me: We two will walke (my Lord) And leaue you to your grauer ſteps. Hermione, How thou lou'ſt vs, ſhew in our Brothers welcome; Let what is deare in Sicily, be cheape: Next to thy ſelfe, and my young Rouer, he's Apparant to my heart. Her. If you would ſeeke vs, We are yours i' th' Garden: ſhall's attend you there? Leo. To your owne bents diſpoſe you: you'le be found, Be you beneath the Sky: I am angling now, (Though you perceiue me not how I giue Lyne) Goe too, goe too. How ſhe holds vp the Neb? the Byll to him? And armes her with the boldneſſe of a Wife To her allowing Husband. Gone already, Ynch-thick knee-deepe; ore head and eares a fork'd one. Goe play (Boy) play: thy Mother playes, and I Play too; but ſo diſgrac'd a part, whoſe iſſue Will hiſſe me to my Graue: Contempt and Clamor Will be my Knell. Goe play (Boy) play, there haue been (Or I am much deceiu'd) Cuckolds ere now, And many a man there is (euen at this preſent, Now, while I ſpeake this) holds his Wife by th' Arme, That little thinkes ſhe ha's been ſluyc'd in's abſence, And his Pond fiſh'd by his next Neighbor (by Sir Smile, his Neighbor:) nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men haue Gates, and thoſe Gates open'd (As mine) againſt their will. Should all deſpaire That haue reuolted Wiues, the tenth of Mankind Would hang themſelues. Phyſick for't, there's none: It is a bawdy Planet, that will ſtrike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powrefull: thinke it: From Eaſt, Weſt, North, and South, be it concluded, No Barricodo for a Belly. Know't, It will let in and out the Enemy, With bag and baggage: many thouſand on's Haue the Diſeaſe, and feele't not. How now Boy? Mam.

I am like you ſay.

 Leo. Why, that's ſome comfort. What? Camillo there? Cam.

I, my good Lord.

 Leo. Goe play (Mamillius) thou'rt an honeſt man: Camillo, this great Sir will yet ſtay longer. Cam. You had much adoe to make his Anchor hold, When you caſt out, it ſtill came home. Leo.

Didſt note it?

 Cam. He would not ſtay at your Petitions, made His Buſineſſe more materiall. Leo. Didſt perceiue it? They're here with me already; whiſp'ring, rounding: Sicilia is a ſo-forth: 'tis farre gone, When I ſhall guſt it laſt. How cam't (Camillo) That he did ſtay? Cam.

At the good Queenes entreatie.

 Leo. At the Queenes be't: Good ſhould be pertinent, But ſo it is, it is not. Was this taken By any vnderſtanding Pate but thine? For thy Conceit is ſoaking, will draw in More then the common Blocks. Not noted, is't, But of the finer Natures? by ſome Seueralls Of Head-peece extraordinarie? Lower Meſſes Perchance are to this Buſineſſe purblind? ſay. Cam.

Buſineſſe, my Lord? I thinke moſt vnderſtand Bohemia ſtayes here longer.

 Leo.

Ha?

 Cam.

Stayes here longer.

 Leo.

I, but why?

 Cam. To ſatisfie your Highneſſe, and the Entreaties Of our moſt gracious Miſtreſſe. Leo. Satisfie? Th' entreaties of your Miſtreſſe? Satisfie? Let that ſuffice. I haue truſted thee (Camillo) With all the neereſt things to my heart, as well My Chamber-Councels, wherein (Prieſt-like) thou Haſt cleans'd my Boſome: I, from thee departed Thy Penitent reform'd: but we haue been Deceiu'd in thy Integritie, deceiu'd In that which ſeemes ſo. Cam.

Be it forbid (my Lord.)

 Leo. To bide vpon't: thou art not honeſt: or If thou inclin'ſt that way, thou art a Coward, Which hoxes honeſtie behind, reſtrayning From Courſe requir'd: or elſe thou muſt be counted A Seruant, grafted in my ſerious Truſt, And therein negligent: or elſe a Foole, That ſeeſt a Game play'd home, the rich Stake drawne, And tak'ſt it all for ieaſt. Cam. My gracious Lord, I may be negligent, fooliſh, and fearefull, In euery one of theſe, no man is free, But that his negligence, his folly, feare, Among the infinite doings of the World, Sometime puts forth in your affaires (my Lord.) If euer I were wilfull-negligent, It was my folly: if induſtriouſly I play'd the Foole, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end: if euer fearefull To doe a thing, where I the iſſue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Againſt the non-performance, 'twas a feare Which oft infects the wiſeſt: theſe (my Lord) Are ſuch allow'd Infirmities, that honeſtie Is neuer free of. But beſeech your Grace Be plainer with me, let me know my Treſpas By it's owne viſage; if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. Leo. Ha' not you ſeene Camillo? (But that's paſt doubt: you haue, or your eye-glaſſe Is thicker then a Cuckolds Horne) or heard? (For to a Viſion ſo apparant, Rumor Cannot be mute) or thought? (for Cogitation Reſides not in that man, that do's not thinke) My Wife is ſlipperie? If thou wilt confeſſe, Or elſe be impudently negatiue, To haue nor Eyes, nor Eares, nor Thought, then ſay My Wife's a Holy-Horſe, deſerues a Name As ranke as any Flax-Wench, that puts to Before her troth-plight: ſay't, and iuſtify't. Cam. I would not be a ſtander-by, to heare My Soueraigne Miſtreſſe clouded ſo, without My preſent vengeance taken: 'ſhrew my heart, You neuer ſpoke what did become you leſſe Then this; which to reiterate, were ſin As deepe as that, though true. Leo. Is whiſpering nothing? Is leaning Cheeke to Cheeke? is meating Noſes? Kiſſing with in-ſide Lip? ſtopping the Ca • iere Of Laughter, with a ſigh? (a Note infallible Of breaking Honeſtie) horſing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wiſhing Clocks more ſwift? Houres, Minutes? Noone, Mid-night? and all Eyes Blind with the Pin and Web, but theirs; theirs onely, That would vnſeene be wicked? Is this nothing? Why then the World, and all that's in't, is nothing, The couering Skie is nothing, Bohemia nothing, My Wife is nothing, nor Nothing haue theſe Nothings, If this be nothing. Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd Of this diſeas'd Opinion, and betimes, For 'tis moſt dangerous. Leo.

Say it be, 'tis true.

 Cam.

No, no, my Lord.

 Leo. It is: you lye, you lye: I ſay thou lyeſt Camillo, and I hate thee, Pronounce thee a groſſe Lowt, a mindleſſe Slaue, Or elſe a houering Temporizer, that Canſt with thine eyes at once ſee good and euill, Inclining to them both: were my Wiues Liuer Infected (as her life) ſhe would not liue The running of one Glaſſe. Cam.

Who do's infect her?

 Leo. Why he that weares her like her Medull, hanging About his neck (Bohemia) who, if I Had Seruants true about me, that bare eyes To ſee alike mine Honor, as their Profits. (Their owne particular Thrifts) they would doe that Which ſhould vndoe more doing: I, and thou His Cup-bearer, whom I from meaner forme Haue Bench'd, and rear'd to Worſhip, who may'ſt ſee Plainely, as Heauen ſees Earth▪ and Earth ſees Heauen, How I am gall'd, might'ſt be-ſpice a Cup, To giue mine Enemy a laſting Winke: Which Draught to me, were cordiall. Cam. Sir (my Lord) I could doe this, and that with no raſh Potion, But with a lingring Dram, that ſhould not worke Maliciouſly, like Poyſon: But I cannot Beleeue this Crack to be in my dread Miſtreſſe (So ſoueraignely being Honorable.) I haue lou'd thee. Leo Make that thy queſtion, and goe rot: Do'ſt thinke I am ſo muddy, ſo vnſetled, To appoint my ſelfe in this vexation? Su • ly the puritie and whiteneſſe of my Sheetes (Which to preſerue, is Sleepe; which being ſpotted, Is Go • es, Thornes Nettles, Tayles of Waſpes) Giue ſcandall to the blood o' th' Prince, my Sonne, (Who I doe thinke is mine, and Ioue as mine) Without ripe mouing to't? Would I doe this? Could man ſo blench? Cam. I muſt beleeue you (Sir) I doe, and will fetch off Bohemia for't: Prouided, that when hee's remou'd, your Highneſſe Will take againe your Queene, as yours at firſt, Euen for your Sonnes ſake, and thereby for ſealing The Iniurie of Tongues, in Courts and Kingdomes Knowne, and ally'd to yours. Leo. Thou do'ſt aduiſe me, Euen ſo as I mine owne courſe haue ſet downe: Ile giue no blemiſh to her Honor, none. Cam. My Lord, Goe then; and with a countenance as cleare As Friendſhip weares at Feaſts, keepe with Bohemia, And with your Queene: I am his Cup-bearer, If from me he haue wholeſome Beueridge, Account me not your Seruant. Leo. This is all: Do't, and thou haſt the one halfe of my heart; Do't not, thou ſplitt'ſt thine owne. Cam.

Ile do't, my Lord.

 Leo.

I wil ſeeme friendly, as thou haſt aduis'd me.

Exit Cam. O miſerable Lady. But for me, What caſe ſtand I in? I muſt be the poyſoner Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do't, Is the obedience to a Maſter; one, Who in Rebellion with himſelfe, will haue All that are his, ſo too. To doe this deed, Promotion followes: If I could find example Of thouſand's that had ſtruck anoynted Kings, And flouriſh'd after, Il'd not do't: But ſince Nor Braſſe, nor Stone, nor Parchment beares not one, Let Villanie it ſelfe forſwear't. I muſt Forſake the Court: to do't, or no, is certaine To me a breake-neck. Happy Starre raigne now, Here comes Bohemia. Enter Polixenes. Pol. This is ſtrange: Me thinkes My fauor here begins to warpe. Not ſpeake? Good day Camillo. Cam.

Hayle moſt Royall Sir.

 Pol.

What is the Newes i' th' Court?

 Cam.

None rare (my Lord.)

 Pol. The King hath on him ſuch a countenance, As he had loſt ſome Prouince, and a Region Lou'd, as he loues himſelfe: euen now I met him With cuſtomarie complement, when hee Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling A Lippe of much contempt, ſpeedes from me, and So leaues me, to conſider what is breeding, That changes thus his Manners. Cam.

I dare not know (my Lord.)

 Pol. How, dare not? doe not? doe you know, and dare not? Be intelligent to me, 'tis thereabouts: For to your ſelfe, what you doe know, you muſt, And cannot ſay, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a Mirror, Which ſhewes me mine chang'd too: for I muſt be A partie in this alteration, finding My ſelfe thus alter'd with't. Cam. There is a ſickneſſe Which puts ſome of vs in diſtemper, but I cannot name the Diſeaſe, and it is caught Of you, that yet are well. Pol. How caught of me? Make me not ſighted like the Baſiliſque. I haue look'd on thouſands, who haue ſped the better By my regard, but kill'd none ſo: Camillo, As you are certainely a Gentleman, thereto Clerke-like experienc'd, which no leſſe adornes Our Gentry, then our Parents Noble Names, In whoſe ſucceſſe we are gentle: I beſeech you, If you know ought which do's behoue my knowledge, Thereof to be inform'd, impriſon't not In ignorant concealement. Cam.

I may not anſwere.

 Pol. A Sickneſſe caught of me, and yet I well? I muſt be anſwer'd. Do'ſt thou heare Camillo, I coniure thee, by all the parts of man, Which Honor do's acknowledge, whereof the leaſt Is not this Suit of mine, that thou declare What incidencie thou do'ſt gheſſe of harme Is creeping toward me; how farre off, how neere, Which way to be preuented, if to be: If not, how beſt to beare it. Cam. Sir, I will tell you, Since I am charg'd in Honor, and by him That I thinke Honorable: therefore marke my counſaile, Which muſt be eu'n as ſwiftly followed, as I meane to vtter it; or both your ſelfe, and me, Cry loſt, and ſo good night. Pol.

On, good Camillo.

Cam.

I am appointed him to murther you.

 Pol.

By whom, Camillo?

 Cam.

By the King.

 Pol.

For what?

 Cam. He thinkes, nay with all confidence he ſweares, As he had ſeen't, or beene an Inſtrument To vice you to't, that you haue toucht his Queene Forbiddenly. Pol. Oh then, my beſt blood turne To an infected Gelly, and my Name Be yoak'd with his, that did betray the Beſt: Turne then my freſheſt Reputation to A ſauour, that may ſtrike the dulleſt Noſthrill Where I arriue, and my approch be ſhun'd, Nay hated too, worſe then the great'ſt Infection That ere was heard, or read. Cam. Sweare his thought ouer By each particular Starre in Heauen, and By all their Influences; you may as well Forbid the Sea for to obey the Moone, As (or by Oath) remoue, or (Counſaile) ſhake The Fabrick of his Folly, whoſe foundation Is pyl'd vpon his Faith, and will continue The ſtanding of his Body. Pol.

How ſhould this grow?

 Cam. I know not: but I am ſure 'tis ſafer to Auoid what's growne, then queſtion how 'tis borne. If therefore you dare truſt my honeſtie, That lyes encloſed in this Trunke, which you Shall beare along impawnd, away to Night, Your Followers I will whiſper to the Buſineſſe, And will by twoes, and threes, at ſeuerall Poſternes, Cleare them o' th' Citie: For my ſelfe, Ile put My fortunes to your ſeruice (which are here By this diſcouerie loſt.) Be not vncertaine, For by the honor of my Parents, I Haue vttred Truth: which if you ſeeke to proue, I dare not ſtand by; nor ſhall you be ſafer, Then one condemnd by the Kings owne mouth: Thereon his Execution ſworne. Pol. I doe beleeue thee: I ſaw his heart in's face. Giue 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 dayes agoe. This Iealouſie Is for a precious Creature: as ſhee's rare, Muſt it be great; and, as his Perſon's mightie, Muſt it be violent: and, as he do's conceiue, He is diſhonor'd by a man, which euer Profeſs'd to him: why his Reuenges muſt In that be made more bitter. Feare ore-ſhades me: Good Expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious Queene, part of his Theame; but nothing Of his ill-ta'ne ſuſpition. Come Camillo, I will reſpect thee as a Father, if Thou bear'ſt my life off, hence: Let vs auoid. Cam. It is in mine authoritie to command The Keyes of all the Poſternes: Pleaſe your Highneſſe To take the vrgent houre. Come Sir, away. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Scena Prima. Enter Hermione, Mamillius, Ladies: Leontes, Antigonus, Lords. Her. Take the Boy to you: he ſo troubles me, 'Tis paſt enduring. Lady. Come (my gracious Lord) Shall I be your play-fellow? Mam.

No, Ile none of you.

 Lady.

Why (my ſweet Lord?)

 Mam. You'le kiſſe me hard, and ſpeake to me, as if I were a Baby ſtill. I loue you better. 2. Lady.

And why ſo (my Lord?)

 Mam. Not for becauſe Your Browes are blacker (yet black-browes they ſay Become ſome Women beſt, ſo that there be not Too much haire there, but in a Cemicircle, Or a halfe-Moone, made with a Pen.) 2. Lady.

Who taught 'this?

 Mam. I learn'd it out of Womens faces: pray now, What colour are your eye-browes? Lady.

Blew (my Lord.)

 Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I haue ſeene a Ladies Noſe That ha's beene blew, but not her eye-browes. Lady. Harke ye, The Queene (your Mother) rounds apace: we ſhall Preſent our ſeruices to a fine new Prince One of theſe dayes, and then youl'd wanton with vs, If we would haue you. 2. Lady. She is ſpread of late Into a goodly Bulke (good time encounter her.) Her. What wiſdome ſtirs amongſt you? Come Sir, now I am for you againe: 'Pray you ſit by vs, And tell's a Tale. Mam.

Merry, or ſad, ſhal't be?

 Her.

As merry as you will.

 Mam. A ſad Tale's beſt for Winter: I haue one of Sprights, and Goblins. Her. Let's haue that (good Sir.) Come-on, ſit downe, come-on, and doe your beſt, To fright me with your Sprights: you're powrefull at it. Mam.

There was a man.

 Her.

Nay, come ſit downe: then on.

 Mam. Dwelt by a Church-yard: I will tell it ſoftly, Yond Crickets ſhall not heare it. Her.

Come on then, and giu't me in mine care.

 Leon.

Was hee met there? his Traine? Camillo with him?

 Lord. Behind the tuft of Pines I met them, neuer Saw I men ſcowre ſo on their way: I eyed them Euen to their Ships. Leo. How bleſt am I In my iuſt 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 drinke; depart, And yet partake no venome: (for his knowledge Is not infected) but if one preſent Th' abhor'd Ingredient to his eye, make knowne How he hath drunke, he cracks his gorge, his ſides With violent Hefts: I haue drunke, and ſeene the Spider. Camillo was his helpe in this, his Pandar: There is a Plot againſt my Life, my Crowne; All's true that is miſtruſted: that falſe Villaine, Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him: He ha's diſcouer'd my Deſigne, and I Remaine a pinch'd Thing; yea, a very Trick For them to play at will: how came the Poſternes So eaſily open? Lord. By his great authority, Which often hath no leſſe preuail'd, then ſo, On your command. Leo. I know't too well. Giue me the Boy, I am glad you did not nurſe him: Though he do's beare ſome ſignes of me, yet you Haue too much blood in him. Her.

What is this? Sport?

 Leo. Beare the Boy hence, he ſhall not come about her, Away with him, and let her ſport her ſelfe With that ſhee's big-with, for 'tis Polixenes Ha's made thee ſwell thus. Her. But Il'd ſay he had not; And Ile be ſworne you would beleeue my ſaying, How e're you leaue to th' Nay-ward. Leo. You (my Lords) Looke on her, marke her well: be but about To ſay ſhe is a goodly Lady, and The iuſtice of your hearts will thereto adde 'Tis pitty ſhee's not honeſt: Honorable; Prayſe her but for this her without-dore-Forme, (Which on my faith deſerues high ſpeech) and ſtraight The Shrug, the Hum, or Ha, (theſe Petty-brands That Calumnie doth vſe; Oh, I am out, That Mercy do's, for Calumnie will feare Vertue it ſelfe) theſe Shrugs, theſe Hum's, and Ha's, When you haue ſaid ſhee's goodly, come betweene, Ere you can ſay ſhee's honeſt: But be't knowne (From him that ha's moſt cauſe to grieue it ſhould be) Shee's an Adultreſſe. Her. Should a Villaine ſay ſo, (The moſt repleniſh'd Villaine in the World) He were as much more Villaine: you (my Lord) Doe but miſtake. Leo. You haue miſtooke (my Lady) Polixenes for Leontes: O thou Thing, (Which Ile not call a Creature of thy place, Leaſt Barbariſme (making me the precedent) Should a like Language vſe to all degrees, And mannerly diſtinguiſhment leaue out, Betwixt the Prince and Begger:) I haue ſaid Shee's an Adultreſſe, I haue ſaid with whom: More; ſhee's a Traytor, and Camillo is A Federarie with her, and one that knowes What ſhe ſhould ſhame to know her ſelfe, But with her moſt vild Principall: that ſhee's A Bed-ſwaruer, euen as bad as thoſe That Vulgars giue bold'ſt Titles; I, and priuy To this their late eſcape. Her. No (by my life) Priuy to none of this: how will this grieue you, When you ſhall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus haue publiſh'd me? Gentle my Lord. You ſcarce can right me throughly, then, to ſay You did miſtake. Leo. No: if I miſtake In thoſe Foundations which I build vpon, The Centre is not bigge enough to beare A Schoole-Boyes Top. Away with her, to Priſon: He who ſhall ſpeake for her, is a farre-off guiltie, But that he ſpeakes. Her. There's ſome ill Planet raignes: I muſt be patient, till the Heauens looke With an aſpect more fauorable. Good my Lords, I am not prone to weeping (as our Sex Commonly are) the want of which vaine dew Perchance ſhall dry your pitties: but I haue That honorable Griefe lodg'd here, which burnes Worſe then Teares drowne: beſeech you all (my Lords) With thoughts ſo qualified, as your Charities Shall beſt inſtruct you, meaſure me; and ſo The Kings will be perform'd. Leo.

Shall I be heard?

 Her. Who is't that goes with me? beſeech your Highnes My Women may be with me, for you ſee My plight requires it. Doe not weepe (good Fooles) There is no cauſe: When you ſhall know your Miſtris Ha's deſeru'd Priſon, then abound in Teares, As I come out; this Action I now goe on, Is for my better grace. Adieu (my Lord) I neuer wiſh'd to ſee you ſorry, now I truſt I ſhall: my Women come, you haue leaue. Leo.

Goe, doe our bidding: hence.

 Lord.

Beſeech your Highneſſe call the Queene againe.

 Antig. Be certaine what you do (Sir) leaſt your Iuſtice Proue violence, in the which three great ones ſuffer, Your Selfe, your Queene, your Sonne. Lord. For her (my Lord) I dare my life lay downe, and will do't (Sir) Pleaſe you t' accept it, that the Queene is ſpotleſſe I' th' eyes of Heauen, and to you (I meane In this, which you accuſe her.) Antig. If it proue Shee's otherwiſe, Ile keepe my Stables where I lodge my Wife, Ile goe in couples with her: Then when I feele, and ſee her, no farther truſt her: For euery ynch of Woman in the World, I, euery dram of Womans fleſh is falſe, If ſhe be. Leo.

Hold your peaces.

 Lord.

Good my Lord.

 Antig. It is for you we ſpeake, not for our ſelues: You are abus'd, and by ſome putter on, That will be damn'd for't: would I knew the Villaine, I would Land-damne him: be ſhe honor-flaw'd, I haue three daughters: the eldeſt is eleuen; The ſecond, and the third, nine: and ſome fiue: If this proue true, they'l pay for't. By mine Honor Ile gell'd em all: fourteene they ſhall not ſee To bring falſe generations: they are co-heyres, And I had rather glib my ſelfe, then they Should not produce faire iſſue. Leo. Ceaſe, no more: You ſmell this buſineſſe with a ſence as cold As is a dead-mans noſe: but I do ſee't, and feel't, As you feele doing thus: and ſee withall The Inſtruments that feele. Antig. If it be ſo, We neede no graue to burie honeſty, There's not a graine of it, the face to ſweeten Of the whole dungy-earth. Leo.

What? lacke I credit?

 Lord. I had rather you did lacke then I (my Lord) Vpon this ground: and more it would content me To haue her Honor true, then your ſuſpition Be blam'd for't how you might. Leo. Why what neede we Commune with you of this? but rather follow Our forcefull inſtigation? Our prerogatiue Cals not your Counſailes, but our naturall goodneſſe Imparts this: which, if you, or ſtupified, Or ſeeming ſo, in skill, cannot, or will not Relliſh a truth, like vs: informe your ſelues, We neede no more of your aduice: the matter, The loſſe, the gaine, the ord'ring on't, Is all properly ours▪ Antig. And I wiſh (my Liege) You had onely in your ſilent iudgement tride it, Without more ouerture. Leo. How could that be? Either thou art moſt ignorant by age, Or thou wer't borne a foole: Camillo's flight Added to their Familiarity (Which was as groſſe, as euer touch'd coniecture, That lack'd ſight onely, nought for approbation But onely ſeeing, all other circumſtances Made vp to 'th deed) doth puſh-on this proceeding. Yet, for a greater confirmation (For in an Acte of this importance, 'twere Moſt pitteous to be wilde) I haue diſpatch'd in poſt, To ſacred Delphos, to Appollo's Temple, Cleomines and Dion, whom you know Of ſtuff'd-ſufficiency: Now, from the Oracle They will bring all, whoſe ſpirituall counſaile had Shall ſtop, or ſpurre me. Haue I done well? Lord.

Well done (my Lord.)

 Leo. Though I am ſatisfide, and neede no more Then what I know, yet ſhall the Oracle Giue reſt to th' mindes of others; ſuch as he Whoſe ignorant credulitie, will not Come vp to th' truth. So haue we thought it good From our free perſon, ſhe ſhould be confinde, Leaſt that the treachery of the two, fled hence, Be left her to performe. Come follow vs, We are to ſpeake in publique: for this buſineſſe Will raiſe vs all. Antig. To laughter, as I take it, If the good truth, were knowne. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, Gaoler, Emilia. Paul. The Keeper of the priſon, call to him: Let him haue knowledge who I am. Good Lady, No Court in Europe is too good for thee, What doſt thou then in priſon? Now good Sir, You know me, do you not? Gao. For a worthy Lady, And one, who much I honour. Pau. Pray you then, Conduct me to the Queene. Gao. I may not (Madam) To the contrary I haue expreſſe commandment. Pau. Here's a-do, to locke vp honeſty & honour from Th' acceſſe of gentle viſitors. Is't lawfull pray you To ſee her Women? Any of them? Emilia? Gao. So pleaſe you (Madam) To put a-part theſe your attendants, I Shall bring Emilia forth. Pau. I pray now call her: With-draw your ſelues. Gao. And Madam, I muſt be preſent at your Conference. Pau. Well: be't ſo: prethee. Heere's ſuch a-doe, to make no ſtaine, a ſtaine, As paſſes colouring. Deare Gentlewoman, How fares our gracious Lady? Emil. As well as one ſo great, and ſo forlorne May hold together: On her frights, and greefes (Which neuer tender Lady hath borne greater) She is, ſomething before her time, deliuer'd. Pau.

A boy?

 Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe, Luſty, and like to liue: the Queene receiues Much comfort in't: Sayes, my poore priſoner, I am innocent as you, Pau. I dare be ſworne: Theſe dangerous, vnſafe Lunes i' th' King, beſhrew them: He muſt be told on't, and he ſhall: the office Becomes a woman beſt. Ile take't vpon me, If I proue hony-mouth'd, let my tongue bliſter. And neuer to my red-look'd Anger bee The Trumpet any more: pray you (Emilia) Commend my beſt obedience to the Queene, If ſhe dares truſt me with her little babe, I'le ſhew't the King, and vndertake to bee Her Aduocate to th' lowd'ſt. We do not know How he may ſoften at the ſight o' th' Childe: The ſilence often of pure innocence Perſwades, when ſpeaking failes. Emil. Moſt worthy Madam, your honor, and your goodneſſe is ſo euident, That your free vndertaking cannot miſſe A thriuing yſſue: there is no Lady liuing So meete for this great errand; pleaſe your Ladiſhip To viſit the next roome, Ile preſently Acquaint the Queene of your moſt noble offer, Who, but to day hammered of this deſigne, But durſt not tempt a miniſter of honour Leaſt ſhe ſhould be deny'd. Paul. Tell her (Emilia) Ile vſe that tongue I haue: If wit flow from't As boldneſſe from my boſome, le't not be doubted I ſhall do good. Emil. Now be you bleſt for it. Ile to the Queene: pleaſe you come ſomething neerer. Gao. Madam, if't pleaſe the Queene to ſend the babe, I know not what I ſhall incurre, to paſſe it, Hauing no warrant. Pau. You neede not feare it (ſir) This Childe was priſoner to the wombe, and is By Law and proceſſe of great Nature, thence Free'd, and enfranchis'd, not a partie to The anger of the King, nor guilty of (If any be) the treſpaſſe of the Queene. Gao.

I do beleeue it.

 Paul. Do not you feare: vpon mine honor, I • Will ſtand betwixt you, and danger. Exeunt
Scaena Tertia. Enter Leontes, Seruants, Paulina, Antigonus, and Lords. Leo. Nor night, nor day, no reſt: It is but weakneſſe To beare the matter thus: meere weakneſſe, if The cauſe were not in being: part o' th' cauſe, She, th' Adultreſſe: for the harlot-King Is quite beyond mine Arme, out of the blanke And leuell of my braine: plot-proofe: but ſhee, I can hooke to me: ſay that ſhe were gone, Giuen to the fire, a moity of my reſt Might come to me againe. Whoſe there? Ser.

My Lord.

 Leo.

How do's the boy?

 Ser. He tooke good reſt to night: 'tis hop'd His ſickneſſe is diſcharg'd. Leo. To ſee his Nobleneſſe, Conceyuing the diſhonour of his Mother. He ſtraight declin'd, droop'd, tooke it deeply, Faſten'd, and fix'd the ſhame on't in himſelfe: Threw-off his Spirit, his Appetite, his Sleepe, And down-right languiſh'd. Leaue me ſolely: goe, See how he fares: Fie, fie, no thought of him, The very thought of my Reuenges that way Recoyle vpon me: in himſelfe too mightie, And in his parties, his Alliance; Let him be, Vntill a time may ſerue. 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 powre. Enter Paulina. Lord.

You muſt not enter.

 Paul. Nay rather (good my Lords) be ſecond to me: Feare you his tyrannous paſsion more (alas) Then the Queenes life? A gracious innocent ſoule, More free, then he is iealous. Antig.

That's enough.

 Ser. Madam; he hath not ſlept to night, commanded None ſhould come at him. Pau. Not ſo hot (good Sir) I come to bring him ſleepe. 'Tis ſuch as you That creepe like ſhadowes by him, and do ſighe At each his needleſſe heauings: ſuch as you Nouriſh the cauſe of his awaking. I Do come with words, as medicinall, as true; (Honeſt, as either;) to purge him of that humor, That preſſes him from ſleepe. Leo.

Who noyſe there, hoe?

 Pau. No noyſe (my Lord) but needfull conference, About ſome Goſsips for your Highneſſe. Leo. How? Away with that audacious Lady. Antigonus, I charg'd thee that ſhe ſhould not come about me, I knew ſhe would. Ant. I told her ſo (my Lord) On your diſpleaſures perill, and on mine, She ſhould not viſit you. Leo.

What? canſt not rule her?

 Paul. From all diſhoneſtie he can: in this (Vnleſſe he take the courſe that you haue done) Commit me, for committing honor, truſt it, He ſhall not rule me: Ant. La-you now, you heare, When ſhe will take the raine, I let her run, But ſhee'l not ſtumble. Paul. Good my Liege, I come: And I beſeech you heare me, who profeſſes My ſelfe your loyall Seruant, your Phyſitian, Your moſt obedient Counſailor: yet that dares Leſſe appeare ſo, in comforting your Euilles, Then ſuch as moſt ſeeme yours. I ſay, I come From your good Queene. Leo.

Good Queene?

 Paul. Good Queene (my Lord) good Queene, I ſay good Queene, And would by combate, make her good ſo, were I A man, the worſt about you. Leo.

Force her hence.

 Pau. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes Firſt hand me: on mine owne accord, Ile off, But firſt, Ile do my errand. The good Queene (For ſhe is good) hath brought you forth a daughter, Heere 'tis: Commends it to your bleſsing. Leo. Out: A mankinde Witch? Hence with her, out o'dore: A moſt intelligencing bawd. Paul. Not ſo: I am as ignorant in that, as you, In ſo entit'ling me: and no leſſe honeſt Then you are mad: which is enough, Ile warrant (As this world goes) to paſſe for honeſt: Leo. Traitors; Will you not puſh her out? Giue her the Baſtard, Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd: vnrooſted By thy dame Partlet heere. Take vp the Baſtard, Take't vp, I ſay: giue't to thy Croane. Paul. For euer Vnvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'ſt vp the Princeſſe, by that forced baſeneſſe Which he ha's put vpon't. Leo.

He dreads his Wife.

 Paul. So I would you did: then 'twere paſt all doubt Youl'd call your children, yours. Leo.

A neſt of Traitors.

 Ant.

I am none, by this good light.

 Pau. Nor I: nor any But one that's heere: and that's himſelfe: for he, The ſacred Honor of himſelfe, his Queenes, His hopefull Sonnes, his Babes, betrayes to Slander, Whoſe ſting is ſharper then the Swords; and will not (For as the caſe now ſtands, it is a Curſe He cannot be compell'd too't) once remoue The Root of his Opinion, which is rotten, As euer Oake, or Stone was ſound. Leo. A Callat Of boundleſſe tongue, who late hath beat her Husband, And now bayts 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. Paul. It is yours: And might we l • y th' old Prouerb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worſe. Behold (my Lords) Although the Print be little, the whole Matter And Coppy of the Father: (Eye, Noſe, Lippe, The trick of's Frowne, his Fore-head, nay, the Valley, The pretty dimples of his Chin, and Cheeke; his Smiles: The very Mold, and frame of Hand, Nayle, Finger.) And thou good Goddeſſe 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, leaſt ſhe ſuſpect, as he do's, Her Children, not her Husbands. Leo. A groſſe Hagge: And Lozell, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not ſtay her Tongue. Antig. Hang all the Husbands That cannot doe that Feat, you'le leaue your ſelfe Hardly one Subiect. Leo.

Once more take her hence.

 Paul. A moſt vnworthy, and vnnaturall Lord Can doe no more. Leo.

Ile h • ' thee burnt.

 Paul. I care not: It is an Heretique that makes the fire, Not ſhe which burnes in't. Ile not call you Tyrant: But this moſt cruell vſage of your Queene (Not able to produce more accuſation Then your owne weake-hindg'd Fancy) ſomthing ſauors Of Tyrannie, and will ignoble make you, Yea, ſcandalous to the World. Leo. On your Allegeance, 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. Paul. I pray you doe not puſh me, Ile be gone. Looke to your Babe (my Lord) 'tis yours: Ioue ſend her A better guiding Spirit. What needs theſe hands? You that are thus ſo tender o're his Follyes, Will neuer doe him good, not one of you. So, ſo: Farewell, we are gone. Exit. Leo. Thou (Traytor) haſt ſet on thy Wife to this. My Child? away with't? euen thou, that haſt A heart ſo tender o're it, take it hence, And ſee it inſtantly conſum'd with fire. Euen thou, and none but thou. Take it vp ſtraight: Within this houre bring me word 'tis done, (And by good teſtimonie) or Ile ſeize thy life, With what thou elſe call'ſt thine: if thou refuſe, And wilt encounter with my Wrath, ſay ſo; The Baſtard-braynes with theſe my proper hands Shall I daſh out. Goe, take it to the fire, For thou ſett'ſt on thy Wife. Antig. I did not, Sir: Theſe Lords, my Noble Fellowes, if they pleaſe, Can cleare me in't. Lords. We can: my Royall Liege, He is not guiltie of her comming hither. Leo.

You're lyers all.

 Lord. Beſeech your Highneſſe, giue vs better credit: We haue alwayes truly ſeru'd you, and beſeech' So to eſteeme of vs: and on our knees we begge, (As recompence of our deare ſeruices Paſt, and to come) that you doe change this purpoſe, Which being ſo horrible, ſo bloody, muſt Lead on to ſome foule Iſſue. We all kneele. Leo. I am a Feather for each Wind that blows: Shall I liue on, to ſee this Baſtard kneele, And call me Father? better burne it now, Then curſe it then. But be it: let it liue. It ſhall not neyther. You Sir, come you hither: You that haue beene ſo tenderly officious With Lady Margerie, your Mid-wife there, To ſaue this Baſtards life; for 'tis a Baſtard, So ſure as this Beard's gray. What will you aduenture, To ſaue this Brats life? Antig. Any thing (my Lord) That my abilitie may vndergoe, And Nobleneſſe impoſe: at leaſt thus much; Ile pawne the little blood which I haue left, To ſaue the Innocent: any thing poſſible. Leo. It ſhall be poſſible: Sweare by this Sword Thou wilt performe my bidding. Antig.

I will (my Lord.)

 Leo. Marke, and performe it: ſeeſt thou? for the faile Of any point in't, ſhall not onely be Death to thy ſelfe, but to thy lewd-tongu'd Wife, (Whom for this time we pardon) We enioyne thee, As thou art Liege-man to vs, that thou carry This female Baſtard hence, and that thou beare it To ſome remote and deſart place, quite out Of our Dominions; and that there thou leaue it (Without more mercy) to it owne protection, And fauour of the Climate: as by ſtrange fortune It came to vs, I doe in Iuſtice charge thee, On thy Soules perill, and thy Bodyes torture, That thou commend it ſtrangely to ſome place, Where Chance may nurſe, or end it: take it vp. Antig. I ſweare to doe this: though a preſent death Had beene more mercifull. Come on (poore Babe) Some powerfull Spirit inſtruct the Kytes and Rauens To be thy Nurſes. Wolues and Beares, they ſay, (Caſting their ſauageneſſe aſide) haue done Like offices of Pitty. Sir, be proſperous In more then this deed do's require; and Bleſſing Againſt this Crueltie, fight on thy ſide (Poore Thing, condemn'd to loſſe.) Exit. Leo. No: Ile not reare Anothers Iſſue. Enter a Seruant. Seru. Pleaſe' your Highneſſe, Poſts From thoſe you ſent to th' Oracle, are come An houre ſince: Cleomines and Dion, Being well arriu'd from Delphos, are both landed, Haſting to th' Court. Lord. So pleaſe you (Sir) their ſpeed Hath beene beyond accompt. Leo. Twentie three dayes They haue beene abſent: 'tis good ſpeed: fore-tells The great Apollo ſuddenly will haue The truth of this appeare: Prepare you Lords, Summon a Seſſion, that we may arraigne Our moſt • ſloyall Lady▪ for as ſhe hath Been publikely accus'd, ſo ſhall ſhe haue A iuſt and open Triall. While ſhe liues, My heart will be a burthen to me. Leaue me, And thinke vpon my bidding. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter Cleomines and Dion. Cleo. The Clymat's delicate, the Ayre moſt ſweet, Fertile the Iſle, the Temple much ſurpaſſing The common prayſe it beares. Dion. I ſhall report, For moſt it caught me, the Celeſtiall Habits, (Me thinkes I ſo ſhould terme them) and the reuerence Of the graue Wearers. O, the Sacrifice, How ceremonious, ſolemne, and vn-earthly It was i' th' Offring? Cleo. But of all, the burſt And the eare-deaff • ning Voyce o' th' Oracle, Kin to Ioues Thunder, ſo ſurpriz'd my Sence, That I was nothing. Dio. It th' euent o' th' Iourney Proue as ſucceſſefull to the Queene (O be't ſo) As it hath beene to vs, rare, pleaſant, ſpeedie, The time is worth the vſe on't. Cleo. Great Apollo Turne all to th' beſt: theſe Proclamations, So forcing faults vpon Hermione, I little like. Dio. The violent carriage of it Will cleare, or end the Buſineſſe, when the Oracle (Thus by Apollo's great Diuine ſeal'd vp) Shall the Contents diſcouer: ſomething rare Euen then will ruſh to knowledge. Goe: freſh Horſes, And gracious be the iſſue. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Leontes, Lords, Officers: Hermione (as to her Triall) Ladies: Cleomines, Dion. Leo. This Seſſions (to our great griefe we pronounce) Euen puſhes 'gainſt our heart. The partie try'd, The Daughter of a King, our Wife, and one Of vs too much belou'd. Let vs be clear'd Of being tyrannous, ſince we ſo openly Proceed in Iuſtice, which ſhall haue due courſe, Euen to the Guilt, or the Purgation: Produce the Priſoner. Officer. It is his Highneſſe pleaſure, that the Queene Appeare in perſon, here in Court. Silence. Leo.

Reade the Indictment.

 Officer.

Hermione, Queene 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 Soueraigne Lord the King, thy Royall Husband: the pretence whereof being by circumſtances partly layd open, thou (Hermione) contrary to the Faith and Allegeance of a true Subiect▪ didſt counſaile and ayde them, for their better ſafetie, to flye away by Night.

Her. Since what I am to ſay, muſt be but that Which contradicts my Accuſation, and The teſtimonie on my part, no other But what comes from my ſelfe, it ſhall ſcarce boot me To ſay, Not guiltie▪ mine Integritie Being counted Falſehood, ſhall (as I expreſſe it) Be ſo receiu'd. But thus, if Powres Diuine Behold our humane Actions (as they doe) I doubt not then, but Innocence ſhall make Falſe Accuſation bluſh, and Tyrannie Tremble at Patience. You (my Lord) beſt know (Whom leaſt will ſeeme to doe ſo) my paſt life Hath beene as continent, as chaſte, as true, As I am now vnhappy; which is more Then Hiſtorie can patterne, though deuis'd, And play'd, to take Spectators. For behold me, A Fellow of the Royall Bed, which owe A Moitie of the Throne: a great Kings Daughter, The Mother to a hopefull Prince, here ſtanding To prate and talke for Life, and Honor, fore Who pleaſe to come, and heare. For Life, I prize it As I weigh Griefe (which I would ſpare:) For Honor, 'Tis a deriuatiue from me to mine, And onely that I ſtand for. I appeale To your owne 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 vncurrant, I Haue ſtrayn'd t' appeare thus; if one iot beyond The bound of Honor, or in act, or will That way enclining, hardned be the hearts Of all that heare me, and my neer'ſt of Kin Cry fie vpon my Graue. Leo. I ne're heard yet, That any of theſe bolder Vices wanted Leſſe Impudence to gaine-ſay what they did, Then to performe it firſt. Her. That's true enough, Though 'tis a ſaying (Sir) not due to me. Leo.

You will not owne it.

 Her. More then Miſtreſſe of, Which comes to me in name of Fault, I muſt not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes (With whom I am accus'd) I doe confeſſe I lou'd him, as in Honor he requir'd: With ſuch a kind of Loue, as might become A Lady like me; with a Loue, euen ſuch, So, and no other, as your ſelfe commanded: Which, not to haue done, I thinke had been in me Both Diſobedience, and Ingratitude To you, and toward your Friend, whoſe Loue had ſpoke, Euen ſince it could ſpeake, from an Infant, freely, That it was yours. Now for Conſpiracie, 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 themſelues (Wotting no more then I) are ignorant. Leo. You knew of his departure, as you know What you haue vnderta'ne to doe in's abſence. Her. Sir, You ſpeake a Language that I vnderſtand not: My Life ſtands in the leuell of your Dreames, Which Ile lay downe. Leo. Your Actions are my Dreames. 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, concernes more then auailes: for as Thy Brat hath been caſt out, like to it ſelfe, No Father owning it (which is indeed More criminall in thee, then it) ſo thou Shalt feele out Iuſtice; in whoſe eaſieſt paſſage, Looke for no leſſe then death. Her. Sir, ſpare your Threats: The Bugge which you would fright me with, I ſeeke: To me can Life be no commoditie; The crowne and comfort of my Life (your Fauor) I doe giue loſt, for I doe feele it gone, But know not how it went. My ſecond Ioy, And firſt Fruits of my body, from his preſence I am bar'd, like one infectious. My third comfort (Star'd moſt vnluckily) is from my breaſt (The innocent milke in it moſt innocent mouth) Hal'd out to murther. My ſelfe on euery Poſt Proclaym'd a Strumpet: With immodeſt hatred The Child-bed priuiledge deny'd, which longs To Women of all faſhion. Laſtly, horried Here, to this place, i' th' open ayre, before I haue got ſtrength of limit. Now (my Liege) Tell me what bleſſings I haue here aliue, That I ſhould feare to die? Therefore proceed: But yet heare this: miſtake me not: no Life, (I prize it not a ſtraw) but for mine Honor, Which I would free: if I ſhall be condemn'd Vpon ſurmizes (all proofes ſleeping elſe, But what your Iealouſies awake) I tell you 'Tis Rigor, and not Law Your Honors all, I doe referre me to the Oracle: Apollo be my Iudge. Lord. This your requeſt Is altogether iuſt: therefore bring forth (And in Apollo's Name) his Oracle. Her. The Emperor of Ruſſia was my Father. Oh that he were aliue, and here beholding His Daughters Tryall: that he did but ſee The flatneſſe of my miſerie; yet with eyes Of Pitty, not Reuenge. Officer. You here ſhal ſweare vpon this Sword of Iuſtice, That you (Cleomines and Dion) haue Been both at Delphos, and from thence haue brought This ſeal'd-vp Oracle, by the Hand deliuer'd Of great Apollo's Prieſt; and that ſince then, You haue not dar'd to breake the holy Seale, Nor read the Secrets in't. Cleo Dio.

All this we ſweare.

 Leo.

Breake vp the Seales, and read.

 Officer.

Hermione is chaſt, Polixenes blameleſſe, Camillo a true Subiect, Leontes a iealous Tyrant, his innocent Babe truly begotten, and the King ſhall liue without an Heire, if that which is loſt, be not found.

Lords.

Now bleſſed be the great Apollo.

Her.

Prayſed.

 Leo

Haſt thou read truth?

 Offic.

I (my Lord) euen ſo as it is here ſet downe.

 Leo. There is no truth at all i' th' Oracle: The Seſſions ſhall proceed: this is meere falſehood. Ser.

My Lord the King: the King?

 Leo.

What is the buſineſſe?

 Ser. O Sir, I ſhall be hated to report it. The Prince your Sonne, with meere conceit, and feare Of the Queenes ſpeed, is gone. Leo.

How? gone?

 Ser.

Is dead.

 Leo. Apollo's angry, and the Heauens themſelues Doe ſtrike at my Iniuſtice. How now there? Paul. This newes is mortall to the Queene: Look downe And ſee what Death is doing. Leo. Take her hence: Her heart is but o're-charg'd: ſhe will recouer. I haue too much beleeu'd mine owne ſuſpition: 'Beſeech you tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Apollo pardon My great prophaneneſſe 'gainſt thine Oracle. Ile reconcile me to Polixenes, New woe my Queene, recall the good Camillo (Whom I proclaime a man of Truth, of Mercy:) For being tranſported by my Iealouſies To bloody thoughts, and to reuenge, I choſe Camillo for the miniſter, to poyſon 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 Honor) to my Kingly Gueſt Vnclaſp'd my practiſe, quit his fortunes here (Which you knew great) and to the hazard Of all Incertainties, himſelfe commended, No richer then his Honor: How he gliſters Through my Ruſt? and how his Pietie Do's my deeds make the blacker? Paul. Woe the while: O cut my Lace, leaſt my heart (cracking it) Breake too. Lord.

What fit is this? good Lady?

 Paul. What ſtudied torments (Tyrant) haſt for me? What Wheeles? Racks? Fires? What flaying? boyling? In Leads, or Oyles? What old, or newer Torture Muſt I receiue? whoſe euery word deſerues To taſte of thy moſt worſt. Thy Tyranny (Together working with thy Iealouſies, Fancies too weake for Boyes, too greene and idle For Girles of Nine) O thinke what they haue done, And then run mad indeed: ſtarke-mad: for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but ſpices of it. That thou betrayed'ſt Polixenes, 'twas nothing, (That did but ſhew thee, of a Foole, inconſtant, And damnable ingratefull:) Nor was't much, Thou would'ſt haue poyſon'd good Camillo's Honor, To haue him kill a King: poore Treſpaſſes, More monſtrous ſtanding by: whereof I reckon The caſting forth to Crowes, thy Baby-daughter, To be or none, or little; though a Deuill Would haue ſhed water out of fire, ere don't: Nor is't directly layd to thee the death Of the young Prince, whoſe honorable thoughts (Thoughts high for one ſo tender) cleft the heart That could conceiue a groſſe and fooliſh Sire Blemiſh'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no, Layd to thy anſwere: but the laſt: O Lords, When I haue ſaid, cry woe: the Queene, the Oueene, The ſweet'ſt, deer'ſt creature's dead: & vengeance for't Not drop'd downe yet. Lord.

The higher powres forbid.

 Pau. I ſay ſhe's dead: Ile ſwear't. If word, nor oath Preuaile not, go and ſee: if you can bring Tincture, or luſtre in her lip, her eye Heate outwardly, or breath within, Ile ſerue you As I would do the Gods. But, O thou Tyrant, Do not repent theſe things, for they are heauier Then all thy woes can ſtirre: therefore betake thee To nothing but diſpaire. A thouſand knees, Ten thouſand yeares together, naked, faſting, Vpon a barren Mountaine, and ſtill Winter In ſtorme perpetuall, could not moue the Gods To looke that way thou wer't. Leo. Go on, go on: Thou canſt not ſpeake too much, I haue deſeru'd All tongues to talke their bittreſt. Lord. Say no more; How ere the buſineſſe goes, you haue made fault I 'th boldneſſe of your ſpeech. Pau. I am ſorry for't; All faults I make, when I ſhall come to know them, I do repent: Alas, I haue ſhew'd too much The raſhneſſe of a woman: he is toucht To th' Noble heart. What's gone, and what's paſt helpe Should be paſt greefe: Do not receiue affliction At my petition; I beſeech you, rather Let me be puniſh'd, that haue minded you Of what you ſhould forget. Now (good my Liege) Sir, Royall Sir forgiue a fooliſh woman: The loue I bore your Queene (Lo, foole againe) Ile ſpeake of her no more, nor of your Children: Ile not remember you of my owne Lord, (Who is loſt too:) take your patience to you, And Ile ſay nothing. Leo. Thou didſt ſpeake but well, When moſt the truth: which I receyue much better, Then to be pittied of thee. Prethee bring me To the dead bodies of my Queene, and Sonne, One graue ſhall be for both: Vpon them ſhall The cauſes of their death appeare (vnto Our ſhame perpetuall) once a day, Ile viſit The Chappell where they lye, and teares ſhed there Shall be my recreation. So long as Nature Will beare vp with this exerciſe, ſo long I dayly vow to vſe it. Come, and leade me To theſe ſorrowes. Exeunt
Scaena Tertia. Enter Antigonus, a Marriner, Babe, Sheepeheard, and Clowne. Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ſhip hath toucht vpon The Deſarts of Bohemia. Mar. I (my Lord) and feare We haue Landed in ill time: the skies looke grimly, And threaten preſent bluſters. In my conſcience The heauens with that we haue in hand, are angry, And frowne vpon's. Ant. Their ſacred wil's be done: go get a-boord, Looke to thy barke, Ile not be long before I call vpon thee. Mar. Make your beſt haſte, and go not Too-farre i' th Land: 'tis like to be lowd weather, Beſides this place is famous for the Creatures Of prey, that keepe vpon't. Antig. Go thou away, Ile follow inſtantly. Mar. I am glad at heart To be ſo ridde o' th buſineſſe. Exit Ant. Come, poore babe; I haue heard (but not beleeu'd) the Spirits o' th' dead May walke againe: if ſuch thing be, thy Mother Appear'd to me laſt night: for ne're was dreame So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one ſide, ſome another, I neuer ſaw a veſſell of like ſorrow So fill'd, and ſo becomming: in pure white Robes Like very ſanctity ſhe did approach My Cabine where I lay: thrice bow'd before me, And (gaſping to begin ſome ſpeech) her eyes Became two ſpouts; the furie ſpent, anon Did this breake from her. Good Antigonus, Since Fate (againſt thy better diſpoſition) Hath made thy perſon for the Thower-out Of my poore babe, according to thine oath, Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weepe, and leaue it crying: and for the babe Is counted loſt for euer, Perdita I prethee call't: For this vngentle buſineſſe Put on thee, by my Lord, thou ne're ſhalt ſee Thy Wife Paulina more: and ſo, with ſhrickes She melted into Ayre. Affrighted much, I did in time collect my ſelfe, and thought This was ſo, and no ſlumber: Dreames, are toyes, Yet for this once, yea ſuperſtitiouſly, I will be ſquar'd by this. I do beleeue Hermione hath ſuffer'd death, and that Apollo would (this being indeede the iſſue Of King Polixenes) it ſhould heere be laide (Either for life, or death) vpon the earth Of it's right Father. Bloſſome, ſpeed thee well, There lye, and there thy charracter: there theſe, Which may if Fortune pleaſe, both breed thee (pretty) And ſtill reſt thine. The ſtorme beginnes, poore wretch, That for thy mothers fault, art thus expos'd To loſſe, and what may follow. Weepe I cannot, But my heart bleedes: and moſt accurſt am I To be by oath enioyn'd to this. Farewell, The day frownes more and more: thou'rt like to haue A lullabie too rough: I neuer ſaw The heauens ſo dim, by day. A ſauage clamor? Well may I get a-boord: This is the Chace, I am gone for euer. Exit purſued by a Beare. Shep.

I would there were no age betweene ten and three and twenty, or that youth would ſleep out the reſt: for there is nothing (in the betweene) but getting wenches with childe, wronging the Auncientry, ſtealing, fighting, hearke you now: would any but theſe boylde-braines of nineteene, and two and twenty hunt this weather? They haue ſcarr'd away two of my beſt Sheepe, which I feare the Wolfe will ſooner finde then the Maiſter; if any where I haue them, 'tis by the ſea-ſide, brouzing of Iuy▪ Good-lucke (and't be thy will) what haue we heere? Mercy on's, a Barne? A very pretty barne; A boy, or a Childe I wonder? (A pretty one, a verie prettie one) ſure ſome Scape; Though I am not bookiſh▪ yet I can reade Waiting-Gentlewoman in the ſcape: this has beene ſome ſtaire-worke, ſome Trunke-worke, ſome behinde-doore worke: they were warmer that got this, then the poore Thing is heere. Ile take it vp for pity, yet Ile tarry till my ſonne come: he hallow'd but euen now. Whoa-ho-hoa.

 Enter Clowne. Clo.

Hilloa, loa.

 Shep.

What? art ſo neere? If thou'lt ſee a thing to talke on, when thou art dead and rotten, come hither: what ayl'ſt thou, man?

 Clo.

I haue ſeene two ſuch ſights, by Sea & by Land: but I am not to ſay it is a Sea, for it is now the skie, betwixt the Firmament and it, you cannot thruſt a bodkins point.

 Shep.

Why boy, how is it?

 Clo.

I would you did but ſee how it chaſes, how it rages, how it takes vp the ſhore, but that's not to the point: Oh, the moſt pitteous cry of the poore ſoules, ſometimes to ſee 'em, and not to ſee 'em: Now the Shippe boaring the Moone with her maine Maſt, and anon ſwallowed with yeſt and froth, as you'ld thruſt a Corke into a hogſhead. And then for the Land-ſeruice, to ſee how the Beare tore out his ſhoulder-bone, how he cride to mee for helpe, and ſaid his name was Antigonus, a Nobleman: But to make an end of the Ship, to ſee how the Sea flapdragon'd it: but firſt, how the poore ſoules roared, and the ſea mock'd them: and how the poore Gentleman roared, and the Beare mock'd him, both roaring lowder then the ſea, or weather.

 Shep.

Name of mercy, when was this boy?

 Clo.

Now, now: I haue not wink'd ſince I ſaw theſe ſights: the men are not yet cold vnder water, nor the Beare halfe din'd on the Gentleman: he's at it now.

 Shep.

Would I had bin by, to haue help'd the olde man.

 Clo.

I would you had beene by the ſhip ſide, to haue help'd her; there your charity would haue lack'd footing.

 Shep.

Heauy matters, heauy matters: but looke thee heere boy. Now bleſſe thy ſelfe: thou met'ſt with things dying, I with things new borne Here's a ſight for thee: Looke thee, a bearing-cloath for a Squires childe: looke thee heere, take vp, take vp (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?

 Clo.

You're a mad olde man: If the ſinnes of your youth are forgiuen you, you're well to liue. Golde, all Gold.

 Shep.

This is Faiery Gold boy, and 'twill proue ſo: vp with't, keepe it cloſe: home, home, the next way. We are luckie (boy) and to bee ſo ſtill requires nothing but ſecrecie. Let my ſheepe go: Come (good boy) the next way home.

 Clo.

Go you the next way with your Findings, Ile go ſee if the Beare bee gone from the Gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they are neuer curſt but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, Ile bury it.

 Shep.

That's a good deed: if thou mayeſt diſcerne by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' ſight of him.

 Clowne.

'Marry will I: and you ſhall helpe to put him i' th' ground.

 Shep.

'Tis a lucky day, boy, and wee'l do good deeds on't

Exeunt
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima. Enter Time, the Chorus. Time. I that pleaſe ſome, try all: both ioy and terror Of good, and bad: that makes, and vnfolds error, Now take vpon me (in the name of Time) To vſe my wings: Impute it not a crime To me, or my ſwift paſſage, that I ſlide Ore ſixteene yeeres, and leaue the growth vntride Of that wide gap, ſince it is in my powre To orethrow Law, and in one ſelfe-borne howre To plant, and ore-whelme Cuſtome. Let me paſſe The ſame I am, ere ancient'ſt Order was, Or what is now receiu'd. I witneſſe 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 ſeemes to it: your patience this allowing, I turne my glaſſe, and giue my Scene ſuch growing As you had ſlept betweene: Leontes leauing Th' effects of his fond iealouſies, ſo greeuing That he ſhuts vp himſelfe. Imagine me (Gentle Spectators) that I now may be In faire Bohemia, and remember well, I mentioned a ſonne o' th' Kings, which Florizell I now name to you: and with ſpeed ſo pace To ſpeake of Perdita, now growne in grace Equall with wond'ring. What of her inſues I liſt not propheſie: but let Times newes Be knowne when 'tis brought forth. A ſhepherds daughter And what to her adheres, which followes after, Is th' argument of Time: of this allow, If euer you haue ſpent time worſe, ere now: If neuer, yet that Time himſelfe doth ſay, He wiſhes earneſtly, you neuer may. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Polixenes, and Camillo. Pol.

I pray thee (good Camillo) be no more importunate: 'tis a ſickneſſe denying thee any thing: a death to grant this.

 Cam.

It is fifteene yeeres ſince I ſaw my Countrey: though I haue (for the moſt part) bin ayred abroad, I deſire to lay my bones there. Beſides, the penitent King (my Maſter) hath ſent for me, to whoſe feeling ſorrowes I might be ſome allay, or I oreweene to thinke ſo) which is another ſpurre to my departure.

 Pol.

As thou lou'ſt me (Camillo) wipe not out the reſt of thy ſeruices, by leauing me now: the neede I haue of thee, thine owne • goodneſſe hath made: better not to haue had thee, then thus to want thee, thou hauing made me Buſineſſes, (which none (without thee) can ſufficiently manage) muſt either ſtay to execute them thy ſelfe, or take away with thee the very ſeruices thou haſt done: which if I haue not enough conſidered (as too much I cannot) to bee more thankefull to thee, ſhall bee my ſtudie, and my profite therein, the heaping friendſhippes. Of that fatall Countrey Sicillia, prethee ſpeake no more, whoſe very naming, punniſhes me with the remembrance of that penitent (as thou calſt him) and reconciled King my brother, whoſe loſſe of his moſt precious Queene & Children, are euen now to be a-freſh lamented. Say to me, when ſaw'ſt thou the Prince Florizell my ſon? Kings are no leſſe vnhappy, their iſſue, not being gracious, then they are in looſing them, when they haue approued their Vertues.

 Cam.

Sir, it is three dayes ſince I ſaw the Prince: what his happier affayres may be, are to me vnknowne: but I haue (miſsingly) noted, he is of late much retyred from Court, and is leſſe frequent to his Princely exerciſes then formerly he hath appeared.

 Pol.

I haue conſidered ſo much (Camillo) and with ſome care, ſo farre, that I haue eyes vnder my ſeruice, which looke vpon his remouedneſſe: from whom I haue this Intelligence, that he is ſeldome from the houſe of a moſt homely ſhepheard: a man (they ſay) that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbors, is growne into an vnſpeakable eſtate.

 Cam.

I haue heard (ſir) of ſuch a man, who hath a daughter of moſt rare note: the report of her is extended more, then can be thought to begin from ſuch a cottage

 Pol.

That's likewiſe part of my Intelligence: but (I feare) the Angle that pluckes our ſonne thither. Thou ſhalt accompany vs to the place, where we will (not appearing what we are) haue ſome queſtion with the ſhepheard; from whoſe ſimplicity, I thinke it not vneaſie to get the cauſe of my ſonnes reſort thether. 'Prethe be my preſent partner in this buſines, and lay aſide the thoughts of Sicillia.

 Cam.

I willingly obey your command.

 Pol.

My beſt Camillo, we muſt diſguiſe our ſelues.

Exit
Scena Tertia. Enter Antolicus ſinging. When Daffadils begin to peere, With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale. Why then comes in the ſweet o' the yeere, For the red blood raigns in ye winters pale. The white ſheete bleaching on the hedge, With boy the ſweet birds, O how they ſing: Doth ſet my pugging tooth an edge, For a quart of Ale is a diſh for a King. The Larke that tirra Lyra chaunts, With heigh, the Thruſh and the Iay: Are Summer ſongs for me and my Aunts While we lye tumbling in the hay.

I haue ſeru'd Prince Florizell, and in my time wore three pile, but now I am out of ſeruice.

But ſhall I go mourne for that (my deere) the pale Moone ſhines by night: And when I wander here, and there I then do moſt go right. If Tinkers may haue leaue to liue, and beare the Sow-skin Bowget, Then my account I well may giue, and in the Stockes auouch-it.

My Trafficke is ſheetes: when the Kite builds, looke to leſſer Linne • . My Father nam'd me Autolicus, who being (as I am) lytter'd vnder Mercurie, was likewiſe a ſnapper-vp of vnconſidered trifles: With Dye and drab, I purchas'd this Capariſon, and my Reuennew is the ſilly Cheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on the Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee: For the life to come, I ſleepe out the thought of it. A prize, a prize.

 Enter Clowne. Clo.

Let me ſee, euery Leauen-weather toddes, euery tod yeeldes pound and odde ſhilling: fifteene hundred ſhorne, what comes the wooll too?

 Aut.

If the ſprindge hold, the Cocke's mine.

 Clo.

I cannot do't without Compters. Let mee ſee, what am I to buy for our Sheepe-ſhearing-Feaſt? Three pound of Sugar, fiue pound of Currence, Rice: What will this ſiſter of mine do with Rice? But my father hath made her Miſtris of the Feaſt, and ſhe layes it on. Shee hath made-me four and twenty Noſe-gayes for the ſhearers (three-man ſong-men, all, and very good ones) but they are moſt of them Meanes and Baſes; but one Puritan amongſt them, and he ſings Pſalmes to horne-pipes. I muſt haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies, Mace: Dates, none: that's out of my note: Nutmegges, ſeuen; a Race or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Foure pound of Prewyns, and as many of Reyſons o' th Sun.

 Aut.

Oh, that euer I was borne.

 Clo.

I' th' name of me.

 Aut.

Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off theſe ragges: and then, death, death.

 Clo.

Alacke poore ſoule, thou haſt need of more rags to lay on thee, rather then haue theſe off.

 Aut.

Oh ſir, the loathſomneſſe of them offend mee, more then the ſtripes I haue receiued, which are mightie ones and millions.

 Clo.

Alas poore man, a million of beating may come to a great matter.

 Aut.

I am rob'd ſir, and beaten: my money, and apparrell tane from me, and theſe dereſtable things put vpon me.

 Clo.

What, by a horſe-man, or a foot-man?

 Aut.

A footman (ſweet ſir) a footman.

 Clo.

Indeed, he ſhould be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee: If this bee a horſemans Coate, it hath ſeene very hot ſeruice. Lend me thy hand, Ile helpe thee. Come, lend me thy hand.

 Aut.

Oh good ſir, tenderly, oh.

 Clo.

Alas poore ſoule.

 Aut.

Oh good ſir, ſoftly, good ſir: I feare (ſir) my ſhoulder-blade is out.

 Clo.

How now? Canſt ſtand?

 Aut.

Softly, deere ſir: good ſir, ſoftly: you ha done me a charitable office.

 Clo.

Doeſt lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for thee.

 Aut.

No, good ſweet ſir: no, I beſeech you ſir: I haue a Kinſman not paſt three quarters of a mile hence, vnto whome I was going: I ſhall there haue money, or anie thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killes my heart.

 Clow.

What manner of Fellow was hee that robb'd you?

 Aut.

A fellow (ſir) that I haue knowne to goe about with Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a ſeruant of the Prince: I cannot tell good ſir, for which of his Vertues it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of the Court.

 Clo.

His vices you would ſay: there's no vertue whipt out of the Court: they cheriſh it to make it ſtay there; and yet it will no more but abide.

 Aut.

Vices I would ſay (Sir.) I know this man well, he hath bene ſince an Ape-bearer, then a Proceſſe-ſeruer (a Bayliffe) then hee compaſt a Motion of the Prodigall ſonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile where my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer many knauiſh profeſſions) he ſetled onely in Rogue: ſome call him Autolicus.

Clo.

Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts Wakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings.

 Aut.

Very true ſir: he ſir hee: that's the Rogue that put me into this apparrell.

 Clo.

Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If you had but look'd bigge, and ſpit at him, hee'ld haue runne.

 Aut.

I muſt confeſſe to you (ſir) I am no fighter: I am falſe of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him.

 Clo.

How do you now?

 Aut.

Sweet ſir, much better then I was: I can ſtand, and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace ſoftly towards my Kinſmans.

 Clo.

Shall I bring thee on the way?

 Aut.

No, good fac'd ſir, no ſweet ſir.

 Clo.

Then fartheewell, I muſt go buy Spices for our ſheepe-ſhearing.

Exit. Aut.

Proſper you ſweet ſir. Your purſe is not hot enough to purchaſe your Spice: Ile be with you at your ſheepe-ſhearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out another, and the ſheerers proue ſheepe, let me be vnrold, and my name put in the booke of Vertue.

Song Iog-on, Iog-on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the Stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your ſad tyres in a Mile-a. Exit.
Scena Quarta. Enter Florizell, Perdita, Shepherd, Clowne, Polixenes, Camillo, Mopſa, Dorcas, Seruants, Autolicus. Flo. Theſe your vnvſuall weeds, to each part of you Do's giue a life: no Shepherdeſſe, but Flora Peering in Aprils front. This your ſheepe-ſhearing, Is as a meeting of the petty Gods, And you the Queene on't. Perd. Sir: my gracious Lord, To chide at your extreames, it not becomes me: (Oh pardon, that I name them:) your high ſelfe The gracious marke o' th' Land, you haue obſcur'd With a Swaines wearing: and me (poore lowly Maide) Moſt Goddeſe-like prank'd vp: But that our Feaſts In euery Meſſe, haue folly; and the Feeders Digeſt with a Cuſtome, I ſhould bluſh To ſee you ſo attyr'd: ſworne I thinke, To ſhew my ſelfe a glaſſe. Flo. I bleſſe the time, When my good Falcon, made her flight a-croſſe Thy Fathers ground Perd. Now Ioue affoord you cauſe: To me the difference forges dread (your Greatneſſe Hath not beene vs'd to feare:) euen now I tremble To thinke your Father, by ſome accident Should paſſe this way, as you did: Oh the Pates, How would he looke, to ſee his worke, ſo noble, Vildely bound vp? What would he ſay? Or how Should I (in theſe my borrowed Flaunts) behold The ſternneſſe of his preſence? Flo. Apprehend Nothing but iollity: the Goddes themſelues (Humbling their Deities to loue) haue taken The ſhapes of Beaſts vpon them. Iupiter, Became a Bull, and bellow'd: the greene Neptune A Ram, and bleated: and the Fire-roab'd-God Golden Apollo, a poore humble Swaine, As I ſeeme now. Their transformations, Were neuer for a peece of beauty, rarer, Not in a way ſo chaſte: ſince my deſires Run not before mine honor: nor my Luſts Burne hotter then my Faith. Perd. O but Sir, Your reſolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd (as it muſt be) by th' powre of the King: One of theſe two muſt be neceſsities, Which then will ſpeake, that you muſt change this purpoſe, Or I my life. Flo. Thou deer'ſt Perdita, With theſe forc'd thoughts, I prethee darken not The Mirth o' th' Feaſt: Or Ile be thine (my Faire) Or not my Fathers. For I cannot be Mine owne, nor any thing 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 comming: Lift vp your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptiall, which We two haue ſworne ſhall come. Perd. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auſpicious. Flo. See, your Gueſts approach, Addreſſe your ſelfe to entertaine them ſprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fy (daughter) when my old wife liu'd: vpon This day, ſhe was both Pantler, Butler, Cooke, Both Dame and Seruant: Welcom'd all: ſeru'd all, Would ſing her ſong, and dance her turne: now heere At vpper end o' th Table; now, i' th middle: On his ſhoulder, and his: her face o' fire With labour, and the thing ſhe tooke to quench it She would to each one ſip. You are retyred, As if you were a feaſted one: and not The Hoſteſſe of the meeting: Pray you bid Theſe vnknowne friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make vs better Friends, more knowne. Come, quench your bluſhes, and preſent your ſelfe That which you are, Miſtris o' th' Feaſt. Come on, And bid vs welcome to your ſheepe-ſhearing, As your good flocke ſhall proſper. Perd. Sir, welcome: It is my Fathers will, I ſhould take on mee The Hoſteſſeſhip o' th' day: you're welcome ſir. Giue me thoſe Flowres there (Dorcas.) Reuerend Sirs, For you, there's Roſemary, and Rue, theſe keepe Seeming, and ſauour all the Winter long: Grace, and Remembrance be to you both, And welcome to our Shearing. Pol. Shepherdeſſe, (A faire one are you:) well you fit our ages With flowres of Winter. Perd. Sir, the yeare growing ancient, Not yet on ſummers death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fayreſt flowres o' th ſeaſon Are our Carnations, and ſtreak'd Gilly-vors, (Which ſome call Natures baſtards) of that kind Our ruſticke Gardens barren, and I care not To get ſlips of them. Pol. Wherefore (gentle Maiden) Do you neglect them. Perd. For I haue heard it ſaid, There is an Art, which in their pideneſſe ſhares With great creating-Nature. Pol. Say there be: Yet Nature is made better by no meane, But Nature makes that Meane: ſo ouer that Art, (Which you ſay addes to Nature) is an Art That Nature makes: you ſee (ſweet Maid) we marry A gentler Sien, to the wildeſt Stocke, And make conceyue a barke of baſer kinde By bud of Nobler race. This is an Art Which do's mend Nature: change it rather, but The Art it ſelfe, is Nature. Perd.

So it is.

 Pol. Then make you Garden rich in Gilly'vors, And do not call them baſtards. Perd. Ile not put The Dible in earth, to ſet one ſlip of them: No more then were I painted, I would wiſh This youth ſhould ſay 'twer well: and onely therefore Deſire to breed by me. Here's flowres for you: Hot Lauender, Mints, Sauory, Mariorum, The Mary-gold, that goes to bed with Sun, And with him riſes, weeping: Theſe are flowres Of middle ſummer, and I thinke they are giuen To men of middle age. Y' are very welcome. Cam. I ſhould leaue graſing, were I of your flocke, And onely liue by gazing. Perd. Out alas: You'ld be ſo leane, that blaſts of Ianuary Would blow you through and through. Now my fa • ſt Friend, I would I had ſome Flowres o' th Spring, that might Become your time of day: and yours, and yours, That weare vpon your Virgin-branches yet Your Maiden-heads growing: O Proſerpina, For the Flowres now, that (frighted) thou let'ſt fall From Dyſſes Waggon: Daffadils, That come before the Swallow dares▪ and take The windes of March with beauty: Violets (dim, But ſweeter then the lids of Iuno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath) pale Prime-roſes, That dye vnmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his ſtrength (a Maladie Moſt incident to Maids:) bold Oxlips, and The Crowne Imperiall: Lillies of all kinds, (The Flowre-de-Luce being one.) O, theſe I lacke, To make you Garlands of) and my ſweet friend, To ſtrew him o're, and ore. Flo.

What? like a Coarſe?

 Perd. No, like a banke, for Loue to lye, and play on: Not like a Coarſe: or if: not to be buried, But quicke, and in mine armes. Come, take your flours, Me thinkes I play as I haue ſeene them do In Whitſo • -Paſtorals: Sure this Robe of mine Do's change my diſpoſition: Flo. What you do, Still betters what is done. When you ſpeake (Sweet) I'ld haue you do it euer: When you ſing, I'ld haue you buy, and ſell ſo: ſo giue Almes, Pray ſo: and for the ord'ring your Affayres, To ſing them too. When you do dance, I wiſh you A waue o' th Sea, that you might euer do Nothing but that: moue ſtill, ſtill ſo: And owne no other Function. Each your doing, (So ſingular, in each particular) Crownes what you are doing, in the preſent deeds, That all your Actes, are Queenes. Perd. O Doricles, Your praiſes are too large: but that your youth And the true blood which peepes fairely through't, Do plainly giue you out an vnſtain'd Sphepherd With wiſedome, I might feare (my Doricles) You woo'd me the falſe way. Flo. I thinke you haue As little skill to feare, as I haue purpoſe To put you to't. But come, our dance I pray, Your hand (my Perdita:) ſo Turtles paire That neuer meane to part. Perd.

Ile ſweare for 'em.

 Po. This is the prettieſt Low-borne Laſſe, that euer Ran on the greene-ſord: Nothing ſhe do's, or ſeemes But ſmackes of ſomething greater then her ſelfe, Too Noble for this place. Cam. He tels her ſomething That makes her blood looke on't: Good ſooth ſhe is The Queene of Curds and Creame. Clo.

Come on: ſtrike vp.

 Dorcas

Mopſa muſt be your Miſtris: marry Garlick to mend her kiſſing with.

 Mop.

Now in good time.

 Clo. Not a word, a word, we ſtand vpon our manners, Come, ſtrike vp. Heere a Daunce of Shepheards and Shephearddeſſes. Pol. Pray good Shepheard, what faire Swaine is this, Which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles, and boaſts himſelfe To haue a worthy Feeding; but I haue it Vpon his owne report, and I beleeue it: He lookes like ſooth: he ſayes he loues my daughter, I thinke ſo too; for neuer gaz'd the Moone Vpon the water, as hee'l ſtand and reade As 'twere my daughters eyes: and to be plaine, I thinke there is not halfe a kiſſe to chooſe Who loues another beſt. Pol.

She dances fearly.

 Shep. So ſhe do's any thing, though I report it That ſhould be ſilent: If yong Doricles Do light vpon her, ſhe ſhall bring him that Which he not dreames of. Enter Seruant. Ser.

O Maſter: if you did but heare the Pedler at the doore, you would neuer dance againe after a Tabor and Pipe: no, the Bag-pipe could not moue you: hee ſinges ſeuerall Tunes, faſter then you'l tell money: hee vtters them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens eares grew to his Tunes.

 Clo.

He could neuer come better: hee ſhall come in: I loue a ballad but euen too well, if it be dolefull matter merrily ſet downe: or a very pleaſant thing indeede, and ſung lamentably.

 Ser.

He hath ſongs for man, or woman, of all ſizes: No Milliner can ſo fit his cuſtomers with Gloues: he has the prettieſt Loue-ſongs for Maids, ſo without bawdrie (which is ſtrange,) with ſuch delicate burthens of Dildo's and Fadings: Iump-her, and thump-her; and where ſome ſtretch-mouth'd Raſcall, would (as it were) meane miſcheefe, and breake a fowle gap into the Matter, hee makes the maid to anſwere, Whoop, doe me no harme good man: put's him off, ſlights him, with Whoop, doe mee no harme good man.

Pol.

This is a braue fellow.

 Clo.

Beleeee mee, thou talkeſt of an admirable conceited fellow, has he any vnbraided Wares?

 Ser.

Hee hath Ribbons of all the colours i' th Rainebow; Points, more then all the Lawyers in Bohemia, can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' groſſe: Inckles, Caddyſſes, Cambrickes, Lawnes: why he ſings em ouer, as they were Gods, or Goddeſſes: you would thinke a Smocke were a ſhee-Angell, he ſo chauntes to the ſleeue-hand, and the worke about the ſquare on't:

 Clo.

Pre'thee bring him in, and let him approach ſinging.

 Perd.

Forewarne him, that he vſe no ſcurrilous words in's tunes.

 Clow.

You haue of theſe Pedlers, that haue more in them, then youl'd thinke (Siſter.)

 Perd.

I, good brother, or go about to thinke.

Enter Autolicus ſinging. Lawne as white as driuen Snow, Cypreſſe blacke as ere was Crow, Gloues as ſweete as Damaske Roſes, Maskes for faces, and for noſes: Bugle-bracelet, Necke-lace Amber, Perfume for a Ladies Chamber: Golden Quoiſes, and Stomachers For my Lads, to giue their deers: Pins, and poaking-ſtickes of ſteele. What Maids lacke from head to heele: Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy, Buy Lads, or elſe your Laſſes cry: Come buy. Clo.

If I were not in loue with Mopſa, thou ſhouldſt take no money of me, but being enthrall'd as I am, it will alſo be the bondage of certaine Ribbons and Gloues.

 Mop.

I was promis'd them againſt the Feaſt, but they come not too late now.

 Dor.

He hath promis'd you more then that, or there be lyars.

 Mop.

He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'May be he has paid you more, which will ſhame you to giue him againe.

 Clo.

Is there no manners left among maids? Will they weare their plackets, where they ſhould bear their faces? Is there not milking-time? When you are going to bed? Or kill-hole? To whiſtle of theſe ſecrets, but you muſt be tittle-tatling before all our gueſts? 'Tis well they are whiſpring: clamor your tongues, and not a word more.

 Mop.

I haue done; Come you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a paire of ſweet Gloues.

 Clo.

Haue I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and loſt all my money.

 Aut.

And indeed Sir, there are Cozeners abroad, therfore it behooues men to be wary.

 Clo.

Feare not thou man, thou ſhalt loſe nothing here

 Aut.

I hope ſo ſir, for I haue about me many parcels of charge.

 Clo.

What haſt heere? Ballads?

 Mop.

Pray now buy ſome: I loue a ballet in print, a life, for then we are ſure they are true.

 Aut.

Here's one, to a very dolefull tune, how a Vſurers wife was brought to bed of twenty money baggs at a burthen, and how ſhe long'd to eate Adders heads, and Toads carbonado'd.

 Mop.

Is it true, thinke you?

 Aut.

Very true, and but a moneth old.

 Dor.

Bleſſe me from marrying a Vſurer.

 Aut.

Here's the Midwiues name to't: one Miſt. Tale-Porter, and fiue or ſix honeſt Wiues, that were preſent. Why ſhould I carry lyes abroad?

 Mop.

'Pray you now buy it.

 Clo.

Come-on, lay it by: and let's firſt ſee moe Ballads: Wee'l buy the other things anon.

 Aut.

Here's another ballad of a Fiſh, that appeared vpon the coaſt, on wenſday the foureſcore of April, fortie thouſand fadom aboue water, & 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 wold not exchange fleſh with one that lou'd her: The Ballad is very pittifull, and as true.

 Dor.

Is it true too, thinke you.

 Autol.

Fiue Iuſtices hands at it, and witneſſes more then my packe will hold.

 Clo.

Lay it by too; another.

 Aut.

This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

 Mop.

Let's haue ſome merry ones.

 Aut.

Why this is a paſſing merry one, and goes to the tune of two maids wooing a man: there's ſcarſe a Maide weſtward but ſhe ſings it: 'tis in requeſt, I can tell you.

 Mop.

We can both ſing it: if thou'lt beare a part, thou ſhalt heare, 'tis in three parts.

 Dor.

We had the tune on't, a month agoe.

 Aut.

I can beare my part, you muſt know 'tis my occupation: Haue at it with you.

 Song

Get you hence, for I muſt goe

Aut.

Where it fits not you to know.

Dor.

Whether?

Mop

O Whether?

 Dor.

Whether?

 Mop. It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy ſecrets tell. Dor: Me too: Le me go thether: Mop

Or thou goeſt to th' Grange, or Mill,

Dor:

If to either thou doſt ill,

Aut:

Neither.

Dor:

What neither?

Aut:

Neither:

Dor:

Thou haſt ſworne my Loue to be,

Mop Thou haſt ſworne it more to mee. Then whether goeſt? Say whether? Clo.

Wee'l haue this ſong out anon by our ſelues: My Father, and the Gent▪ are in ſad talke, & wee'll not trouble them: Come bring away thy pack after me, Wenches Ile buy for you both: Pedler let's haue the firſt choice; folow me girles.

 Aut.

And you ſhall pay well for 'em.

 Song. Will you buy any Tape, or Lace for your • rpe? My dainty Ducke, my deere-a? Any Silke, any Thred, any Toyes for your head Of the news't, and fins't, fins't weare-a. Come to the Pedler, Money's a medler, That doth vtter all mens ware-a. Exit Seruant.

Mayſter, there is three Carters, three Shepherds, three Neat-herds, three Swine-herds yt haue made themſelues all men of haire, they cal themſelues Saltiers, and they haue a Dance, which the Wenches ſay is a gally-maufrey of Gambols, becauſe they are not in't: but they themſelues are o' th' minde (if it bee not too rough for ſome, that know little but bowling) it will pleaſe plentifully.

 Shep.

Away: Wee'l none on't; heere has beene too much homely foolery already. I know (Sir) wee wearie you.

 Pol.

You wearie thoſe that refreſh vs: pray let's ſee theſe foure-threes of Heardſmen.

 Ser.

One three of them, by their owne report (Sir,) hath danc'd before the King: and not the worſt of the three, but iumpes twelue foote and a halfe by th' ſquire.

 Shep.

Leaue your prating, ſince theſe good men are pleaſ'd, let them come in: but quickly now.

 Ser.

Why, they ſtay at doore Sir.

 Heere a Dance of twelue Satyres. Pol. O Father, you'l know more of that heereafter: Is it not too farre gone? 'Tis time to part them, He's ſimple, and tels much. How now (faire ſhepheard) Your heart is full of ſomething, that do's take Your minde from feaſting. Sooth, when I was yong, And handed loue, as you do; I was wont To load my Shee with knackes: I would haue ranſackt The Pedlers ſilken Treaſury, and haue powr'd it To her acceptance: you haue let him go, And nothing matted with him. If your Laſſe Interpretation ſhould abuſe, and call this Your lacke of loue, or bounty, you were ſtraited For a reply at leaſt, if you make a care Of happie holding her. Flo. Old Sir, I know She prizes not ſuch trifles as theſe are: The gifts ſhe lookes from me, are packt and lockt Vp in my heart, which I haue giuen already, But not deliuer'd. O heare me breath my life Before this ancient Sir, whom (it ſhould ſeeme) Hath ſometime lou'd: I take thy hand, this hand, As ſoft as Doues downe, and as white as it, Or Ethyopians tooth, or the ſan'd ſnow, that's bolted By th' Northerne blaſts, twice ore. Pol. What followes this? How prettily th' yong Swaine ſeemes to waſh The hand, was faire before? I haue put you out, But to your proteſtation: Let me heare What you profeſſe. Flo.

Do, and be witneſſe too't.

 Pol.

And this my neighbour too?

 Flo. And he, and more Then he, and men: the earth, the heauens, and all; That were I crown'd the moſt Imperiall Monarch Thereof moſt worthy: were I the fayreſt youth That euer made eye ſwerue, had force and knowledge More then was euer mans, I would not prize them Without her Loue; for her, employ them all, Commend them, and condemne them to her ſeruice, Or to their owne perdition. Pol.

Fairely offer'd.

 Cam.

This ſhewes a ſound affection.

 Shep. But my daughter, Say you the like to him. Pol. I cannot ſpeake So well, (nothing ſo well) no, nor meane better By th' par • erne of mine owne thoughts, I cut out The puritie of his. Shep. Take hands, a bargaine; And friends vnknowne, you ſhall beare witneſſe to't: I giue my daughter to him, and will make Her Portion, equall his. Flo. O, that muſt bee I' th Vertue of your daughter: One being dead, I ſhall haue more then you can dreame of yet, Enough then for your wonder: but come-on, Contract vs fore theſe Witneſſes. Shep. Come, your hand: And daughter, yours. Pol. Soft Swaine a-while, beſeech you, Haue you a Father? Flo.

I haue: but what of him?

 Pol.

Knowes he of this?

 Flo.

He neither do's, nor ſhall.

 Pol. Me-thinkes a Father, Is at the Nuptiall of his ſonne, a gueſt That beſt becomes the Table: Pray you once more Is not your Father growne incapeable Of reaſonable affayres? Is he not ſtupid With Age, and altring Rheumes? Can he ſpeake? heare? Know man, from man? Diſpute his owne eſtate? Lies he not bed-rid? And againe, do's nothing But what he did, being childiſh? Flo. No good Sir: He has his health, and ampler ſtrength indeede Then moſt haue of his age. Pol. By my white beard, You offer him (if this be ſo) a wrong Something vnfilliall: Reaſon my ſonne Should chooſe himſelfe a wife, but as good reaſon The Father (all whoſe ioy is nothing elſe But faire poſterity) ſhould hold ſome counſaile In ſuch a buſineſſe. Flo. I yeeld all this; But for ſome other reaſons (my graue Sir) Which 'tis not ſit you know, I not acquaint My Father of this buſineſſe. Pol.

Let him know't.

 Flo

He ſhall not.

 Pol.

Prethee let him.

 Flo

No, he muſt not.

 Shep. Let him (my ſonne) he ſhall not need to greeue At knowing of thy choice. Flo. Come, come, he muſt not: Marke our Contract. Pol. Marke your diuorce (yong ſir) Whom ſonne I dare not call: Thou art too baſe To be acknowledge. Thou a Scepters heire, That thus affects a ſheepe-hooke? Thou, old Traitor, I am ſorry, that by hanging thee, I can but ſhorten thy life one weeke. And thou, freſh peece Of excellent Witchcraft, whom of force muſt know The royall Foole thou coap'ſt with. Shep.

Oh my heart.

 Pol. Ile haue thy beauty ſcratcht with briers & made More homely then thy ſtate. For thee (fond boy) If I may euer know thou doſt but ſigh, That thou no more ſhalt neuer ſee this knacke (as neuer I meane thou ſhalt) wee'l barre thee from ſucceſſion, Not hold thee of our blood, no not our Kin, Farre then Deucalion off: (marke thou my words) Follow vs to the Court. Thou Churle, for this time (Though full of our diſpleaſure) yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you Enchantment, Worthy enough a Heardſman: yea him too, That makes himſelfe (but for our Honor therein) Vnworthy thee. If euer henceforth, thou Theſe rurall Latches, to his entrance open, Or hope his body more, with thy embraces, I will deuiſe a death, as cruell for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit. Perd. Euen heere vndone: I was not much a-fear'd: for once, or twice I was about to ſpeake, and tell him plainely, The ſelfe-ſame Sun, that ſhines vpon his Court, Hides not his viſage from our Cottage, but Lookes on alike. Wilt pleaſe you (Sir) be gone? I told you what would come of this: Beſeech you Of your owne ſtate take care: This dreame of mine Being now awake, Ile Queene it no inch farther, But milke my Ewes, and weepe. Cam. Why how now Father, Speake ere thou dyeſt. Shep. I cannot ſpeake, nor thinke, Nor dare to know, that which I know: O Sir, You haue vndone a man of foureſcore three, That thought to fill his graue in quiet: yea, To dye vpon the bed my father dy'de, To lye cloſe by his honeſt bones; but now Some Hangman muſt put on my ſhrowd, and lay me Where no Prieſt ſhouels-in duſt. Oh curſed wretch, That knew'ſt this was the Prince, and wouldſt aduenture To mingle faith with him. Vndone, vndone: If I might dye within this houre, I haue liu'd To die when I deſire. Exit. Flo. Why looke you ſo vpon me? I am but ſorry, not affear'd: delaid, But nothing altred: What I was, I am: More ſtraining on, for plucking backe; not following My leaſh vnwillingly. Cam. Gracious my Lord, You know my Fathers temper: at this time He will allow no ſpeech: (which I do gheſſe You do not purpoſe to him:) and as hardly Will he endure your ſight, as yet I feare; Then till the fury of his Highneſſe ſettle Come not before him. Flo. I not purpoſe it: I thinke Camillo. Cam.

Euen he, my Lord.

 Per. How often haue I told you 'twould be thus? How often ſaid my dignity would laſt But till 'twer knowne? Flo. It cannot faile, but by The violation of my faith, and then Let Nature cruſh the ſides o' th earth together, And marre the feeds within. Lift vp thy lookes: From my ſucceſſion wipe me (Father) I Am heyre to my affection. Cam.

Be aduis'd.

 Flo. I am: and by my fancie, if my Reaſon Will thereto be obedient: I haue reaſon: If not, my ſences better pleas'd with madneſſe, Do bid it welcome. Cam.

This is deſperate (ſir.)

 Flo. So call it: but it do's fulfill my vow: I needs muſt thinke it honeſty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pompe that may Be there at gleaned: for all the Sun ſees, or The cloſe earth wombes, or the profound ſeas, hides In vnknowne fadomes, will I breake my oath To this my faire belou'd: Therefore, I pray you, As you haue euer bin my Fathers honour'd friend, When he ſhall miſſe me, as (in faith I meane not To ſee him any more) caſt your good counſailes Vpon his paſsion: Let my ſelfe, and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And ſo deliuer, I am put to Sea With her, who heere I cannot hold on ſhore: And moſt opportune to her neede, I haue A Veſſell rides faſt by, but not prepar'd For this deſigne. What courſe I meane to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concerne me the reporting. Cam. O my Lord, I would your ſpirit were eaſier for aduice, Or ſtronger for your neede. Flo. Hearke Perdita, Ile heare you by and by. Cam. Hee's irremoueable, Reſolu'd for flight: Now were I happy if His going, I could frame to ſerue my turne, Saue him from danger, do him loue and honor, Purchaſe the ſight againe of deere Sicillia, And that vnhappy King, my Maſter, whom I ſo much thirſt to ſee. Flo. Now good Camillo, I am ſo fraught with curious buſineſſe, that I leaue out ceremony. Cam. Sir, I thinke You haue heard of my poore ſeruices, i' th loue That I haue borne your Father? Flo. Very nobly Haue you deſeru'd: It is my Fathers Muſicke To ſpeake your deeds: not little of his care To haue them recompenc'd, as thought on. Cam. Well (my Lord) If you may pleaſe to thinke I loue the King, And through him, what's neereſt to him, which is Your gracious ſelfe; embrace but my direction, If your more ponderous and ſetled proiect May ſuffer alteration. On mine honor, Ile point you where you ſhall haue ſuch receiuing As ſhall become your Highneſſe, where you may Enioy your Miſtris; from the whom, I ſee There's no diſiunction to be made, but by (As heauens forefend) your ruine: Marry her, And with my beſt endeuours, in your abſence, Your diſcontenting Father, ſtriue to qualifie And bring him vp to liking. Flo. How Camillo May this (almoſt a miracle) be done? That I may call thee ſomething more then man, And after that truſt to thee. Cam. Haue you thought on A place whereto you'l go? Flo. Not any yet: But as th' vnthought-on accident is guiltie To what we wildely do, ſo we profeſſe Our ſelues to be the ſlaues of chance, and flyes Of euery winde that blowes. Cam, Then lift to me: This followes, if you will not change your purpoſe But vndergo this flight; make for Sicillia, And there preſent your ſelfe, and your fayre Princeſſe, (For ſo I ſee ſhe muſt be) 'fore Leontes; She ſhall be habited, as it becomes The partner of your Bed. Me thinkes I ſee Leontes opening his free Armes, and weeping His Welcomes forth: asks thee there Sonne forgiueneſſe, As 'twere i' th' Fathers perſon: kiſſes the hands Of your freſh Princeſſe; ore and ore diuides him, 'Twixt his vnkindneſſe, and his Kindneſſe: th' one He chides to Hell, and bids the other grow Faſter then Thought, or Time. Flo. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my Viſitation, ſhall I Hold vp before him? Cam. Sent by the King your Father To greet him, and to giue him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you (as from your Father) ſhall deliuer, Things knowne betwixt vs three, Ile write you downe, The which ſhall point you forth at euery ſitting What you muſt ſay: that he ſhall not perceiue, But that you haue your Fathers Boſome there, And ſpeake his very Heart. Flo. I am bound to you: There is ſome ſappe in this. Cam. A Courſe more promiſing, Then a wild dedication of your ſelues To vnpath'd Waters, vndream'd Shores; moſt certaine, To Miſeries enough: no hope to helpe you, But as you ſhake off one, to take another. Nothing ſo certaine, as your Anchors, who Doe their beſt office, if they can but ſtay you, Where you'le be loth to be: beſides you know, Proſperitie's the very bond of Loue, Whoſe freſh complexion, and whoſe heart together, Affliction alters. Perd. One of theſe is true: I thinke Affliction may ſubdue the Cheeke, But not take-in the Mind. Cam. Yea? ſay you ſo? There ſhall not, at your Fathers Houſe, theſe ſeuen yeeres Be borne another ſuch. Flo. My good Camillo, She's as forward, of her Breeding, as She is i' th' reare' our Birth. Cam. I cannot ſay, 'tis pitty She lacks Inſtructions, for ſhe ſeemes a Miſtreſſe To moſt that teach. Perd. Your pardon Sir, for this, Ile bluſh you Thanks. Flo. My prettieſt Perdita. But O, the Thornes we ſtand vpon: (Camillo) Preſeruer of my Father, now of me, The Medicine of our Houſe: how ſhall we doe? We are not furniſh'd like Bohemia's Sonne, Nor ſhall appeare in Sicilia. Cam. My Lord, Feare none of this: I thinke you know my fortunes Doe all lye there: it ſhall be ſo my care, To haue you royally appointed, as if The Scene you play, were mine. For inſtance Sir, That you may know you ſhall not want: one word. Enter Autolicus. Aut.

Ha, ha, what a Foole Honeſtie is? and Truſt (his ſworne brother) a very ſimple Gentleman. I haue ſold all my Tromperie: not a counterfeit Stone, not a Ribbon, Glaſſe, Pomander, Browch, Table-booke, Ballad, Knife, Tape, Gloue, Shooe-tye, Bracelet, Horne-Ring, to keepe my Pack from faſting: they throng who ſhould buy firſt, as if my Trinkets had beene hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which meanes, I ſaw whoſe Purſe was beſt in Picture; and what I ſaw, to my good vſe, I remembred. My Clowne (who wants but ſomething to be a reaſonable man) grew ſo in loue with the Wenches Song, that hee would not ſtirre his Petty-toes, till he had both Tune and Words, which ſo drew the reſt of the Heard to me, that all their other Sences ſtucke in Eares: you might haue pinch'd a Placket, it was ſenceleſſe; 'twas nothing to gueld a Cod-peece of a Purſe: I would haue fill'd Keyes of that hung in Chaynes: no hearing, no feeling, but my Sirs Song, and admiring the Nothing of it. So that in this time of Lethargie, I pickd and cut moſt of their Feſtiuall Purſes: And had not the old-man come in with a Whoo-bub againſt his Daughter, and the Kings Sonne, and ſcar'd my Chowghes from the Chaffe, I had not left a Purſe aliue in the whole Army.

 Cam. Nay, but my Letters by this meanes being there So ſoone as you arriue, ſhall cleare that doubt. Flo.

And thoſe that you'le procure from King Leontes?

Cam.

Shall ſatisfie your Father.

 Perd. Happy be you: All that you ſpeake, ſhewes faire. Cam. Who haue we here? Wee'le make an Inſtrument of this: omit Nothing may giue vs aide. Aut.

If they haue ouer-heard me now: why hanging.

 Cam. How now (good Fellow) Why ſhak'ſt thou ſo? Feare not (man) Here's no harme intended to thee. Aut.

I am a poore Fellow, Sir.

 Cam.

Why, be ſo ſtill: here's no body will ſteale that from thee: yet for the out-ſide of thy pouertie, we muſt make an exchange; therefore diſ-caſe thee inſtantly (thou muſt thinke there's a neceſſitie in't) and change Garments with this Gentleman: Though the penny-worth (on his ſide) be the worſt, yet hold thee, there's ſome boot.

 Aut.

I am a poore Fellow, Sir: (I know ye well enough.)

 Cam.

Nay prethee diſpatch: the Gentleman is halfe fled already.

 Aut.

Are you in earneſt, Sir? (I ſmell the trick on't.)

 Flo.

Diſpatch, I prethee.

 Aut.

Indeed I haue had Earneſt, but I cannot with conſcience take it.

 Cam. Vnbuckle, vnbuckle. Fortunate Miſtreſſe (let my prophecie Come home to ye:) you muſt retire your ſelfe Into ſome Couert; take your ſweet-hearts Hat And pluck it ore your Browes, muffle your face, Diſ-mantle you, and (as you can) diſliken The truth of your owne ſeeming, that you may (For I doe feare eyes ouer) to Ship-boord Get vndeſcry'd. Perd. I ſee the Play ſo lyes, That I muſt beare a part. Cam. No remedie: Haue you done there? Flo. Should I now meet my Father, He would not call me Sonne. Cam. Nay, you ſhall haue no Hat: Come Lady, come: Farewell (my friend.) Aut.

Adieu, Sir.

 Flo. O Perdita: what haue we twaine forgot? 'Pray you a word. Cam. What I doe next, ſhall be to tell the King Of this eſcape, and whither they are bound; Wherein, my hope is, I ſhall ſo preuaile To force him after: in whoſe company I ſhall re-view Sicilia; for whoſe ſight, I haue a Womans Longing. Flo. Fortune ſpeed vs: Thus we ſet on (Camillo) to th' Sea-ſide. Cam.

The ſwifter ſpeed, the better.

Exit. Aut.

I vnderſtand the buſineſſe, I heare it: to haue an open eare, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is neceſſary for a Cut-purſe; a good Noſe is requiſite alſo, to ſmell out worke for th' other Sences. I ſee this is the time that the vniuſt man doth thriue. What an exchange had this been, without boot? What a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure the Gods doe this yeere conniue at vs, and we may doe any thing extempore. The Prince himſelfe is about a peece of Iniquitie (ſtealing away from his Father, with his Clog at his heeles:) if I thought it were a peece of honeſtie to acquaint the King withall, I would not do't: I hold it the more knauerie to conceale it; and therein am I conſtant to my Profeſſion.

Enter Clowne and Shepheard.

Aſide, aſide, here is more matter for a hot braine: Euery Lanes end, euery Shop, Church, Seſſion, Hanging, yeelds a carefull man worke.

 Clowne.

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.

 Shep.

Nay, but heare me.

 Clow.

Nay; but heare me.

 Shep.

Goe too then.

 Clow.

She being none of your fleſh and blood, your fleſh and blood ha's not offended the King, and ſo your fleſh and blood is not to be puniſh'd by him. Shew thoſe things you found about her (thoſe ſecret things, all but what ſhe ha's with her:) This being done, let the Law goe whiſtle: I warrant you.

 Shep.

I will tell the King all, euery word, yea, and his Sonnes prancks too; who, I may ſay, is no honeſt man, neither to his Father, nor to me, to goe about to make me the Kings Brother in Law.

 Clow.

Indeed Brother in Law was the fartheſt off you could haue beene to him, and then your Blood had beene the dearer, by I know how much an ounce.

 Aut.

Very wiſely (Puppies.)

 Shep.

Well: let vs to the King: there is that in this Farthell, will make him ſcratch his Beard.

 Aut.

I know not what impediment this Complaint may be to the flight of my Maſter.

 Clo.

'Pray heartily he be at' Pallace.

 Aut.

Though I am not naturally honeſt, I am ſo ſometimes by chance: Let me pocket vp my Pedlers excrement. How now (Ruſtiques) whither are you bound?

 Shep.

To th' Pallace (and it like your Worſhip.)

 Aut.

Your Affaires there? what? with whom? the Condition of that Farthell? the place of your dwelling? your names? your ages? of what hauing? breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be knowne, diſcouer?

 Clo.

We are but plaine fellowes, Sir.

 Aut.

A Lye; you are rough, and hayrie: Let me haue no lying; it becomes none but Tradeſ-men, and they often giue vs (Souldiers) the Lye, but wee pay them for it with ſtamped Coyne, not ſtabbing Steele, therefore they doe not giue vs the Lye.

 Clo.

Your Worſhip had like to haue giuen vs one, if you had not taken your ſelfe with the manner.

 Shep.

Are you a Courtier, and't like you Sir?

 Aut.

Whether it lke me, or no, I am a Courtier. Seeſt thou not the ayre of the Court, in theſe enfoldings? Hath not my gate in it, the meaſure of the Court? Receiues not thy Noſe Court-Odour from me? Reflect I not on thy Baſeneſſe, Court-Contempt? Think'ſt thou, for that I inſinuate, at toaze from thee thy Buſineſſe, I am therefore no Courtier? I am Courtier Cap-a-pe; and one that will eyther puſh-on, or pluck-back, thy Buſineſſe there: whereupon I command thee to open thy Affaire.

 Shep.

My Buſineſſe, Sir, is to the King.

 Aut.

What Aduocate ha'ſt thou to him?

 Shep.

I know not (and't like you.)

 Clo.

Aduocate's the Court-word for a Pheazant: ſay you haue none.

 Shep.

None, Sir: I haue no Pheazant Cock, nor Hen.

 Aut. How bleſſed are we, that are not ſimple men? Yet Nature might haue made me as theſe are, Therefore I will not diſdaine. Clo.

This cannot be but a great Courtier.

 Shep.

His Garments are rich, but he weares them not handſomely.

 Clo.

He ſeemes to be the more Noble, in being fantaſticall: A great man, Ile warrant; I know by the picking on's Teeth.

 Aut.

The Farthell there? What's i' th' Farthell? Wherefore that Box?

 Shep.

Sir, there lyes ſuch Secrets in this Farthell and Box, which none muſt know but the King, and which hee ſhall know within this houre, if I may come to th' ſpeech of him.

 Aut.

Age, thou haſt loſt thy labour.

 Shep.

Why Sir?

 Aut.

The King is not at the Pallace, he is gone aboord a new Ship, to purge Melancholy, and ayre himſelfe: for if thou bee'ſt capable of things ſerious, thou muſt know the King is full of griefe.

 Shep.

So 'tis ſaid (Sir:) about his Sonne, that ſhould haue marryed a Shepheards Daughter.

 Aut.

If that Shepheard be not in hand-faſt, let him flye; the Curſes he ſhall haue, the Tortures he ſhall feele, will breake the back of Man, the heart of Monſter.

 Clo.

Thinke you ſo, Sir?

 Aut.

Not hee alone ſhall ſuffer what Wit can make heauie, and Vengeance bitter; but thoſe that are Iermaine to him (though remou'd fiftie times) ſhall all come vnder the Hang-man: which, though it be great pitty, yet it is neceſſarie. An old Sheepe-whiſtiing Rogue, a Ram-tender, to offer to haue his Daughter come into grace? Some ſay hee ſhall be ſton'd: but that death is too ſoft for him (ſay I:) Draw our Throne into a Sheep-Coat? all deaths are too few, the ſharpeſt too eaſie.

 Clo.

Ha's the old-man ere a Sonne Sir (doe you heare) and't like you, Sir?

 Aut.

Hee ha's a Sonne: who ſhall be flayd aliue, then 'noynted ouer with Honey, ſet on the head of a Waſpes Neſt, then ſtand till he be three quarters and a dram dead: then recouer'd againe with Aquavite, or ſome other hot Infuſion: then, raw as he is (and in the hoteſt day Prognoſtication proclaymes) ſhall he be ſet againſt a Brick-wall, (the Sunne looking with a South-ward eye vpon him; where hee is to behold him, with Flyes blown to death.) But what talke we of theſe Traitorly-Raſcals, whoſe miſeries are to be ſmil'd at, their offences being ſo capitall? Tell me (for you ſeeme to be honeſt plaine men) what you haue to the King: being ſomething gently conſider'd, Ile bring you where he is aboord, tender your perſons to his preſence, whiſper him in your behalfes; and if it be in man, beſides the King, to effect your Suites, here is man ſhall doe it.

 Clow.

He ſeemes to be of great authoritie: cloſe with him, giue him Gold; and though Authoritie be a ſtubborne Be • re, yet hee is oft led by the Noſe with Gold: ſhew the in-ſide of your Purſe to the out-ſide of his hand, and no more adoe. Remember • on'd, and ſtay'd aliue.

 Shep.

And't pleaſe you (Sir) to vndertake the Buſineſſe for vs, here is that Gold I haue: Ile make it as much more, and leaue this young man in pawne, till I bring it you.

 Aut.

After I hate done what I promiſed?

 Shep.

I Sir.

 Aut.

Well, giue me the Mo • : Are you a partie in this Buſineſſe?

 Clow.

In ſo • e ſ • rt, Sir: but though my caſe be a pittifull one, I hope I ſhall not • ſ • d out o • it.

 Aut.

Oh, that's the caſe 〈◊〉 the Shepheards Sonne: hang him, hee'le be ma • a • ex • le.

 Clow.

Comfort • ood co • . We muſt to the King, and ſhe • our ſtrange ſights: • • ſt know 'tis none of your Daugh • • my 〈…〉 are gone elſe. Sir, I will giue you as much as this old man do's when the Buſineſſe i • pe • ſ • ed, and remaine (as he ſayes) your pawne till it be brough • you.

 Aut.

I will truſt you. Walke before toward the Seaſide, goe on the right hand, I will but looke vpon the Hedge, and follow you.

 Clow.

We are bleſs'd, in this man: as I may ſay, euen bleſs'd.

 Shep.

Let's before, as he bids vs: he was prouided to doe vs good.

 Aut.

If I had a mind to be honeſt, I ſee Fortune would not ſuffer m • • ſh • d • s 〈◊〉 in my mouth. I am courted now with a double • ſion: (Gold, and a means to doe the Prince my Maſter • od▪ which, who knowes how that may turn backe to 〈◊〉 • ncement?) I will bring theſe • wo M • aie • , t • e • d-ones, aboord him▪ if he thinke it • it to ſhoare th • againe, and that the Complaint they haue • o 〈◊〉 King▪ concernes him nothing, let him call me Rog • e, • o • being 〈◊〉 farre officious, for I am proofe againſt that ſide, and what ſhame elſe belongs to't: To him will I preſent them, there may be matter in it.

Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima. Enter Leontes, Cleomines, Dion, Paulina, Seruants: Florizel, Perdita. Cleo. Sir, you haue done enough, and haue perform'd A Saint-like Sorrow: No fault could you make, Which you haue not redeem'd; indeed pay'd downe More penitence▪ then done treſpas: At the laſt Doe as the Heauens haue done; forget your euill, With them, forgiue your ſelfe. Leo. Whileſt I remember Her, and her Vertues, I cannot forget My blemiſhes in them, and ſo ſtill thinke of The wrong I did my ſelfe: which was ſo much, That Heire-leſſe it hath made my Kingdome, and Deſtroy'd the ſweet'ſt Companion, that ere man Bred his hopes out of true. Paul. Too true (my Lord:) If one by one, you wedded all the World, Or from the All that are, tooke ſomething good, To make a perfect Woman; ſhe you kill'd, Would be vnparallell'd. Leo. I thinke ſo. Kill'd? She I kill'd? I did ſo: but thou ſtrik'ſt me Sorely, to ſay I did: it is as bitter Vpon thy Tongue, as in my Thought. Now, good now, Say ſo but ſeldome. Cleo. Not at all, good Lady: You might haue ſpoken a thouſand things, that would Haue done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindneſſe better. Paul. You are one of thoſe Would haue him wed againe. Dio. If you would not ſo, You pitty not the State, nor the Remembrance Of his moſt Soueraigne Name: Conſider little, What Dangers, by his Highneſſe faile of Iſſue, May drop vpon his Kingdome, and deuou • e Incertaine lookers on. What were more holy, Then to reioyce the former Queene is well? What holyer, then for Royalties repayre, For preſent comfort, and for future good, To bleſſe the Bed of Maieſtie againe With a ſweet Fellow to't? Paul. There is none worthy, (Reſpecting her that's gone:) beſides the Gods Will haue fulfill'd their ſecret purpoſes: For ha's not the Diuine Apollo ſaid? Is't not the tenor of his Oracle, That King Leontes ſhall not haue an Heire, Till his loſt Child be found? Which, that it ſhall, I • all as monſtrous to our humane reaſon, As my Antigonus to breake his Graue, And come againe to me: who, on my life, Did periſh with the Infant. 'Tis your councell, My Lord ſhould to the Heauens be contrary, Oppoſe againſt their wills. Care not for Iſſue, The Crowne will find an Heire. Great Alexander Left his to th' Worthieſt: ſo his Succeſſor Was like to be the beſt. Leo. Good Paulina, Who haſt the memorie of Hermione I know in honor: O, that euer I Had ſquar'd me to thy councell: then, euen now, I might haue look'd vpon my Queenes full eyes, Haue taken Treaſure from her Lippes. Paul. And left them More rich, for what they yeelded. Leo. Thou ſpeak'ſt truth: No more ſuch Wiues, therefore no Wife: one worſe, And better vs'd▪ would make her Sainted Spirit Againe poſſeſſe her Corps, and on this Stage (Where we Offendors now appeare) Soule-vext, And begin, why to me? Paul. Had ſhe ſuch power, She had iuſt ſuch cauſe. Leo. She had, and would incenſe me To murther her I marryed. Paul. I ſhould ſo: Were I the Ghoſt that walk'd, Il'd bid you marke Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You choſe her: then Il'd ſhrieke, that euen your eares Should rift to heare me, and the words that follow'd, Should be, Remember mine. Leo. Starres, Starres, And all eyes elſe, dead coales: feare thou no Wife; Ile haue no Wife, Paulina. Paul. Will you ſweare Neuer to marry, but by my free leaue? Leo.

Neuer (Paulina) ſo be bleſs'd my Spirit.

 Paul.

Then good my Lords, beare witneſſe to his Oath.

 Cleo.

You tempt him ouer-much.

 Paul. Vnleſſe another, As like Hermione, as is her Picture, Affront his eye. Cleo.

Good Madame, I haue done.

 Paul. Yet if my Lord will marry: if you will, Sir; No remedie but you will: Giue me the Office To chuſe you a Queene: ſhe ſhall not be ſo young As was your former, but ſhe ſhall be ſuch As (walk'd your firſt Queenes Ghoſt) it ſhould take ioy To ſee her in your armes. Leo. My true Paulina, We ſhall not marry, till thou bidſt vs. Paul. That Shall be when your firſt Queene's againe in breath: Neuer till then. Enter a Seruant. Ser. One that giues out himſelfe Prince Florizell, Sonne of Polixenes, with his Princeſſe (ſhe The faireſt I haue yet beheld) deſires acceſſe To your high preſence. Leo. What with him? he comes not Like to his Fathers Greatneſſe: his approach (So out of circumſtance, and ſuddaine) tells vs, 'Tis not a Viſitation fram'd, but forc'd By need, and accident. What Trayne? Ser. But few, And thoſe but meane. Leo.

His Princeſſe (ſay you) with him?

 Ser. I: the moſt peereleſſe peece of Earth, I thinke, That ere the Sunne ſhone bright on. Paul. Oh Hermione, As euery preſent Time doth boaſt it ſelfe Aboue a better, gone; ſo muſt thy Graue Giue way to what's ſeene now. Sir, you your ſelfe Haue ſaid, and writ ſo; but your writing now Is colder then that Theame: ſhe had not beene, Nor was not to be equall'd, thus your Verſe Flow'd with her Beautie once; 'tis ſhrewdly ebb'd, To ſay you haue ſeene a better. Ser. Pardon, Madame: The one, I haue almoſt forgot (your pardon:) The other, when ſhe ha's obtayn'd your Eye, Will haue 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. Paul.

How? not women?

 Ser. Women will loue her, that ſhe is a Woman More worth then any Man: Men, that ſhe is The rareſt of all Women. Leo. Goe Cleomines, Your ſelfe (aſſiſted with your honor'd Friends) Bring them to our embracement. Still 'tis ſtrange, He thus ſhould ſteale vpon vs. Exit. Paul. Had our Prince (Iewell of Children) ſeene this houre, he had payr'd Well with this Lord; there was not full a moneth Betweene their births. Leo. 'Prethee no more; ceaſe: thou know'ſt He dyes to me againe, when talk'd-of: ſure When I ſhall ſee this Gentleman, thy ſpeeches Will bring me to conſider that, which may Vnfurniſh me of Reaſon. They are come. Enter Florizell, Perdita, Cleomines, and others. Your Mother was moſt true to Wedlock, Prince, For ſhe did print your Royall Father off, Conceiuing you. Were I but twentie one, Your Fathers Image is ſo hit in you, (His very ayre) that I ſhould call you Brother, As I did him, and ſpeake of ſomething wildly By vs perform'd before. Moſt dearely welcome, And your faire Princeſſe (Goddeſſe) oh: alas, I loſt a couple, that 'twixt Heauen and Earth Might thus haue ſtood, begetting wonder, as You (gracious Couple) doe: and then I loſt (All mine owne Folly) the Societie, Amitie too of your braue Father, whom (Though bearing Miſerie) I deſire my life Once more to looke on him. Flo. By his command Haue I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Giue you all greetings, that a King (at friend) Can ſend his Brother: and but Infirmitie (Which waits vpon worne times) hath ſomething ſeiz'd His wiſh'd Abilitie, he had himſelfe The Lands and Waters, 'twixt your Throne and his, Meaſur'd, to looke vpon you; whom he loues (He bad me ſay ſo) more then all the Scepters, And thoſe that beare them, liuing. Leo. Oh my Brother, (Good Gentleman) the wrongs I haue done thee, ſtirre Afreſh within me: and theſe thy offices (So rarely kind) are as Interpreters Of my behind-hand ſlackneſſe. Welcome hither, As is the Spring to th' Earth. And hath he too Expos'd this Paragon to th' fearefull vſage (At leaſt vngentle) of the dreadfull Neptune, To greet a man, not worth her paines; much leſſe, Th' aduenture of her perſon? Flo. Good my Lord, She came from Libia. Leo. Where the Warlike Smalus, That Noble honor'd Lord, is fear'd, and lou'd? Flo. Moſt Royall Sir, From thence: from him, whoſe Daughter His Teares proclaym'd his parting with her: thence (A proſperous South-wind friendly) we haue croſs'd, To execute the Charge my Father gaue me, For viſiting your Highneſſe: My beſt Traine I haue from your Sicilian Shores diſmiſs'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to ſignifie Not onely my ſucceſſe in Libia (Sir) But my arriuall, and my Wifes, in ſafetie Here, where we are. Leo. The bleſſed Gods Purge all Infection from our Ayre, whileſt you Doe Clymate here: you haue a holy Father, A gracefull Gentleman, againſt whoſe perſon (So ſacred as it is) I haue done ſinne, For which, the Heauens (taking angry note) Haue left me Iſſue-leſſe: and your Father's bleſs'd (As he from Heauen merits it) with you, Worthy his goodneſſe. What might I haue been, Might I a Sonne and Daughter now haue look'd on, Such goodly things as you? Enter a Lord. Lord. Moſt Noble Sir, That which I ſhall report, will beare no credit, Were not the proofe ſo nigh. Pleaſe you (great Sir) Bohemia greets you from himſelfe, by me: Deſires you to attach his Sonne, who ha's (His Dignitie, and Dutie both caſt off) Fled from his Father, from his Hopes, and with A Shepheards Daughter. Leo.

Where's Bohemia? ſpeake:

 Lord. Here, in your Citie: I now came from him. I ſpeake amazedly, and it becomes My meruaile, and my Meſſage. To your Court Whiles he was haſtning (in the Chaſe, it ſeemes, Of this faire Couple) meetes he on the way The Father of this ſeeming Lady, and Her Brother, hauing both their Countrey quitted, With this young Prince. Flo. Camillo ha's betray'd me; Whoſe honor, and whoſe honeſtie till now, Endur'd all Weathers. Lord. Lay't ſo to his charge: He's with the King your Father. Leo.

Who? Camillo?

 Lord. Camillo (Sir:) I ſpake with him: who now Ha's theſe poore men in queſtion. Neuer ſaw I Wretches ſo quake: they kneele, they kiſſe the Earth; Forſweare themſelues as often as they ſpeake: Bohemia ſtops his eares, and threatens them With diuers deaths, in death. Perd. Oh my poore Father: The Heauen ſets Spyes vpon vs, will not haue Our Contract celebrated. Leo.

You are marryed?

 Flo. We are not (Sir) nor are we like to be: The Starres (I ſee) will kiſſe the Valleyes firſt: The oddes for high and low's alike. Leo. My Lord, Is this the Daughter of a King? Flo. She is, When once ſhe is my Wife. Leo. That once (I ſee) by your good Fathers ſpeed, Will come-on very ſlowly. I am ſorry (Moſt ſorry) you haue broken from his liking, Where you were ty'd in dutie: and as ſorry, Your Choiſe is not ſo rich in Worth, as Beautie, That you might well enioy her. Flo. Deare, looke vp: Though Fortune, viſible an Enemie, Should chaſe vs, with my Father; powre no iot Hath ſhe to change our Loues. Beſeech you (Sir) Remember, ſince you ow'd no more to Time Then I doe now: with thought of ſuch Affections, Stop forth mine Aduocate: at your requeſt, My Father will graunt precious things, as Trifles. Leo. Would he doe ſo. I'ld beg your precious Miſtris, Which he counts but a Trifle. Paul. Sir (my Liege) Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a moneth 'Fore your Queene dy'd, ſhe was more worth ſuch gazes, Then what you looke on now. Leo. I thought of her, Euen in theſe Lookes I made. But your Petition Is yet vn-anſwer'd: I will to your Father: Your Honor not o're-throwne by your deſires, I am friend to them, and you: Vpon which Errand I now goe toward him: therefore follow me, And marke what way I make: Come good my Lord. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Autolicus, and a Gentleman. Aut.

Beſeech you (Sir) were you preſent at this Relation?

 Gent. 1.

I was by at the opening of the Farthell, heard the old Shepheard deliuer the manner how he found it: Whereupon (after a little amazedneſſe) we were all commanded out of the Chamber: onely this (me thought) I heard the Shepheard ſay, he found the Child.

 Aut.

I would moſt gladly know the iſſue of it.

 Gent. 1.

I make a broken deliuerie of the Buſineſſe; but the changes I perceiued in the King, and Camillo, were very Notes of admiration: they ſeem'd almoſt, with ſtaring on one another, to teare the Caſes of their Eyes. There was ſpeech in their dumbneſſe, Language in their very geſture: they look'd as they had heard of a World • anſom'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 I • y, or Sorrow; but in the extremitie of the one, it muſt needs be.

Enter another Gentleman.

Here comes a Gentleman, that happily knowes more: The Newes, Rogero.

Gent. 2.

Nothing but Bon-fires: the Oracle is fulfill'd: the Kings Daughter is found: ſuch a deale of wonder is broken out within this houre, that Ballad-makers cannot be able to expreſſe it.

Enter another Gentleman.

Here comes the Lady Paulina's Steward, hee can deliuer you more. How goes it now (Sir.) This Newes (which is call'd true) is ſo like an old Tale, that the veritie of it is in ſtrong ſuſpition: Ha's the King found his Heire?

 Gent. 3.

Moſt true, if euer Truth were pregnant by Circumſtance: That which you heare, you'le ſweare you ſee, there is ſuch vnitie in the proofes. The Mantle of Queene Hermiones: her Iewell about the Neck of it: the Letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his Character: the Maieſtie of the Creature, in reſemblance of the Mother: the Affection of Nobleneſſe, which Nature ſhewes aboue her Breeding, and many other Euidences, proclayme her, with all certaintie, to be the Kings Daughter. Did you ſee the meeting of the two Kings?

 Gent. 2.

No.

 Gent. 3.

Then haue you loſt a Sight which was to bee ſeene, cannot bee ſpoken of. There might you haue beheld one Ioy crowne another, ſo and in ſuch manner, that it ſeem'd Sorrow wept to take leaue of them: for their Ioy waded in teares. There was caſting vp of Eyes, holding vp of Hands, with Countenance of ſuch diſtraction, that they were to be knowne by Garment, not by Fauor. Our King being ready to leape out of himſelfe, for ioy of his found Daughter; as if that Ioy were now become a Loſſe, cryes, Oh, thy Mother, thy Mother: then askes Bohemia forgiueneſſe, then embraces his Sonne-in-Law: then againe worryes he his Daughter, with clipping her. Now he thanks the old Shepheard (which ſtands by, like a Weather-bitten Conduit, of many Kings Reignes.) I neuer heard of ſuch another Encounter; which lames Report to follow it, and vndo's deſcription to doe it.

 Gent. 2.

What, 'pray you, became of Antigonus, that carryed hence the Child?

 Gent. 3.

Like an old Tale ſtill, which will haue matter to rehearſe, though Credit be aſleepe, and not an eare open; he was torne to pieces with a Beare: This auouches the Shepheards Sonne; who ha's not onely his Innocence (which ſeemes much) to iuſtifie him, but a Hand-kerchief and Rings of his▪ that Paulina knowes.

 Gent. 1.

What became of his Barke, and his Followers?

 Gent. 3.

Wrackt the ſame inſtant of their Maſters death, and in the view of the Shepheard: ſo that all the Inſtruments which ayded to expoſe the Child, were euen then loft, when it was found. But oh the Noble Combat, that 'twixt Ioy and Sorrow was fought in Paulina. Shee had one Eye declin'd for the loſſe of her Husband, another eleuated, that the Oracle was fulfill'd: Shee lifted the Princeſſe from the Earth, and ſo locks her in embracing, as if ſhee would pin her to her heart, that ſhee might no more be in danger of looſing.

 Gent. 1.

The Dignitie of this Act was worth the audience of Kings and Princes, for by ſuch was it acted.

 Gent. 3.

One of the prettyeſt 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 Queenes death (with the manner how ſhee came to't brauely confeſs'd, and lamented by the King) how attentiueneſſe wounded his Daughter, till (from one ſigne of dolour to another) ſhee did (with an Alas) I would faine ſay, bleed Teares; for I am ſure, my heart wept blood. Who was moſt Marble, there changed colour: ſome ſwownded, all ſorrowed: if all the World could haue ſeen't, the Woe had beene vniuerſall.

 Gent. 1.

Are they returned to the Court?

 Gent. 3.

No: The Princeſſe hearing of her Mothers Statue (which is in the keeping of Paulina) a Peece many yeeres in doing, and now newly perform'd, by that rare Italian Maſter, Iulio Romaeno, who (had he himſelfe Eternitie, and could put Breath into his Worke) would beguile Nature of her Cuſtome, ſo perfectly he is her Ape: He ſo neere to Hermione, hath done Hermione, that they ſay one would ſpeake to her, and ſtand in hope of anſwer. Thither (with all greedineſſe of affection) are they gone, and there they intend to Sup.

 Gent. 2.

I thought ſhe had ſome great matter there in hand, for ſhee hath priuately, twice or thrice a day, euer ſince the death of Hermione, viſited that remoued Houſe. Shall wee thither, and with our companie peece the Reioycing?

 Gent. 1.

Who would be thence, that ha's the benefit of Acceſſe? euery winke of an Eye, ſome new Grace will be borne: our Abſence makes vs vnthriftie to our Knowledge. Let's along.

Exit. Aut.

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 Sonne aboord the Prince; told him, I heard them talke of a Farthell, and I know not what: but he at that time ouer-fond of the Shepheards Daughter (ſo he then tooke her to be) who began to be much Sea-ſick, and himſelfe little better, extremitie of Weather continuing, this Myſterie remained vndiſcouer'd. But 'tis all one to me: for had I beene the finder-out of this Secret, it would not haue relliſh'd among my other diſcredits.

Enter Shepheard and Clowne.

Here come thoſe I haue done good to againſt my will, and alreadie appearing in the bloſſomes of their Fortune.

 Shep.

Come Boy, I am paſt moe Children: but thy Sonnes and Daughters will be all Gentlemen borne.

 Clow.

You are well met (Sir.) you deny'd to fight with mee this other day, becauſe I was no Gentleman borne. See you theſe Clothes? ſay you ſee them not, and thinke me ſtill no Gentleman borne: You were beſt ſay theſe Robes are not Gentlemen borne. Giue me the Lye: doe: and try whether I am not now a Gentleman borne.

 Aut.

I know you are now (Sir) a Gentleman borne.

 Clow.

I, and haue been ſo any time theſe foure houres.

 Shep.

And ſo haue I, Boy.

 Clow.

So you haue: but I was a Gentleman borne before my Father: for the Kings Sonne tooke me by the hand, and call'd mee Brother: and then the two Kings call'd my Father Brother: and then the Prince (my Brother) and the Princeſſe (my Siſter) call'd mv Father, Father; and ſo wee wept: and there was the firſt Gentleman-like teares that euer we ſhed.

 Shep.

We may liue (Sonne) to ſhed many more.

 Clow.

I: or elſe 'twere hard luck, being in ſo p • epoſterous eſtate as we are.

 Aut.

I humbly beſeech you (Sir) to pardon me all the faults I haue committed to your Worſhip, and to giue me your good report to the Prince my Maſter.

 Shep.

'Prethee Sonne doe: for we muſt be gentle, now we are Gentlemen.

 Clow.

Thou wilt amend thy life?

 Ant.

I, and it like your good Worſhip.

 Clow.

Giue me thy hand: I will ſweare to the Prince, thou art as honeſt a true Fellow as any is in Bohemia.

Shep.

You may ſay it, but not ſweare it.

 Clow.

Not ſweare it, now I am a Gentleman? Let Boores and Francklins ſay it, Ile ſweare it.

 Shep.

How if it be falſe (Sonne?)

 Clow.

If it be ne're ſo falſe, a true Gentleman may ſweare it, in the behalfe of his Friend: And Ile ſweare to the Prince▪ thou art a tall Fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunke: but I know thou art no tall Fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunke: but Ile ſweare it, and I would thou would'ſt be a tall Fellow of thy hands.

 Aut.

I will proue ſo (Sir) to my power.

 Clow.

I, by any meanes proue a tall Fellow: if I do not wonder, how thou dar'ſt venture to be drunke, not being a tall Fellow, truſt me not. Harke, the Kings and the Princes (our Kindred) are going to ſee the Queenes Picture. Come, follow vs: wee'le be thy good Maſters.

Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizell, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina: Hermione (like a Statue:) Lords, &c. Leo. O graue and good Paulina, the great comfort That I haue had of thee? Paul. What (Soueraigne Sir) I did not well, I meant well: all my Seruices You haue pay'd home. But that you haue vouchſaf'd (With your Crown'd Brother, and theſe your contracted Heires of your Kingdomes) my poore Houſe to viſit; It is a ſurplus of your Grace, which neuer My life may laſt to anſwere. Leo. O Paulina, We honor you with trouble: but we came To ſee the Statue of our Queene. Your Gallerie Haue we paſs'd through, not without much content In many ſingularities; but we ſaw not That which my Daughter came to looke vpon, The Statue of her Mother. Paul. As ſhe liu'd peereleſſe, So her dead likeneſſe I doe well beleeue Excells what euer yet you look'd vpon, Or hand of Man hath done: therefore I keepe it Louely, apart. But here it is: prepare To ſee the Life as liuely mock'd, as euer Still Sleepe mock'd Death: behold, and ſay 'tis well. I like your ſilence, it the more ſhewes-off Your wonder: but yet ſpeake, firſt you (my Liege) Comes it not ſomething neere? Leo. Her naturall Poſture. Chide me (deare Stone) that I may ſay indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art ſhe, In thy not chiding: for ſhe was as tender As Infancie, and Grace. But yet (Paulina) Hermione was not ſo much wrinckled, nothing So aged as this ſeemes. Pol.

Oh, not by much.

 Paul. So much the more our Caruers excellence. Which lets goe-by ſome ſixteene yeeres, and makes her As ſhe liu'd now. Leo. As now ſhe might haue done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my Soule. Oh, thus ſhe ſtood, Euen with ſuch Life of Maieſtie (warme Life, As now it coldly ſtands) when firſt I woo'd her. I am aſham'd: Do's not the Stone rebuke me, For being more Stone then it? Oh Royall Peece: There's Magick in thy Maieſtie, which ha's My Euils coniur'd to remembrance; and From thy admiring Daughter tooke the Spirits, Standing like Stone with thee. Perd. And giue me leaue, And doe not ſay 'tis Superſtition, that I kneele, and then implore her Bleſſing. Lady, Deere Queene, that ended when I but began, Giue me that hand of yours, to kiſſe. Paul. O, patience: The Statue is but newly fix'd; the Colour's Not dry. Cam. My Lord, your Sorrow was too ſore lay'd-on, Which ſixteene Winters cannot blow away, So many Summers dry: ſcarce any Ioy Did euer ſo long liue; no Sorrow, But kill'd it ſelfe much ſooner. Pol. Deere my Brother, Let him, that was the cauſe of this, haue powre To take-off ſo much griefe from you, as he Will peece vp in himſelfe. Paul. Indeed my Lord, If I had thought the ſight of my poore Image Would thus haue wrought you (for the Stone is mine) Il'd not haue ſhew'd it. Leo.

Doe not draw the Curtaine.

 Paul. No longer ſhall you gaze on't, leaſt your Fancie May thinke anon, it moues. Leo. Let be, let be: Would I were dead, but that me thinkes alreadie. (What was he that did make it?) See (my Lord) Would you not deeme it breath'd? and that thoſe veines Did verily beare blood? Pol. 'Maſterly done: The very Life ſeemes warme vpon her Lippe. Leo. The fixure of her Eye ha's motion in't, As we are mock'd with Art. Paul. Ile draw the Curtaine: My Lord's almoſt ſo farre tranſported, that Hee'le thinke anon it liues. Leo. Oh ſweet Paulina, Make me to thinke ſo twentie yeeres together: No ſetled Sences of the World can match The pleaſure of that madneſſe. Let't alone. Paul. I am ſorry (Sir) I haue thus farre ſtir'd you: but I could afflict you farther. Leo. Doe Paulina: For this Affliction ha's a taſte as ſweet As any Cordiall comfort. Still me thinkes There is an ayre comes from her. What fine Chizzell Could euer yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiſſe her. Paul. Good my Lord, forbeare: The ruddineſſe vpon her Lippe, is wet: You'le marre it, if you kiſſe it; ſtayne your owne With Oyly Painting: ſhall I draw the Curtaine. Leo.

No: not theſe twentie yeeres.

 Perd. So long could I Stand-by, a looker-on. Paul. Either forbeare, Quit preſently the Chappell, or reſolue you For more amazement: if you can behold it, Ile make the Statue moue indeed; deſcend, And take you by the hand: but then you'le thinke (Which I proteſt againſt) I am aſſiſted By wicked Powers. Leo. What you can make her doe, I am content to looke on: what to ſpeake, I am content to heare: for 'tis as eaſie To make her ſpeake, as moue. Paul. It is requir'd You doe awake your Faith: then, all ſtand ſtill: On: thoſe that thinke it is vnlawfull Buſineſſe I am about, let them depart. Leo. Proceed: No foot ſhall ſtirre. Paul. Muſick; awake her: Strike: 'Tis time: deſcend: be Stone no more: approach: Strike all that looke vpon with meruaile: Come: Ile fill your Graue vp: ſtirre: nay, come away: Bequeath to Death your numneſſe: (for from him, Deare Life redeemes you) you perceiue ſhe ſtirres: Start not: her Actions ſhall be holy, as You heare my Spell is lawfull: doe not ſhun her, Vntill you ſee her dye againe; 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? Leo. Oh, ſhe's warme: If this be Magick, let it be an Art Lawfull as Eating. Pol.

She embraces him.

 Cam. She hangs about his necke, If ſhe pertaine to life, let her ſpeake too. Pol. I, and make it manifeſt where ſhe ha's liu'd, Or how ſtolne from the dead? Paul. That ſhe is liuing, Were it but told you, ſhould be hooted at Like an old Tale: but it appeares ſhe liues, Though yet ſhe ſpeake not. Marke a little while: Pleaſe you to interpoſe (faire Madam) kneele, And pray your Mothers bleſſing: turne good Lady, Our Perdita is found. Her. You Gods looke downe, And from your ſacred Viols poure your graces Vpon my daughters head: Tell me (mine owne) Where haſt thou bin preſeru'd? Where liu'd? How found Thy Fathers Court? For thou ſhalt heare that I Knowing by Paulina, that the Oracle Gaue hope thou waſt in being, haue preſeru'd My ſelfe, to ſee the yſſue. Paul. There's ttme enough for that, Leaft they deſire (vpon this puſh) to trouble Your ioyes, with like Relation. Go together You precious winners all: your exultation Partake to euery one: I (an old Turtle) Will wing me to ſome wither'd bough, and there My Mate (that's neuer to be found againe) Lament, till I am loſt. Leo. O peace Paulina: Thou ſhouldſt a husband take by my conſent, As I by thine a Wife. This is a Match, And made betweene's by Vowes. Thou haſt found mine, But how, is to be queſtion'd: for I ſaw her (As I thought) dead: and haue (in vaine) ſaid many A prayer vpon her graue. Ile not ſeeke faire (For him, I partly know his minde) to finde thee An honourable husband. Come Camillo, And take her by the hand: whoſe worth, and honeſty Is richly noted: and heere iuſtified By Vs, a paire of Kings. Let's from this place. What? looke vpon my Brother: both your pardons, That ere I put betweene your holy lookes My ill ſuſpition: This your Son-in-law, And Sonne vnto the King, whom heauens directing Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Leade vs from hence, where we may leyſurely Each one demand, and anſwere to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of Time, ſince firſt We were diſſeuer'd: Haſtily lead away. Exeunt.
The Names of the Actors. LEontes, King of Sicillia. Mamillus, yong Prince of Sicillia. Camillo. Foure Lords of Sicillia. Antigonus. Foure Lords of Sicillia. Cleomines. Foure Lords of Sicillia. Dion. Foure Lords of Sicillia. Hermione, Queene to Leontes. Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione. Paulina, wife to Antigonus. Emilia, a Lady. Polixenes, King of Bohemia. Florizell, Prince of Bohemia. Old Shepheard, reputed Father of Perdita. Clowne, his Sonne. Autolicus, a Rogue. Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia. Other Lords, and Gentlemen, and Seruants. Shepheards, and Shephearddeſſes.
FINIS.
The life and death of King Iohn.
Actus Primus,
Scaena Prima. Enter King Iohn, Queene Elinor, Pembroke; Eſſex, and Salisbury, with the Chattylion of France. King Iohn.

NOw ſay Chatillion, what would France with vs?

 Chat. Thus (after greeting) ſpeakes the King of France, In my behauiour to the Maieſty▪ The borrowed Maieſty of England heere. Elea.

A ſtrange beginning: borrowed Maieſty?

 K. Iohn.

Silence (good mother) heare the Embaſſie.

 Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalfe Of thy deceaſed brother, Geffreyes ſonne, Arthur Plantagines, laies moſt lawfull claime To this faire Iland, and the Territories: To Ireland, Poyctiers, Aniowe, Torayne, Maine, Deſiring thee to lay aſide the ſword Which ſwaies vſurpingly theſe ſeuerall titles, And put the ſame into yong Arthurs hand, Thy Nephew, and right royall Soueraigne▪ K. Iohn.

What followes if we diſallow of this?

 Chat. The proud controle of fierce and bloudy warre, To inforce theſe rights, ſo forcibly with-held, K. Io. Heere haue we wat for war, & bloud for bloud, Controlement for controlement▪ ſo anſwer France. Chat. Then take my Kings defiance from my mouth, The fartheſt limit of my Embaſſie. K. Iohn. Beare mine to him, and ſo depart in peace, Be thou as lightning in the eies of France: For ere thou canſt report, I will be there: The thunder of my Cannon ſhall be heard, So hence: be thou the trumpet of our wraths And ſullen preſage of your owne decay; An honourable conduct let him haue, Pembroke looke too't farewell Chattillion. Exit Chat, and Pem Ele. What now my ſonne, haue I not euer ſaid How that ambitious Constance would not coaſt Till ſhe had kindled France and all the world, Vpon the right and party of her ſonne. This might haue beene preue • ed, and made whole With very eaſie arguments of loue, Which now the ma • nage of two kingdomes muſt With fearefull bloudy iſſue arbitrate, K. Iohn.

Out ſtrong poſſeſſion, and our right for vs,

 Eli. Your ſtrong poſſeſsiō much more then your right, Or elſe it muſt go wrong with you and me, So much my conſcience whiſpers in your eare, Which none but heauen, and you, and I, ſhall heare. Enter a Sheriffe. Eſſex. My Liege, here is the ſtrangeſt controuerſie Come from the Country to be iudg'd by you That ere I heard: ſhall I produce the men? K. Iohn. Let them approach: Our Abbies and our Priories ſhall pay This expeditious charge what men are you? Enter Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip. Philip. Your faithfull ſubiect, I a gentleman, Borne in Northamptonſhire, and eldeſt ſonne As I ſuppoſe, to Robert Faulconbridge, A Souldier by the Honor-giuing-hand Of Cordelion, Knighted in the field. K. Iohn.

What art thou?

 Robert.

The ſon and heire to that ſame Faulconbridge.

K. Iohn. Is that the elder, and art thou the heyre? You came not of one mother then it ſeemes. Philip. Moſt certain of one mother, mighty King. That is well knowne, and as I thinke one father: But for the certaine knowledge of that truth, I put you o're to heauen, and to my mother; Of that I doubt, as all mens children may. Eli. Out on thee rude man, yu doſt ſhame thy mother, And wound her honor with this diffidence. Phil. I Madame? No, I haue no reaſon for it. That is my brothers plea, and none of mine, The which if he can proue, a pops me out, At leaſt from faire fiue hundred pound a yeere: Heauen guard my mothers honor, and my Land. K. Iohn. A good blunt fellow: why being yonger born Doth he lay claime to thine inheritance? Phil. I know not why, except to get the land: But once he ſlanderd me with baſtardy: But where I be as true begot or no, That ſtill I lay vpon my mothers head, But that I am as well begot my Liege (Faire fall the bones that tooke the paines for me) Compare our faces, and be Iudge your ſelfe If old Sir Robert did beget vs both, And were our father, and this ſonne like him: O old ſir Robert Father, on my knee I giue heauen thankes I was not like to thee. K. Iohn.

Why what a mad-cap hath heauen lent vs here?

 Elen. He hath a tricke of Cordelions face, The accent of his tongue affecteth him: Doe you not read ſome tokens of my ſonne In the large compoſition of this man? K. Iohn. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, And findes them perfect Richard: ſirra ſpeake, What doth moue you to claime your brother • l • d. Philip. Becauſe he hath a half- 〈◊〉 like my 〈◊〉 With halfe that face would he haue all my • and A halfe-fac'd groa • fiue hundred pound a yeere. Rob. My gracious Liege; when that my father liu'd, Your brother did imploy my father much. Phil. Well ſir, by this you cannot get my land, Your tale muſt be how he employ'd my mother▪ Rob. And once diſpatch'd him in an Embaſſie To Germany, there with the Emperor To treat of high affaires touching that time: Th' aduantage of his abſence tooke the King, And in the meane time ſoiourn'd at my fathers; Where how he did preuaile, I ſhame to ſpeake: But truth is truth, large lengths of ſeas and ſhores Betweene my father, and my mother lay, As I haue heard my father ſpeake himſelfe When this ſame luſty gentleman was got: Vpon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me, and tooke it on his death That this my mothers ſonne was none of his; And if he were, he came into the world Full fourteene weekes before the courſe of time: Then good my Liedge let me haue what is mine, My fathers land, as was my fathers will. K. Iohn. Sirra, your brother is Legittimate, Your fathers wife did after wedlocke beare him: And if ſhe did play falſe, the fault was hers; Which fault lyes on the hazards of all husbands That marry wiues: tell me, how if my brother Who as you ſay, tooke paines to get this ſonne, Had of your father claim'd this ſonne for his, Inſooth, good friend, your father might haue kept This Calfe, bred from his Cow from all the world: Inſooth he might: then if he were my brothers, My brother might not claime him, nor your father Being none of his, refuſe him: this concludes, My mothers ſonne did get your fathers heyre, Your fathers heyre muſt haue your fathers land. Rob. Shal then my fathers Will be of no force, To diſpoſſeſſe that childe which is not his. Phil. Of no more force to diſpoſſeſſe me ſir, Then was his will to get me, as I think. Eli. Whether hadſt thou rather be a Faulconbridge, And like thy brother to enioy thy land: Or the reputed ſonne of Cordelion, Lord of thy preſence, and no land beſide. Baſt. Madam, and if my brother had my ſhape And I had his, ſir Roberts his like him, And if my legs were two ſuch riding rods, My armes, ſuch eele skins ſtuft, my face ſo thin, That in mine eare I du • ſt not ſticke a roſe. Leſt men ſhould ſay, looke where three farthings goes, And to his ſhape were heyre to all this land, Would I might neuer ſtirre from off this place, I would giue it euery foot to haue this face: It would not be ſir nobbe in any caſe. Elinor. I like thee well: wilt thou forſake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me? I am a Souldier, and now bound to France. Baſt. Brother, take you my land, Ile take my chance; Your face hath got fiue hundred pound a y • ere, Yet ſell your face for fiue pence and 'tis deere: Madam, Ile follow you vnto the death. Elinor.

Nay, I would haue you go before me thither.

 Baſt.

Our Country manners giue our betters way.

 K. Iohn.

What i • thy name?

 Baſt.

Philip • y Liege, ſo is my name begun, Philip, good old Sir Roberts wiues eldeſt ſonne.

 K. Iohn. From henceforth beare his name Whoſe for me thou beareſt: Kneele thou downe Philip, but riſe more great, Ariſe Sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Baſt. Brother by th' mothers ſide, giue me your hand, My father gaue me honor, yours gaue land: Now bleſſed be the houre by night or day When I was got, Sir Robert was away. Ele. The very ſpirit of Plantaginet: I am thy grandame Richard, call me ſo. Baſt. Madam by chance, but not by truth, what tho; Something about a little from the right, In at the window, or elſe ore the hatch: Who dares not ſtirre by day, muſt walke by night, And haue is haue, how euer men doe catch: Neere or farre off well wonne is ſtill well ſhot, And I am I, how ere I was begot. K. Iohn. Goe, Faulconbridge, now haſt thou thy deſire, A landleſſe Knight, makes thee a landed Squire: Come Madam, and come Richard, we muſt ſpeed For France, for France, for it is more then need. Baſt. Brother adieu, good fortune come to thee, For thou waſt got i' th way of honeſty. Exeunt all but baſtard. Baſt. A foot of Honor better then I was, But many a many foot of Land the worſe. Well, now can I make any Ioane a Lady, Good den Sir Richard, God a mercy fellow, And if his name be George, Ile call him Peter; For new made honor doth forget mens names: 'Tis two reſpectiue, and too ſociable For your conuerſion, now your traueller, Hee and his tooth-picke at my worſhips meſſe, And when my knightly ſtomacke is ſuffis'd, Why then I ſucke my teeth, and catechize My picked man of Countries: my deare ſir, Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin, I ſhall beſeech you; that is queſtion now, And then comes anſwer like an Abſey booke: O ſir, ſayes anſwer, at your beſt command, At your employment, at your ſeruice ſir: No ſir, ſaies queſtion, I ſweet ſir at yours, And ſo ere anſwer knowes what queſtion would, Sauing in Dialogue of Complement, And talking of the Alpes and Appenines, The Perennean and the riuer Poe, It drawes toward fupper in concluſion ſo. But this is worſhipfull ſociety, And fits the mounting ſpirit like my ſelfe; For he is but a baſtard to the time That doth not ſmoake of obſeruation, And ſo am I whether I ſmacke or no: And not alone in habit and deuice, Exterior forme, outward accoutrement; But from the inward motion to deliuer Sweet, ſweet, ſweet poyſon for the ages tooth, Which though I will not practice to deceiue, Yet to auoid deceit I meane to learne; For it ſhall ſtrew the footſteps of my riſing: But who comes in ſuch haſte in riding robes? What woman poſt is this? hath ſhe no husband That will take paines to blow a horne before her? O me, 'tis my mother: how now good Lady, What brings you heere to Court ſo haſtily? Enter Lady Faulconbridge and Iames Gurney. Lady. Where is that ſlaue thy brother? where is he? That holds in chaſe mine honour vp and downe. Baſt. My brother Robert, old Sir Roberts ſonne: Colbrand the Gyant, that ſame mighty man, Is it Sir Roberts ſonne that you ſeeke ſo? Lady. Sir Roberts ſonne, I thou vnreuerend boy, Sir Roberts ſonne? why ſcorn'ſt thou at ſir Robert? He is Sir Roberts ſonne, and ſo art thou. Baſt.

Iames Gournie, wilt thou giue vs leaue a while?

 Gour.

Good leaue good Philip.

Baſt. Philip, ſparrow, Iames, There's toyes abroad, anon Ile tell thee more. Exit Iames. Madam, I was not old Sir Roberts ſonne, Sir Robert might haue eat his part in me Vpon good Friday, and nere broke his faſt: Sir Robert could doe well, marrie to confeſſe Could get me ſir Robert could not doe it; We know his handy-worke, therefore good mother To whom am I beholding for theſe limmes? Sir Robert neuer holpe to make this legge. Lady. Haſt thou conſpired with thy brother too, That for thine owne gaine ſhouldſt defend mine honor? What meanes this ſcorne, thou moſt vntoward knaue? Bast. Knight, knight good mother, Baſiliſco-like: What, I am dub'd, I haue it on my ſhoulder: But mother, I am not Sir Roberts ſonne, I haue diſclaim'd Sir Robert and my land, Legitimation, name, and all is gone; Then good my mother, let me know my father, Some proper man I hope, who was it mother? Lady.

Haſt thou denied thy ſelfe a Faulconbridge?

 Baſt.

As faithfully as I denie the deuill.

 Lady. King Richard Cordelion was thy father, By long and vehement ſuit I was ſeduc'd To make roome for him in my husbands bed: Heauen lay not my transgreſſion to my charge, That art the iſſue of my deere offence Which was ſo ſtrongly vrg'd paſt my defence. Baſt. Now by this light were I • o get againe, Madam I would not wiſh a better father: Some ſinnes doe beare their priuiledge on earth, And ſo doth yours: your fault, was not your follie, Needs muſt you lay your heart at his diſpoſe, Subiected tribute to commanding loue, Againſt whoſe furie and vnmatched force, The awleſſe Lion could not wage the fight, Nor keepe his Princely heart from Richards hand He that perforce robs Lions of their hearts, May eaſily winne a womans: aye my mother, With all my heart I thanke thee for my father: Who liues and dares but ſay, thou didſt not well When I was got, Ile ſend his ſoule to hell. Come Lady I will ſhew thee to my kinne, And they ſhall ſay, when Richard me begot, If thou hadſt ſayd him nay, it had beene ſinne; Who ſayes it was, he lyes, I ſay twas not. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter before Angiers, Philip King of France, Lewis, Daulphin, Austria, Conſtance, Arthur. Lewis. Before Angiers well met braue Auſtria, Arthur that great fore-runner of thy bloud, Richard that rob'd the Lion of his heart, And fought the holy Warres in Paleſtine, By this braue Duke came early to his graue: And for amends to his poſteritie, At our importance hether is he come, To ſpread his colours boy, in thy behalfe, And to rebuke the vſurpation Of thy vnnaturall Vncle, Engliſh Iohn, Embrace him, loue him, giue him welcome hether. Arth. God ſhall forgiue you Cordelions death The rather, that you giue his off-ſpring life, Shadowing their right vnder your wings of warre: I giue you welcome with a powerleſſe hand, But with a heart full of vnſtained loue, Welcome before the gates of Angiers Duke. Lewis.

A noble boy, who would not doe thee right?

 Auſt. Vpon thy cheeke lay I this zelous kiſſe, As ſeale to this indenture of my loue: That to my home I will no more returne Till Angiers, and the right thou haſt in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd ſhore, Whoſe foot ſpurnes backe the Oceans roaring tides, And coopes from other lands her Ilanders, Euen till that England hedg'd in with the maine, That Water-walled Bulwarke, ſtill ſecure And confident from forreine purpoſes, Euen till that vtmoſt corner of the Weſt Salute thee for her King, till then faire boy Will I not thinke of home, but follow Armes. Conſt. O take his mothers thanks, a widdows thanks, Till your ſtrong hand ſhall helpe to giue him ſtrength, To make a more requitall to your loue. Auſt. The peace of heauen is theirs yt lift their ſwords In ſuch a iuſt and charitable warre. King. Well, then to worke our Cannon ſhall be bent Againſt the browes of this reſiſting towne, Call for our cheefeſt men of diſcipline, To cull the plots of beſt aduantages: Wee'll lay before this towne our Royal bones, Wade to the market-place in French-mens bloud, But we will make it ſubiect to this boy. Con. Stay for an anſwer to your Embaſſie, Leſt vnaduis'd you ſtaine your ſwords with bloud, My Lord Chattilion may from England bring That right in peace which heere we vrge in warre, And then we ſhall repent each drop of bloud, That hot raſh haſte ſo indirectly ſhedde. Enter Chattilion. King. A wonder Lady: lo vpon thy wiſh Our Meſſenger Chattilion is arriu'd, What England ſaies, ſay breefely gentle Lord, We coldly pauſe for thee, Chatilion ſpeake, Chat. Then turne your forces from this paltry ſiege, And ſtirre them vp againſt a mightier taske: England impatient of your iuſt demands, Hath put himſelfe in Armes, the aduerſe windes Whoſe leiſure I haue ſtaid, haue giuen him time To land his Legions all as ſoone as I: His marches are expedient to this towne, His forces ſtrong, his Souldiers confident: With him along is come the Mother Queene, An Ace ſtirring him to bloud and ſtrife, With her her Neece, the Lady Blanch of Spaine, With them a Baſtard of the Kings deceaſt, And all th' vnſetled humors of the Land, Raſh, inconſiderate, fiery voluntaries, With Ladies faces, and fierce Dragons ſpleenes, Haue ſold their fortunes at their natiue homes, Bearing their birth-rights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes heere: In briefe, a brauer choyſe of dauntleſſe ſpirits Then now the Engliſh bottomes haue waft o're, Did neuer flote vpon the ſwelling tide, To doe offence and ſcathe in Chriſtendome: The interruption of their churliſh drums Cuts off more circumſtance, they are at hand, Drum beats. To parlie or to fight, therefore prepare. Kin.

How much vnlook'd for, is this expedition.

 Auſt. By how much vnexpected, by ſo much We muſt awake indeuor for defence, For courage mounteth with occaſion, Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter K. of England, Baſtard, Queene, Blanch, Pembroke, and others. K. Iohn. Peace be to France: If France in peace permit Our iuſt and lineall entrance to our owne; If not, bleede France, and peace aſcend to heauen. Whiles we Gods wrathfull agent doe correct Their proud contempt that beats his peace to heauen. Fran. Peace be to England, if that warre returne From France to England, there to liue in peace: England we loue, and for that Englands ſake, With burden of our armor heere we ſweat: This toyle of ours ſhould be a worke of thine; But thou from louing England art ſo farre, That thou haſt vnder-wrought his lawfull King, Cut off the ſequence of poſterity, Out-faced Infant State, and done a rape Vpon the maiden vertue of the Crowne: Looke heere vpon thy brother Geffreyes face, Theſe eyes, theſe browes, were moulded out of his; This little abſtract doth containe that large, Which died in G • ffrey: and the hand of time, Shall draw this breefe into as huge a volume: That Geffrey was thy elder brother borne, And this his ſonne, England was Geffreys right, And this is Geffreyes in the name of God: How comes it then that thou art call'd a King, When liuing blood doth in theſe temples beat Which owe the crowne, that thou ore-maſtereſt? K. Iohn. From whom haſt thou this great commiſſion To draw my anſwer from thy Articles? Fra. Frō that ſupernal Iudge that ſtirs good thoughts France, In any beaſt of ſtrong authoritie, To looke into the blots and ſtaines of right. That Iudge hath made me guardian to this boy, Vnder whoſe warrant I impeach thy wrong, And by whoſe helpe I meane to chaſtiſe it. K. Iohn.

Alack thou doſt vſurpe authoritie.

 Fran.

Excuſe it is to beat vſurping downe.

 Queen.

Who is it thou doſt call vſurper France?

 Conſt.

Let me make anſwer: thy vſurping ſonne.

 Queen. Out inſolent, thy baſtard ſhall be King, That thou maiſt be a Queen, and checke the world. Con. My bed was euer to thy ſonne as true As thine was to thy husband, and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Then thou and Iohn, in manners being as like, As raine to water, or deuill to his damme; My boy a baſtard? by my ſoule I thinke His father neuer was ſo true begot, It cannot be, and if thou wert his mother. Queen.

Theres a good mother boy, that blots thy father

 Conſt. There's a good grandame boy That would blot thee. Auſt.

Peace.

 Baſt.

Heare the Cryer.

 Auſt.

What the deuill art thou?

 Baſt. One that wil play the deuill ſir with you, And a may catch your hide and you alone: You are the Hare of whom the Prouerb goes Whoſe valour plucks dead Lyons by the beard; Ile ſmoake your skin-coat and I catch you right, Sirra looke too't, yfaith I will, yfaith. Blan. O well did he become that Lyons robe, That did diſrobe the Lion of that robe. Baſt. It lies as ſightly on the backe of him As great Alcides ſhooes vpon an Aſſe: But Aſſe, Ile take that burthen from your backe, Or lay on that ſhall make your ſhoulders cracke. Auſt. What cracker is this ſame that deafes our eares With this abundance of ſuperfluous breath? King Lewis, determine what we ſhall doe ſtrait. Lew. Women & fooles, breake off your conference. King Iohn, this is the very ſumme of all: England and Ireland, Angiers, Toraine, Maine, In right of Arthur doe I claime of thee: Wilt thou reſigne them, and lay downe thy Armes? Iohn. My life as ſoone: I doe defie thee France, Arthur of Britaine, yeeld thee to my hand, And out of my deere loue Ile giue thee more, Then ere the coward hand of France can win; Submit thee boy. Queen.

Come to thy grandame child.

 Co • ſ. Doe childe, goe to yt grandame childe, Giue grandame kingdome, and it grandame will Giue yt a plum, a cherry, and a figge, There's a good grandame. Arthur. Good my mother peace, I would that I were low laid in my graue, I am not worth this coyle that's made for me. Qu. Mo.

His mother ſhames him ſo, poore boy hee weepes.

 Con. Now ſhame vpon you where ſhe does or no, His gran • ames wrongs, and not his mothers ſhames Drawes thoſe heauen-mouing pearles frō his poor eies, Which heauen ſhall take in nature of a fee: I, with theſe Chriſtall beads heauen ſhall be brib'd To doe him Iuſtice, and reuenge on you. Qu.

Thou monſtrous ſlanderer of heauen and earth.

 Con. Thou monſtrous of Iniurer of heauen and earth, Call not me ſlanderer, thou and thine vſurpe The Dominations, Royalties, and rights Of this oppreſſed boy; this is thy eldeſt ſonnes ſonne, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy ſinnes are viſited in this poore childe, The Canon of the Law is laide on him, Being but the ſecond generation Remoued from thy ſinne-conceiuing wombe. Iohn.

Bedl • haue done.

 Con. I haue but this to ſay, That he is not onely plagued for her ſin, But God hath made her ſinne and her, the plague On this remoued iſſue, plagued for her, And with her plague her ſinne: his iniury Her iniurie the Beadle to her ſinne, All puniſh'd 〈◊〉 the perſon of this childe, And all for her, a plague vpon her. Que. Thou vnaduiſed ſcold, I can produce A Will, that barres the title of thy ſonne. Con. I who doubts that, a Will: a wicked will, A womans will, a cankred Grandams will. Fra. Peace Lady, pauſe, or be more temperate, It ill beſeemes this preſence to cry ayme To theſe ill-tuned repetitions: Some Trumpet ſummon hither to the walles Theſe men of Angiers, let vs heare them ſpeake, Whoſe title they admit, Arthurs or Iohns. Trumpet ſounds. Enter a Citizen vpon the walles. Cit.

Who is it that hath warn'd vs to the walles?

 Fra.

'Tis France, for England.

 Iohn. England for it ſelfe: You men of Angiers, and my louing ſubiects. Fra. You louing men of Angiers, Arthurs ſubiects, Our Trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. Iohn. For our aduantage, therefore heare vs firſt: Theſe flagges of France that are aduanced heere Before the eye and proſpect of your Towne, Haue hither march'd to your endamagement. The Canons haue their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to ſpit forth Their Iron indignation 'gainſt your walles: All preparation for a bloody ſiedge And merciles proceeding, by theſe French. Comfort yours Citties eies, your winking gates: And but for our approch, thoſe ſleeping ſtones, That as a waſte doth girdle you about By the compulſion of their Ordinance, By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had bin diſhabited, and wide hauocke made For bloody power to ruſh vppon your peace. But on the ſight of vs your lawfull King, Who painefully with much expedient march Haue brought a counter-cheeke before your gates, To ſaue vnſcratch'd your Citties threatned cheekes: Behold the French amaz'd vouchſafe a parle, And now inſteed of bulletts wrapt in fire To make a ſhaking feuer in your walles, They ſhoote but calme words, folded vp in ſmoake, To make a faithleſſe errour in your eares, Which truſt accordingly kinde Cittizens, And let vs in. Your King, whoſe labour'd ſpirits Fore-wearied in this action of ſwift ſpeede, Craues harbourage within your Citie walles. France. When I haue ſaide, make anſwer to vs both. Loe in this right hand, whoſe protection Is moſt diuinely vow'd vpon the right Of him it holds, ſtands yong Pl • tagen • s, Sonne to the elder brother of this man, And King ore him, and all that he enioyes: For this downe-troden equity, we tread In warlike march, theſe greenes before your Towne, Being no further enemy to you Then the conſtraint of hoſpitable zeale, In the releefe of this oppreſſed childe, Religiouſly prouokes. Be pleaſed then To pay that dutie which you truly owe, To him that owes it, namely, this yong Prince, And then our Armes, like to a muzled Beare, Saue in aſpect, hath all offence ſeal'd vp: Our Cannons malice vainly ſhall be ſpent Againſt th' involuerable clouds of heauen, And with a bleſſed and vn-vext retyre, With vnhack'd ſwords, and Helmets all vnbruis'd, We will beare home that Iuſtie blood againe, Which heere we came to ſpout againſt your Towne, And leaue your children, wiues, and you in peace. But if you fondly paſſe our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the rounder of your old-fac'd walles, Can hide you from our meſſengers of Warre, Though all theſe Engliſh, and their diſcipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference: Then tell vs, Shall your Citie call vs Lord, In that behalfe which we haue challeng'd it? Or ſhall we giue the ſignall to our rage, And ſtalke in blood to our poſſeſſion? Cit. In breefe, we are the King of Englands ſubiects For him, and in his right, we hold this Towne. Iohn.

Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.

 Cit. That can we not: but he that proues the King To him will we proue loyall, till that time Haue we ramm'd vp our gates againſt the world. Iohn. Doth not the Crowne of England, prooue the King? And if not that, I bring you Witneſſes Twice fifteene thouſand hearts of Englands breed. Baſt.

Baſtards and elſe.

 Iohn.

To verifie our title with their liues.

 Fran.

As many and as well-borne bloods as thoſe.

 Baſt.

Some Baſtards too.

 Fran.

Stand in his face to contradict his claime.

 Cit. Till you compound whoſe right is worthieſt, We for the worthieſt hold the right from both. Iohn. Then God forgiue the ſinne of all thoſe ſoules, That to their euerlaſting reſidence, Before the dew of euening fall, ſhall fleete In dreadfull triall of our kingdomes King. Fran.

Amen, Amen, mount Cheualiers to Armes.

 Baſt. Saint George that ſwindg'd the Dragon, And ere ſince ſit's on's horſebacke at mine Hoſteſſe dore Teach vs ſome fence. Sirrah, were I at home At your den ſirrah, with your Lionneſſe, I would ſet an Oxe-head to your Lyons hide: And make a monſter of you. Auſt.

Peace, no more.

 Baſt.

O tremble: for you heare the Lyon rore.

 Iohn. Vp higher to the plaine, where we'l ſet forth In beſt appointment all our Regiments. Baſt.

Speed then to take aduantage of the field.

 Fra. It ſhall be ſo, and at the other hill▪ Command the reſt to ſtand▪ God and our right. Exeunt Heere after excurſions, Enter the Herald of France with Trumpets to the gates. F. Her. You men of Angiers open wide your gates, And let yong Arthur Duke of Britaine in, Who by the hand of France, this day hath made Much worke for teares in many an Engliſh mother, Whoſe ſonnes lye ſcattered on the bleeding ground▪ Many a widdowes husband groueling lies, Coldly embracing the diſcoloured earth, And victorie with little loſſe doth play Vpon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand triumphantly diſplayed To enter Conquerors, and to proclaime Arthur of Britaine, Englands King, and yours. Enter Engliſh Herald with Trumpet. E. Har. Reioyce you men of Angiers, ring your bels, King Iohn, your king and Englands, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day, Their Armours that march'd hence ſo ſiluer bright, Hither returne all gilt with Frenchmens blood: There ſtucke no plume in any Engliſh Creſt, That is remoued by a ſtaffe of France. Our colours do returne in thoſe ſame hands That did diſplay them when we firſt marcht forth: And like a iolly troope of Huntſmen come Our luſtie Engliſh, all with purpled hands, Dide in the dying ſlaughter of their foes, Open your gates, and giue the Victors way. Hubert. Heralds, from off our towres we might behold From firſt to laſt, the on-ſet and retyre▪ Of both your Armies, whoſe equality By our beſt eyes cannot be cenſured: Blood hath bought blood, and blowes haue anſwered blowes: Strength matcht with ſtrength, and power confronted power, Both are alike, and both alike we like: One muſt proue greateſt. While they weigh ſo euen, We hold our Towne for neither: yet for both. Enter the two Kings with their powers, at ſeuerall doores. Iohn. France, haſt thou yet more blood to caſt away? Say, ſhall the currant of our right rome on, Whoſe paſſage vext with thy impediment, Shall leaue his natiue channell, and ore-ſwell with courſe diſturb'd euen thy confining ſhores, Vnleſſe thou let his ſiluer Water, keepe A peacefull progreſſe to the Ocean. Fra. England thou haſt not ſau'd one drop of blood In this hot triall more then we of France, Rather loſt more. And by this hand I ſweare That ſwayes the earth this Climate ouer-lookes, Before we will lay downe our iuſt-borne Armes, Wee'l put thee downe, 'gainſt whom theſe Armes wee beare, Or adde a royall number to the dead: Gracing the ſcroule that tels of this warres loſſe, With ſlaughter coupled to the name of kings. Baſt. Ha Maieſty: how high thy glory towres, When the rich blood of kings is ſet on fire: Oh now doth death line his dead chaps with ſteele, The ſwords of ſouldiers are his teeth, his phangs, And now he feaſts, mouſing the fleſh of men In vndetermin'd differences of kings. Why ſtand theſe royall fronts amazed thus: Cry hauocke kings, backe to the ſtained field You equall Potents, fierie kindled ſpirits, Then let confuſion of one part confirm The others peace: till then, blowes, blood, and death. Iohn.

Whoſe party do the Towneſmen yet admit?

 Fra.

Speake Citizens for England, whoſe your king.

 Hub.

The king of England, when we know the king.

 Fra.

Know him in vs, that heere hold vp his right.

 Iohn. In Vs, that are our owne great Deputie, And beare poſſeſſion of our Perſon heere▪ Lord of our preſence Angiers, and of you. Fra. A greater powre then▪ We denies all this, And till it be vndoubted, we do locke Our former ſcruple in our ſtrong barr'd gates: Kings of our feare, vntill our feares reſolu'd Be by ſome certaine king, purg'd and depos'd. Baſt. By heauen, theſe ſcroyles of Angiers flout you kings, And ſtand ſecurely on their battelments, As in a Theater, whence they gape and point At your induſtrious Scenes and acts of death. Your Royall preſences be rul'd by mee, Do like the Mutines of Ieruſalem, Be friends a-while, and both conioyntly bend Your ſharpeſt Deeds of malice on this Towne. By Eaſt and Weſt let France and England mount. Their battering Canon charged to the mouthes, Till their ſoule-fearing clamours haue braul'd downe The flintie ribbes of this contemptuous Citie, I'de play inceſſantly vpon theſe Iades, Euen till vnfenced deſolation Leaue them as naked as the vulgar ayre: That done, diſſeuer your vnited ſtrengths, And part your mingled colours once againe, Turne face to face, and bloody point to point: Then in a moment Fortune ſhall cull forth Out of one ſide her happy Minion, To whom in fauour ſhe ſhall giue the day, And kiſſe him with a glorious victory: How like you this wilde counſell mighty States, Smackes it not ſomething of the policie. Iohn. Now by the sky that hangs aboue our heads, I like it well. France, ſhall we knit our powres, And lay this Angiers euen with the ground, Then after fight who ſhall be king of it? Baſt. And if thou haſt the mettle of a king, Being wrong'd as we are by this peeuiſh Towne: Turne thou the mouth of thy Artillerie, As we will ours, againſt theſe ſawcie walles, And when that we haue daſh'd them to the ground, Why then defie each other, and pell-mell, Make worke vpon our ſelues, for heauen or hell. Fra.

Let it be ſo: ſay, where will you aſſault?

 Iohn. We from the Weſt will ſend deſtruction Into this Cities boſome. Auſt.

I from the North.

 Fran. Our Thunder from the South, Shall raine their drift of bullets on this Towne. Baſt. O prudent diſcipline! From North to South: Auſtria and France ſhoot in each others mouth. Ile ſtirre them to it: Come, away, away. Hub. Heare vs great kings, vouchſafe awhile to ſtay And I ſhall ſhew you peace, and faire-fac'd league: Win you this Citie without ſtroke, or wound, Reſcue thoſe breathing liues to dye in beds, That heere come ſacrifices for the field. Perſeuer not, but heare me mighty kings. Iohn.

Speake on with favour, we are bent to heare.

 Hub. That daughter there of Spaine, the Lady Blanch Is neere to England, looke vpon the yeeres Of Lewes the Dolphin, and that louely maid. If luſtie loue ſhould go in queſt of beautie, Where ſhould he finde it fairer, the • in Blanch: If zealous loue ſhould go in ſearch of vertue, Where ſhould he finde i • purer then in Blanch? If loue ambitious, ſought a match of birth, Whoſe veines bound richer blood then Lady Blanch? Such as ſhe is, in beautie, vertue, birth, Is the yong Dolphin euery way compleat, If not compleat of, ſay he is not ſhee, And ſhe againe wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not, that ſhe is not hee: He is the halfe-part o • a bleſſed man, Left to be finiſhed by ſuch as ſhee, And ſhe a faire diuided excellence, Whoſe fulneſſe of perfection lyes in him. O two ſuch ſiluer currents when they ioyne Do glorifie the bankes that bound them in: And two ſuch ſhores, to two ſuch ſtreames made one, Two ſuch controlling bounds ſhall you be, kings, To theſe two Princes, if you marrie them: This Vnion ſhall do more then batterie can To our faſt cloſed gates: for at this match, With ſwifter ſpleene then powder can enforce The mouth of paſſage ſhall we ſling wide ope, And giue you entrance: but without this match, The ſea enraged is not halfe ſo deafe, Lyons more confident, Mountaines and rockes More free from motion, no not death himſelfe In mortall furie halfe ſo peremptorie, As we to keepe this Citie. Baſt. Heeres a ſtay, That ſhakes the rotten carkaſſe of old death Out of his ragges. Here's a large mouth indeede, That ſpits forth death, and mountaines, rockes, and ſeas, Talkes as familiarly of roaring Lyons, As maids of thirteene do of puppi-dogges. What Cannoneere begot this Iuſtie blood, He ſpeakes plaine Cannon fire, and ſmoake, and bounce, He giues the baſtinado with his tongue: Our eares are cudgel'd, not a word of his But buffets better then a fiſt of France: Zounds, I was neuer ſo bethumpt with words, Since I firſt cal'd my brothers father Dad. Old Qu. Son, liſt to this coniunction, make this match Giue with our Neece a dowrie large enough, For by this knot, thou ſhalt ſo ſurely tye Thy now vnſur'd aſſurance to the Crowne, That you greene boy ſhall haue no Sunne to ripe The bloome that promiſeth a mightie fruite. I ſee a yeelding in the lookes of France: Marke how they whiſper, vrge them while their ſoules Are capeable of this ambition, Leaſt zeale now melted by the windie breath Of ſoft petitions, pittie and remorſe, Coole and congeale againe to what it was. Hub. Why anſwer not the double Maieſties, This friendly treatie of our threatned Towne. Fra. Speake England firſt, that hath bin forward firſt To ſpeake vnto this Cittie: what ſay you? Iohn. If that the Dolphin there thy Princely ſonne, Can in this booke of beautie r • ad, I loue: Her Dowrie ſhall weigh equall with a Queene: For Angiers, and faire Toraine Maine, Poyctiers, And all that we vpon this ſide the Sea, (Except this Cittie now by vs beſiedg'd) Finde liable to our Crowne and Dignitie, Shall gild her bridall bed and make her rich In titles, honors, and promotions, As ſhe in beautie, education, blood, Holdes hand with any Princeſſe of the world. Fra.

What ſai'ſt thou boy? looke in the Ladies face.

 Dol. I do my Lord, and in her eie I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The ſhadow of my ſelfe form'd in her eye, Which being but the ſhadow of your ſonne, Becomes a ſonne and makes your ſonne a ſhadow: I do proteſt I neuer lou'd my ſelfe Till now, infixed I beheld my ſelfe, Drawne in the flattering table of her eie. Whiſpers with Blanch. Baſt. Drawne in the flattering table of her eie, Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow, And quarter'd in her heart, hee doth eſpie Himſelfe loues traytor, this is pittie now; That hang'd, and drawne, and quarter'd there ſhould be In ſuch a loue, ſo vile a Lout as he. Blan. My vnckles will in this reſpect is mine, If he ſee ought in you that makes him like, That any thing he ſee's which moues his liking, I can with eaſe tranſlate it to my will: Or if you will, to ſpeake more properly, I will enforce it eaſlie to my loue. Further I will not flatter you, my Lord, That all I ſee in you is worthie loue, Then this, that nothing do I ſee in you, Though churliſh thoughts themſelues ſhould bee your Iudge, That I can finde, ſhould merit any hate. Iohn.

What ſaie theſe yong-ones? What ſay you my Neece?

 Blan. That ſhe is bound in honor ſtill to do What you in wiſedome ſtill vouchſafe to ſay. Iohn.

Speake then Prince Dolphin, can you loue this Ladie?

 Dol. Nay aske me if I can refraine from loue, For I doe loue her moſt vnfainedly. Iohn. Then do I giue Ʋolqueſſen, Toraine, Maine, Poyctiers, and Aniow, theſe fiue Prouinces With her to thee, and this addition more, Full thirty thouſand Markes of Engliſh coyne: Phillip of France, if thou be pleaſ'd withall, Command thy ſonne and daughtet to ioyne hands. Fra.

It likes vs well young Princes: cloſe your hands

 Auſt. And your lippes too, for I am well aſſur'd, That I did ſo when I was firſt aſſur'd. Fra. Now Cittizens of Angires ope your gates, Let in that amitie which you haue made, For at Saint Maries Chappell preſently, The rights of marriage ſhallbe ſolemniz'd. Is not the Ladie Conſtance in this troope▪ I know ſhe is not for this match made vp, Her preſence would haue interrupted much. Where is ſhe and her ſonne, tell me, who knowes? Dol.

She is ſad and paſsionate at your highnes Tent.

 Fra. And by my faith, this league that we haue made Will giue her ſadneſſe very little cure: Brother of England, how may we content This widdow Lady? In her right we came, Which we God knowes, haue turn • d another way, To our owne vantage. Iohn. We will heale vp all, For wee'l create yong Arthur Duke of Britaine And Earle of Richmond; and this rich faire Towne We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Conſtance, Some ſpeedy Meſſenger bid her repaire To our ſolemnity: I truſt we ſhall, (If not fill vp the meaſure of her will) Yet in ſome meaſure ſatisfie her ſo, That we ſhall ſtop her exclamation, Go we as well as haſt will ſuffer vs, To this vnlook'd for vnprepared pompe. Exeunt. Baſt. Mad world, mad kings, mad compoſition: Iohn to ſtop Arthurs Title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part, And France, whoſe armour Conſcience buckled on, Whom zeale and charitie brought to the field, As Gods owne ſouldier, rounded in the eare, With that ſame purpoſe-changer, that ſlye diuel, That Broker, that ſtill breakes the pate of faith, That dayly breake-vow, he that winnes of all, Of kings, of beggers, old men, yong men, maids, Who hauing no externall thing to looſe, But the word Maid, cheats the poore Maide of that. That ſmooth-fac'd Gentleman, tickling commoditie. Commoditie, the byas of the world, The world, who of it ſelfe is peyſed well. Made to run euen, vpon euen ground: Till this aduantage, this vile drawing byas, This ſway of motion, this commoditie, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpoſe, courſe, intent. And this ſame byas, this Commoditie, This Bawd, this Broker, this all-changing-word, Clap'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawne him from his owne determin'd ayd, From a reſolu'd and honourable warre, To a moſt baſe and vile-concluded peace. And why rayle I on this Commoditie? But for becauſe he hath not wooed me yet: Not that I haue the power to clutch my hand, When his faire Angels would ſalute my palme, But for my hand, as vnattempted yet, Like a poore begger, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a begger, I will raile, And ſay there is no ſin but to be rich: And being rich, my vertue then ſhall be, To ſay there is no vice, but beggerie: Since Kings breake faith vpon commoditie, Gaine be my Lord, for I will worſhip thee. Exit.
Actus Secundus Enter Conſtance, Arthur, and Salisbury. Con. Gone to be married? Gone to ſweare a peace? Falſe blood to falſe blood ioyn'd. Gone to be freinds? Shall Lewis haue Blaunch, and Blaunch thoſe Prouinces? It is not ſo, thou haſt miſpoke, miſheard, Be well aduiſ'd, tell ore thy tale againe. It cannot be, thou do'ſt but ſay 'tis ſo. I truſt I may not truſt thee, for thy word Is but the vaine breath of a common man: Beleeue me, I doe not beleeue thee man, I haue a Kings oath to the contrarie. Thou ſhalt be puniſh'd for thus frighting me, For I am ſicke, and capeable of feares, Oppreſt with wrongs, and therefore full of feares, A widdow, husbandles, ſubiect to feares, A woman naturally borne to feares; And though thou now confeſſe thou didſt but ieſt With my vext ſpirits, I cannot take a Truce, But they will quake and tremble all this day. What doſt thou meane by ſhaking of thy head? Why doſt thou looke ſo ſadly on my ſonne? What meanes that hand vpon that breaſt of thine? Why holdes thine eie that lamentable rhewme, Like a proud riuer peering ore his bounds? Be theſe ſad ſignes confirmers of thy words? Then ſpeake againe, not all thy former tale, But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Sal. As true as I beleeue you thinke them falſe, That giue you cauſe to proue my ſaying true. Con. Oh if thou teach me to beleeue this ſorrow, Teach thou this ſorrow, how to make me dye, And let beleefe, and life encounter ſo, As doth the furie of two deſperate men, Which in the very meeting fall, and dye. Lewes marry Blaunch? O boy, then where art thou? France friend with England, what becomes of me? Fellow be gone: I cannot brooke thy ſight, This newes hath made thee a moſt vgly man. Sal. What other harme haue I good Lady done. But ſpoke the harme, that is by others done? Con. Which harme within it ſelfe ſo heynous is, As it makes harmefull all that ſpeake of it. Ar.

I do beſeech you Madam be content.

 Con. If thou that bidſt me be content, wert grim Vgly, and ſlandrous to thy Mothers wombe, Full of vnpleaſing blots, and ſightleſſe ſtaines, Lame, fooliſh, crooked, ſwart, prodigious, Patch'd with foule Moles, and eye-offending markes, I would not care, I then would be content, For then I ſhould not loue thee: no, nor thou Become thy great birth, nor deſerue a Crowne. But thou art faire, and at thy birth (deere boy) Nature and Fortune ioyn'd to make thee great. Of Natures guifts, thou mayſt with Lillies boaſt, And with the halfe-blowne Roſe. But Fortune, oh, She is corrupted, chang'd, and wonne from thee▪ Sh' adulterates hourely with thine Vnckle Iohn, And with her golden hand hath pluckt on France To tread downe faire reſpect of Soueraigntie, And made his Maieſtie the bawd to theirs. France is a Bawd to Fortune, and king Iohn, That ſtrumpet Fortune, that vſurping Iohn: Tell me thou fellow, is not France forſworne? Euvenom him with words, or get thee gone, And leaue thoſe woes alone, which I alone Am bound to vnder-beare. Sal. Pardon me Madam, I may not goe without you to the kings. Con. Thou maiſt, thou ſhalt, I will not go with thee, I will inſtruct my ſorrowes to bee proud, For greefe is proud, and makes his owner ſtoope, To me and to the ſtate of my great greefe, Let kings aſſemble: for my greefe's ſo great, That no ſupporter but the huge firme earth Can hold it vp: here I and ſorrowes ſit, Heere is my Throne, bid kings come bow to it.
Actus Tertius,
Scaena prima. Enter King Iohn, France, Dolphin, Blanch, Elianor, Philip, Auſtria, Conſtance. Fran. 'Tis true (faire daughter) and this bleſſed day, Euer in France ſhall be kept feſtiuall: To ſolemnize this day the glorious ſunne Stayes in his courſe, and playes the Alchymiſt, Turning with ſplendor of his precious eye The meager cloddy earth to glittering gold: The yearely courſ • that brings this day about, Shall neuer ſee it, but a holy day. Conſt. A wicked day, and not a holy day. What hath this day deſeru'd? what hath it done, That it in golden letters ſhould be ſet Among the high tides in the Kalender? Nay, rather turne this day out of the weeke, This day of ſhame, oppreſſion, periury. Or if it muſt ſtand ſtill, let wiues with childe Pray that their burthens may not fall this day, Leſt that their hopes prodigiouſly be croſt: But (on this day) let Sea-men feare no wracke, No bargaines breake that are not this day made; This day all things begun, come to ill end, Yea, faith it ſelfe to hollow falſhood change. Fra. By heauen Lady, you ſhall haue no cauſe To curſe the faire proceedings of this day: Haue I not pawn'd to you my Maieſty? Conſt. You haue beguil'd me with a counterfeit Reſembling Maieſty, which being touch'd and tride, Proues valueleſſe: you are forſworne, forſworne, You came in Armes to ſpill mine enemies bloud, But now in Armes, you ſtrengthen it with yours. The grapling vigor, and rough frowne of Warre Is cold in amitie, and painted peace, And our oppreſſion hath made vp this league: Arme, arme, you heauens, againſt theſe periur'd Kings, A widdow cries, be husband to me (heauens) Let not the howres of this vngodly day Weare out the daies in Peace; but ere Sun-ſet, Set armed diſcord 'twixt theſe periur'd Kings, Heare me, Oh, heare me. Auſt.

Lady Conſtance, peace.

 Conſt. War, war, no peace, peace is to me a warre: O Lymoges, O Auſtria, thou doſt ſhame That bloudy ſpoyle: thou ſlaue, thou wretch, yu coward, Thou little valiant, great in villanie, Thou euer ſtrong vpon the ſtronger ſide; Thou Fortunes Champion, that do'ſt neuer fight But when her humourous Ladiſhip is by To teach thee ſafety: thou art periur'd too, And ſooth'ſt vp greatneſſe. What a foole art thou, A ramping foole, to brag, and ſtamp, and ſweare, Vpon my partie: thou cold blooded ſlaue, Haſt thou not ſpoke like thunder on my ſide? Beene ſworne my Souldier, bidding me depend Vpon thy ſtarres, thy fortune, and thy ſtrength, And doſt thou now fall ouer to my foes? Thou weare a Lyons hide, doff it for ſhame, And hang a Calues skin on thoſe recreant limbes. Auſ.

O that a man ſhould ſpeake thoſe words to me.

 Phil.

And hang a Calues-skin on thoſe recreant limbs

 Auſ.

Thou dar'ſt not ſay ſo villaine for thy life.

 Phil.

And hang a Calues-skin on thoſe recreant limbs.

 Iohn.

We like not this, thou doſt forget thy ſelfe.

 Enter Pandulph. Fra.

Heere comes the holy Legat of the Pope.

 Pan. Haile you annointed deputies of heauen; To thee King Iohn my holy errand is: I Pandulph, of faire Millane Cardinall, And from Pope Innocent the Legate heere, Doe in his name religiouſly demand Why thou againſt the Church, our holy Mother, So wilfully doſt ſpurne; and force perforce Keepe Stephen Langton choſen Arſhbiſhop Of Canterbury from that holy Sea: This in our foreſaid holy Fathers name Pope Innocent, I doe demand of thee. Iohn. What earthie name to Interrogatories Can taſt the free breath of a ſacred King? Thou canſt not (Cardinall) deuiſe a name So ſlight, vnworthy, and ridiculous To charge me to an anſwere, as the Pope: Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England, Adde thus much more, that no Italian Prieſt Shall tythe or toll in our dominions: But as we, vnder heauen, are ſupreame head, So vnder him that great ſupremacy Where we doe reigne, we will alone vphold Without th' aſſiſtance of a mortall hand: So tell the Pope, all reuerence ſet apart To him and his vſurp'd authoritie. Fra.

Brother of England, you blaſpheme in this.

 Iohn. Though you, and all the Kings of Chriſtendom Are led ſo groſſely by this medling Prieſt, Dreading the curſe that money may buy out, And by the merit of vilde gold, droſſe, duſt, Purchaſe corrupted pardon of a man, Who in that ſale ſels pardon from himſelfe: Though you, and al the reſt ſo groſſely led, This iugling witchcraft with reuennue cheriſh, Yet I alone, alone doe me oppoſe Againſt the Pope, and count his friends my foes. Pand. Then by the lawfull power that I haue, Thou ſhalt ſtand curſt and excommunicate, And bleſſed ſhall he be that doth reuolt From his Allegeance to an heretique, And meritorious ſhall that hand be call'd, Canonized and worſhip'd as a Saint, That takes away by any ſecret courſe Thy hatefull life. Con. O lawfull let it be That I haue roome with Rome to curſe a while, Good Father Cardinall, cry thou Amen To my keene curſes; for without my wrong There is no tongue hath power to curſe him right. Pan.

There's Law and Warrant (Lady) for my curſe.

 Conſ. And for mine too, when Law can do no right. Let it be lawfull, that Law barre no wrong: Law cannot giue my childe his kingdome heere; For he that holds his Kingdome, holds the Law: Therefore ſince Law it ſelfe is perfect wrong, How can the Law forbid my tongue to curſe? Pand. Philip of France, on perill of a curſe, Let goe the hand of that Arch-heretique, And raiſe the power of France vpon his head, Vnleſſe he doe ſubmit himſelfe to Rome. Elea.

Look'ſt thou pale France? do not let go thy hand.

 Con. Looke to that Deuill, leſt that France repent, And by diſioyning hands hell loſe a ſoule. Auſt.

King Philip, liſten to the Cardinall.

 Baſt.

And hang a Calues-skin on his recreant limbs.

 Auſt.

Well ruffian, I muſt pocket vp theſe wrongs, Becauſe,

 Baſt.

Your breeches beſt may carry them.

 Iohn.

Philip, what ſaiſt thou to the Cardinall?

 Con.

What ſhould he ſay, but as the Cardinall?

 Dolph. Bethinke you father, for the difference Is purchaſe of a heauy curſe from Rome, Or the light loſſe of England, for a friend: Forgoe the eaſier. Bla.

That • s the curſe of Rome.

Con. O Lewis, ſtand faſt, the deuill tempts thee heere In likeneſſe of a new vntrimmed Bride. Bla. The Lady Conſtance ſpeakes not from her faith, But from her need. Con. Oh, if thou grant my need, Which onely liues but by the death of faith, That need, muſt needs inferre this principle, That faith would liue againe by death of need: O then tread downe my need, and faith mounts vp, Keepe my need vp, and faith is trodden downe. Iohn.

The king is moud, and anſwers not to this.

 Con.

O be remou'd from him, and anſwere well.

 Auſt.

Doe ſo king Philip, hang no more in doubt.

 Baſt.

Hang nothing but a Calues skin moſt ſweet lout.

 Fra.

I am perplext, and know not what to ſay.

 Pan. What canſt thou ſay, but wil perplex thee more? If thou ſtand excommunicate, and curſt? Fra. Good reuerend father, make my perſon yours, And tell me how you would beſtow your ſelfe? This royall hand and mine are newly knit, And the coniunction of our inward ſoules Married in league, coupled, and link'd together With all religous ſtrength of ſacred vowes, The lateſt breath that gaue the ſound of words Was deepe-ſworne faith, peace, amity, true loue Betweene our kingdomes and our royall ſelues, And euen before this truce, but new before, No longer then we well could waſh our hands, To clap this royall bargaine vp of peace, Heauen knowes they were beſmear'd and ouer-ſtaind With ſlaughters pencill; where reuenge did paint The fearefull difference of incenſed kings: And ſhall theſe hands ſo lately purg'd of bloud? So newly ioyn'd in loue? ſo ſtrong in both, Vnyoke this ſeyſure, and this kinde regreete? Play faſt and looſe with faith? ſo ieſt with heauen, Make ſuch vnconſtant children of our ſelues As now againe to ſnatch our palme from palme: Vn-ſweare faith ſworne, and on the marriage bed Of ſmiling peace to march a bloody hoaſt, And make a ryot on the gentle brow Of true ſincerity? O holy Sir My reuerend father, let it not be ſo; Out of your grace, deuiſe, ordaine, impoſe Some gentle order, and then we ſhall be bleſt To doe your pleaſure, and continue friends. Pand. All forme is formeleſſe, Order orderleſſe, Saue what is oppoſite to Englands loue. Therefore to Armes, be Champion of our Church, Or let the Church our mother breathe her curſe, A mothers curſe, on her reuolting ſonne: France, thou maiſt hold a ſerpent by the tongue, A caſed Lion by the mortall paw, A faſting Tyger ſafer by the tooth, Then keepe in peace that hand which thou doſt hold. Fra.

I may diſ-ioyne my hand, but not my faith.

 Pand. So mak'ſt thou faith an enemy to faith, And like a ciuill warre ſetſt oath to oath, Thy tongue againſt thy tongue. O let thy vow Firſt made to heauen, firſt be to heauen perform'd, That is, to be the Champion of our Church, What ſince thou ſworſt, is ſworne againſt thy ſelfe, And may not be performed by thy ſelfe, For that which thou haſt ſworne to doe amiſſe, Is not amiſſe when it is truely done: And being not done, where doing tends to ill, The truth is then moſt done not doing it: The better Act of purpoſes miſtooke, Is to miſtake again, though indirect, Yet indirection thereby growes direct, And falſhood, falſhood cures, as fire cooles fire Within the ſcorched veines of one new burn'd: It is religion that doth make vowes kept, But thou haſt ſworne againſt religion: By what thou ſwear'ſt againſt the thing thou ſwear'ſt, And mak'ſt an oath the ſuretie for thy truth, Againſt an oath the truth, thou art vnſure To ſweare, ſweares onely not to be forſworne, Elſe what a mockerie ſhould it be to ſweare? But thou doſt ſweare, onely to be forſworne, And moſt forſworne, to keepe what thou doſt ſweare, Therefore thy later vowes, againſt thy firſt, Is in thy ſelfe rebellion to thy ſelfe: And better conqueſt neuer canſt thou make, Then arme thy conſtant and thy nobler parts Againſt theſe giddy looſe ſuggeſtions: Vpon which better part, our prayrs come in, If thou vouchſafe them. But if not, then know The perill of our curſes light on thee So heauy, as thou ſhalt not ſhake them off But in deſpaire, dye vnder their blacke weight. Auſt.

Rebellion, flat rebellion.

 Baſt. Wil't not be? Will not a Calues-skin ſtop that mouth of thine? Daul.

Father, to Armes.

 Blanch. Vpon thy wedding day? Againſt the blood that thou haſt married? What, ſhall our feaſt be kept with ſlaughtered men? Shall braying trumpets, and loud churliſh drums Clamors of hell, be meaſures to our pomp? O husband heare me: aye, alacke, how new Is husband in my mouth? euen for that name Which till this time my tongue did nere pronounce; Vpon my knee I beg, goe not to Armes Againſt mine Vncle. Conſt. O, vpon my knee made hard with kneeling, I doe pray to thee, thou vertuous Daulphin, Alter not the doome fore-thought by heauen. Blan. Now ſhall I ſee thy loue, what motiue may Be ſtronger with thee, then the name of wife? Con. That which vpholdeth him, that thee vpholds, His Honor, Oh thine Honor, Lewis thine Honor. Dolph. I muſe your Maieſty doth ſeeme ſo cold, When ſuch profound reſpects doe pull you on? Pand.

I will denounce a curſe vpon his head.

 Fra.

Thou ſhalt not need. England, I will fall frō thee.

 Conſt.

O faire returne of baniſh'd Maieſtie.

 Elea.

O foule reuolt of French inconſtancy.

 Eng.

France, yu ſhalt rue this houre within this houre.

 Baſt. Old Time the clocke ſetter, yt bald ſexton Time: Is it as he will? well then, France ſhall rue. Bla. The Sun's orecaſt with bloud: faire day adieu, Which is the ſide that I muſt goe withall? I am with both, each Army h • a hand, And in their rage, I hauing hold of both, They whurle a • under, and diſmember mee, Husband, I cannot pray that thou maiſt winne: Vncle, I needs muſt pray that thou maiſt loſe: Father, I may not wiſh the fortune thine: Grandam, I will not wiſh thy wiſhes thriue: Who-euer wins, on that ſide ſhall I loſe: Aſſured loſſe, before the match be plaid. Dolph.

Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.

 Bla.

There where my fortune liues, there my life dies.

 Iohn. Coſen; goe draw our puiſance together, France, I am burn'd vp with inflaming wrath, A rage, whoſe heat hath this condition; That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood and deereſt valued bloud of France. Fra. Thy rage ſhall burne thee vp, & thou ſhalt turne To aſhes, ere our blood ſhall quench that fire: Looke to thy ſelfe, thou art in ieopardie. Iohn.

No more then he that threats. To Arms le'ts hie.

 Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Allarums, Excurſions: Enter Baſtard with Auſtria's head. Baſt. Now by my life, this day grows wondrous hot, Some ayery Deuill houers in the skie, And pour's downe miſchiefe. Auſtrias head lye there, Enter Iohn, Arthur, Hubert. While Philip breathes. Iohn. Hubert, keepe this boy: Philip make vp, My Mother is aſſayled in our Tent, And tane I feare. Baſt. My Lord I reſcued her, Her Highneſſe is in ſafety, feare you not: But on my Liege, for very little paines Will bring this labor to an happy end. Exit. Alarums, excurſions, Retreat. Enter Iohn, Eleanor, Arthur Baſtard, Hubert, Lords▪ Iohn. So ſhall it be: your Grace ſhall ſtay behinde So ſtrongly guarded: Coſen, looke not ſad, Thy Grandame loues thee, and thy Vnkle will As deere be to thee, as thy father was. Arth.

O this will make my mother die with griefe.

 Iohn. Coſen away for England, haſte before, And ere our comming ſee thou ſhake the bags Of hoording Abbots, impriſoned angells Set at libertie: the fat ribs of peace Muſt by the hungry now be fed vpon: Vſe our Commiſſion in his vtmoſt force. Baſt. Bell, Booke, & Candle, ſhall not driue me back, When gold and ſiluer becks me to come on▪ I leaue your highneſſe: Grandame, I will pray (If euer I remember to be holy) For your faire ſafety: ſo I kiſſe your hand. Ele.

Farewell gentle Coſen.

 Iohn.

Coz, farewell.

 Ele.

Come hether little kinſman, harke, a worde.

 Iohn. Come hether Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much: within this wall of fleſh There is a ſoule counts thee her Creditor, And with aduantage meanes to pay thy loue: And my good friend, thy voluntary oath Liues in this boſome, deerely cheriſhed. Giue me thy hand, I had a thing to ſay, But I will fit it with ſome better tune. By heauen Hubert, I am almoſt aſham'd To ſay what good reſpect I haue of thee. Hub.

I am much bounden to your Maieſty.

 Iohn. Good friend, thou haſt no cauſe to ſay ſo yet, But thou ſhalt haue: and creepe time nere ſo ſlow, Yet it ſhall come, for me to doe thee good. I had a thing to ſay, but let it goe: The Sunne is in the heauen, and the proud day, Attended with the pleaſures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawdes To giue me audience: If the mid-night bell Did with his yron tongue, and brazen mouth Sound on into the drowzie race of night: If this ſame were a Church-yard where we ſtand, And thou poſſeſſed with a thouſand wrongs: Or if that ſurly ſpirit melancholy Had bak'd thy bloud, and made it heauy, thicke, Which elſe runnes tickling vp and downe the veines, Making that idiot laughter keepe mens eyes, And ſtraine their cheekes to idle merriment, A paſſion hatefull to my purpoſes: Or if that thou couldſt ſee me without eyes, Heare me without thine eares, and make reply Without a tongue, vſing conceit alone, Without eyes, eares, and harmefull ſound of words: Then, in deſpight of brooded watchfull day, I would into thy boſome poure my thoughts: But (ah) I will not, yet I loue thee well, And by my troth I thinke thou lou'ſt me well. Hub. So well, that what you bid me vndertake, Though that my death were adiunct to my Act, By heauen I would doe it. Iohn. Doe not I know thou wouldſt? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert throw thine eye On you young boy: Ile tell thee what my friend, He is a very ſerpent in my way, And whereſoere this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me: doſt thou vnderſtand me? Thou art his keeper. Hub. And Ile keepe him ſo, That he ſhall not offend your Maieſty. Iohn.

Death.

 Hub.

My Lord.

 Iohn.

A Graue.

 Hub.

He ſhall not liue.

 Iohn. Enough. I could be merry now, Hubert, I loue thee. Well, Ile not ſay what I intend for thee: Remember: Madam, Fare you well, Ile ſend thoſe powers o're to your Maieſty. Ele.

My bleſſing goe with thee.

 Iohn. For England Coſen, goe. Hubert ſhall be your man, attend on you Withal true duetie: On toward Callice, hoa. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter France, Dolphin, Pandulpho, Attendants. Fra. So by a roaring Tempeſt on the flood, A whole Armado of conuicted ſaile Is ſcattered and diſ-ioyn'd from fellowſhip. Pand.

Courage and comfort, all ſhall yet goe well.

 Fra. What can goe well, when we haue runne ſo ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers loſt? Arthur tane priſoner? diuers deere friends ſlaine? And bloudy England into England gone, Ore-bearing interruption ſpight of France? Dol. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: So hot a ſpeed, with ſuch aduice diſpos'd, Such temperate order in ſo fierce a cauſe, Doth want example: who hath read, or heard Of any kindred-action like to this? Fra. Well could I beare that England had this praiſe, So we could finde ſome patterne of our ſhame: Enter Conſtance. Looke who comes heere? a graue vnto a ſoule, Holding th' eternall ſpirit againſt her will, In the vilde priſon of afflicted breath: I prethee Lady goe away with me. Con.

Lo; now: now ſee the iſſue of your peace.

 Fra.

Patience good Lady, comfort gentle Conſtance.

Con. No, I defie all Counſell, all redreſſe, But that which ends all counſell, true Redreſſe: Death, death, O amiable, louely death, Thou odoriferous ſtench: ſound rottenneſſe, Ariſe forth from the couch of laſting night, Thou hate and terror to proſperitie, And I will kiſſe thy deteſtable bones, And put my eye-balls in thy vaultie browes, And ring theſe fingers with thy houſhold wormes, And ſtop this gap of breath with fulſome duſt, And be a Carrion Monſter like thy ſelfe; Come, grin on me, and I will thinke thou ſmil'ſt, And buſſe thee as thy wife: Miſeries Loue, O come to me. Fra.

O faire affliction, peace.

 Con. No, no, I will not, hauing breath to cry: O that my tongue were in the thunders mouth, Then with a paſſion would I ſhake the world, And rowze from ſleepe that fell Anatomy Which cannot heare a Ladies feeble voyce, Which ſcornes a moderne Inuocation. Pand.

Lady, you vtter madneſſe, and not ſorrow.

 Con. Thou art holy to belye me ſo, I am not mad: this haire I teare is mine, My name is Conſtance, I was G • ffreyes wife, Yong Arthur is my ſonne, and he is loſt: I am not mad, I would to heauen I were, For then 'tis like I ſhould forget my ſelfe: O, if I could, what griefe ſhould I forget? Preach ſome Philoſophy to make me mad, And thou ſhalt be Canoniz'd (Cardinall.) For, being not mad, but ſenſible of greefe, My reaſonable part produces reaſon How I may be deliuer'd of theſe woes, And teaches mee to kill or hang my ſelfe: If I were mad, I ſhould forget my ſonne, Or madly thinke a babe of clowes were he: I am not mad: too well, too well I feele The different plague of each calamitie. Fra. Binde vp thoſe treſſes: O what loue I note In the faire multitude of • hoſe her haires; Where but by chance a ſiluer drop hath falne, Euen to that drop ten thouſand wiery fiends Doe glew themſelues in ſociable griefe, Like true, inſeparable, faithfull loues, Sticking together in calamitie. Con.

To England, if you will.

 Fra.

Binde vp your haires.

 Con. Yes that I will: and wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds, and cride aloud, O, that theſe hands could ſo redeeme my ſonne, As they haue giuen theſe hayres their libertie: But now I enuie at their libertie, And will againe commit them to their bonds, Becauſe my poore childe is a priſoner. And Father Cardinall, I haue heard you ſay That we ſhall ſee and know our friends in heauen: If that be true, I ſhall ſee my boy againe; For ſince the birth of Caine, the firſt male-childe To him that did but yeſterday ſuſpire, There was not ſuch a gracious creature borne: But now will Canker-ſorrow eat my bud, And chaſe the natiue beauty from his cheeke, And he will looke as hollow as a Ghoſt, As dim and meager as an Agues fitte, And ſo hee'll dye: and riſing ſo againe, When I ſhall meet him in the Court of heauen I ſhall not know him: therefore neuer, neuer Muſt I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand.

You hold too heynous a reſpect of greefe.

 Conſt.

He talkes to me, that neuer had a ſonne.

 Fra.

You are as fond of greefe, as of your childe.

 Con. Greefe fils the roome vp of my abſent childe: Lies in his bed, walkes vp and downe with me, Puts on his pretty lookes, repeats his words, Remembets me of all his gracious parts, Stuffes out his vacant garments with his forme; Then, haue I reaſon to be fond of griefe? Fareyouwell: had you ſuch a loſſe as I, I could giue better comfort then you doe. I will not keepe this forme vpon my head, When there is ſuch diſorder in my witte: O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my faire ſonne, My life, my ioy, my food, my all the world: My widow-comfort, and my ſorrowes cure. Exit. Fra.

I feare ſome out-rage, and Ile follow her.

Exit. Dol. There's nothing in this world can make me ioy, Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull eare of a drowſie man; And bitter ſhame hath ſpoyl'd the ſweet words taſte, That it yeelds nought but ſhame and bitterneſſe. Pand. Before the curing of a ſtrong diſeaſe, Euen in the inſtant of repaire and health, The fit is ſtrongeſt: Euils that take leaue. On their departure, moſt of all ſhew euill▪ What haue you loſt by loſing of this day? Dol.

All daies of glory, ioy and happineſſe.

 Pan. If you had won it, certainely you had. No, no: when Fortune meanes to men moſt good, Shee lookes vpon them with a threatning eye: 'Tis ſtrange to thinke how much King Iohn hath loſt In this which he accounts ſo clearely wonne: Are not you grieu'd that Arthur is his priſoner? Dol.

As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

 Pan. Your minde is all as youthfull as your blood. Now heare me ſpeake with a propheticke ſpirit: For euen the breath of what I meane to ſpeake, Shall blow each duſt, each ſtraw, each little rub Out of the path which ſhall directly lead Thy foote to Englands Throne. And therefore marke: Iohn hath ſeiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be, That whiles warme life playes in that infants veines, The miſ-plac'd-Iohn ſhould entertaine an houre, One minute, nay one quiet breath of reſt. A Scepter ſnatch'd with an vnruly hand, Muſt be as boyſterouſly maintain'd as gain'd. And he that ſtands vpon a ſlipp'ry place, Makes nice of no vilde hold to ſtay him vp: That Iohn may ſtand, then Arthur needs muſt fall; So be it, for it cannot be but ſo. Dol.

But what ſhall I gaine by yong Arthurs fall?

 Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claime that Arthur did. Dol.

And looſe it, life and all, as Arthur did.

 Pan. How green you are and freſh in this old world? Iohn layes you plots: the times conſpire with you, For he that ſteepes his ſafetie in true blood, Shall finde but bloodie ſafety, and vntrue. This Act ſo euilly borne ſhall coole the hearts Of all his people, and freeze vp their zeale, That none ſo ſmall aduantage ſhall ſtep forth To checke his reigne, but they will cheriſh it. No naturall exhalation in the skie, No ſcope of Nature, no diſtemper'd day, No common winde, no cuſtomed euent, But they will plucke away his naturall cauſe, And call them Meteors, prodigies, and ſignes, Abbortiues, preſages, and tongues of heauen, Plainly denouncing vengeance vpon Iohn. Dol. May be he will not touch yong Arthurs life, But hold himſelfe ſafe in his priſonment. Pan. O Sir, when he ſhall heare of your approach, If that yong Arthur be not gone alreadie, Euen at that newes he dies: and then the hearts Of all his people ſhall reuolt from him, And kiſſe the lippes of vnacquainted change, And picke ſtrong matter of reuolt, and wrath Out of the bloody fingers ends of Iohn. Me thinkes I ſee this hurley all on foot; And O, what better matter breeds for you, Then I haue nam'd. The Baſtard Falconbridge Is now in England ranſacking the Church, Offending Charity: If but a dozen French Were there in Armes, they would be as a Call To traine ten thouſand Engliſh to their ſide; Or, as a little ſnow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a Mountaine. O noble Dolphine, Go with me to the King, 'tis wonderfull, What may be wrought out of their diſcontent, Now that their ſoules are topfull of offence, For England go; I will whet on the King. Dol. Strong reaſons makes ſtrange actions: let vs go, If you ſay I, the King will not ſay no. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus,
Scaena prima. Enter Hubert and Executioners. Hub. Heate me theſe Irons hot, and looke thou ſtand Within the Arras: when I ſtrike my foot Vpon the boſome of the ground, ruſh forth And binde the boy, which you ſhall finde with me Faſt to the chaire: be heedfull: hence, and watch. Exec.

I hope your warrant will beare out the deed.

 Hub. Vncleanly ſcruples feare not you: looke too't. Yong Lad come forth; I haue to ſay with you. Enter Arthur. Ar.

Good morrow Hubert.

Hub.

Good morrow; little Prince.

 Ar. As little Prince, hauing ſo great a Title To be more Prince, as may be: you are ſad. Hub.

Indeed I haue beene merrier.

 Art. Mercie on me: Me thinkes no body ſhould be ſad but I: Yet I remember, when I was in France, Yong Gentlemen would be as ſad as night Onely for wantonneſſe: by my Chriſtendome, So I were out of priſon, and kept Sheepe I ſhould be as merry as the day is long: And ſo I would be heere, but that I doubt My Vnckle practiſes more harme to me: He is affraid of me, and I of him: Is it my fault, that I was Geffreyes ſonne? No in deede is't not: and I would to heauen I were your ſonne, ſo you would loue me, Hubert: Hub. If I talke to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercie, which lies dead: Therefore I will be ſodaine, and diſpatch. Ar. Are you ſicke Hubert? you looke pale to day, Inſooth I would you were a little ſicke, That I might ſit all night, and watch with you. I warrant I loue you more then you do me. Hub. His words do take poſſeſſion of my boſome. Reade heere yong Arthur. How now fooliſh rheume? Turning diſpitious torture out of doore? I muſt be breefe, leaſt reſolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womaniſh teares. Can you not reade it? Is it not faire writ? Ar. Too fairely Hubert, for ſo foule effect, Muſt you with hot Irons, burne out both mine eyes? Hub.

Yong Boy, I muſt.

 Art.

And will you?

 Hub.

And I will.

 Art. Haue you the heart? When your head did but ake, I knit my • and-kercher about your browes (The beſt I had, a Princeſſe wrought it me) And I did neuer aske it you againe: And with my hand, at midnight held your head; And like the watchfull minutes, to the houre, Still and anon cheer'd vp the heauy time; Saying, what lacke you? and where lies your greefe? Or what good loue may I performe for you? Many a poore mans ſonne would haue lyen ſtill, And nere haue ſpoke a louing word to you: But you, at your ſicke ſeruice had a Prince: Nay, you may thinke my loue was craftie loue, And call it cunning. Do, and if you will, If heauen be pleas'd that you muſt vſe me ill, Why then you muſt. Will you put out mine eyes? Theſe eyes, that neuer did, nor neuer ſhall So much as frowne on you. Hub. I haue ſworne to do it: And with hot Irons muſt I burne them out. Ar. Ah, none but in this Iron Age, would do it: The Iron of it ſelfe, though heate red hot, Approaching neere theſe eyes, would drinke my teares, And quench this fierie indignation, Euen in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, conſume away in ruſt, But for containing fire to harme mine eye: Are you more ſtubborne hard, then hammer'd Iron? And if an Angell ſhould haue come to me, And told me Hubert ſhould put out mine eyes, I would not haue beleeu'd him: no tongue but Huberts. Hub.

Come forth: Do as I bid you do.

 Art. O ſaue me Hubert, ſaue me: my eyes are out Euen with the fierce lookes of theſe bloody men. Hub.

Giue me the Iron I ſay, and binde him heere.

 Art. Alas, what neede you be ſo boiſtrous rough? I will not ſtruggle, I will ſtand ſtone ſtill: For heauen ſake Hubert let me not be bound: Nay heare me Hubert, driue theſe men away, And I will ſit as quiet as a Lambe. I will not ſtirre, nor winch, nor ſpeake a word, Nor looke vpon the Iron angerly: Thruſt but theſe men away, and Ile forgiue you, What euer torment you do put me too. Hub.

Go ſtand within: let me alone with him.

 Exec.

I am beſt pleas'd to be from ſuch a deede.

 Art. Alas, I then haue chid away my friend, He hath a ſterne looke, but a gentle heart: Let him come backe, that his compaſſion may Giue life to yours. Hub.

Come (Boy) prepare your ſelfe.

 Art.

Is there no remedie?

 Hub.

None, but to loſe your eyes.

 Art. O heauen: that there were but a moth in yours, A graine, a duſt, a gnat, a wandering haire, Any annoyance in that precious ſenſe: Then feeling what ſmall things are boyſterous there, Your vilde intent muſt needs ſeeme horrible. Hub.

Is this your promiſe? Go too, hold your toong

 Art. Hubert, the vtterance of a brace of tongues, Muſt needes want pleading for a paire of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue: let me not Hubert, Or Hubert, if you will cut out my tongue, So I may keepe mine eyes. O ſpare mine eyes, Though to no vſe, but ſtill to looke on you. Loe, by my troth, the Inſtrument is cold, And would not harme me. Hub.

I can heate it, Boy.

 Art. No, in good ſooth: the fire is dead with griefe, Being create for comfort, to be vs'd In vndeſerued extreames: See elſe your ſelfe, There is no malice in this burning cole, The breath of heauen, hath blowne his ſpirit out, And ſtrew'd repentant aſhes on his head. Hub.

But with my breath I can reuiue it Boy.

 Art. And if you do, you will but make it bluſh, And glow with ſhame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it perchance will ſparkle in your eyes: And, like a dogge that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his Maſter that doth carre him on. All things that you ſhould vſe to do me wrong Deny their office: onely you do lacke That mercie, which fierce fire, and Iron extends, Creatures of note for mercy, lacking vſes. Hub. Well, ſee to liue: I will not touch thine eye, For all the Treaſure that thine Vnckle owes, Yet am I ſworne, and I did purpoſe, Boy, With this ſame very Iron, to burne them out. Art. O now you looke like Hubert. All this while You were diſguis'd. Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu, Your Vnckle muſt not know but you are dead. Ile fill theſe dogged Spies with falſe reports: And, pretty childe, ſleepe doubtleſſe, and ſecure, That Hubert for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Art.

O heauen! I thanke you Hubert.

Hub. Silence, no more; go cloſely in with mee, Much danger do I vndergo for thee. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Iohn, Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lordes. Iohn. Heere once againe we ſit: once againſt crown'd And look'd vpon, I hope, with chearefull eyes. Pem. This once again (but that your Highnes pleas'd) Was once ſuperfluous: you were Crown'd before, And that high Royalty was nere pluck'd off: The faiths of men, nere ſtained with reuolt: Freſh expectation troubled not the Land With any long'd-for-change, or better State. Sal. Therefore, to be poſſeſs'd with double pompe, To guard a Title, that was rich before; To gilde refined Gold, to paint the Lilly; To throw a perfume on the Violet, To ſmooth the yee, or adde another hew Vnto the Raine-bow; or with Taper-Light To ſeeke the beauteous eye of heauen to garniſh, Is waſtefull, and ridiculous exceſſe. Pem. But that your Royall pleaſure muſt be done, This acte, is as an ancient tale new told, And, in the laſt repeating, troubleſome, Being vrged at a time vnſeaſonable. Sal. In this the Anticke, and well noted face Of plaine old forme, is much disfigured, And like a ſhifted winde vnto a ſaile, It makes the courſe of thoughts to fetch about, Startles, and frights conſideration: Makes ſound opinion ſicke, and truth ſuſpected, For putting on ſo new a faſhion'd robe. Pem. When Workemen ſtriue to do better then wel, They do confound their skill in couetouſneſſe, And oftentimes excuſing of a fault, Doth make the fault the worſe by th' excuſe: As patches ſet vpon a little breach, Diſcredite more in hiding of the fault, Then did the fault before it was ſo patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new crown'd We breath'd our Councell: but it pleas'd your Highnes To ouer-beare it, and we are all well pleas'd, Since all, and euery part of what we would Doth make a ſtand, at what your Highneſſe will. Ioh. Some reaſons of this double Corronation I haue poſſeſt you with, and thinke them ſtrong. And more, more ſtrong, then leſſer is my feare I ſhall indue you with: Meane time, but aske What you would haue reform'd▪ that is not well, And well ſhall you perceiue, how willingly I will both heare, and grant you your requeſts. Pem. Then I, as one that am the tongue of theſe To ſound the purpoſes of all their hearts, Both for my ſelfe, and them: but chiefe of all Your ſafety: for the which, my ſelfe and them Bend their beſt ſtudies, heartily requeſt Th' infranchiſement of Arthur, whoſe reſtraint Doth moue the murmuring lips of diſcontent To breake into this dangerous argument. If what in reſt you haue, in right you hold, Why then your feares, which (as they ſay) attend The ſteppes of wrong, ſhould moue you to mew vp Your tender kinſman, and to choake his dayes With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth The rich aduantage of good exerciſe, That the times enemies may not haue this To grace occaſions: let it be our ſuite, That you haue bid vs aske his libertie, Which for our goods, we do no further aske, Then, whereupon our weale on you depending, Counts it your weale: he haue his liberty. Enter Hubert. Iohn. Let it be ſo: I do commit his youth To your direction: Hubert, what newes with you? Pem. This is the man ſhould do the bloody deed: He ſhew'd his warrant to a friend of mine, The image of a wicked heynous fault Liues in his eye: that cloſe aſpect of his, Do ſhew the mood of a much troubled breſt, And I do fearefully beleeue 'tis done, What we ſo fear'd he had a charge to do. Sal. The colour of the King doth come, and go Betweene his purpoſe and his conſcience, Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadfull battailes ſet: His paſsion is ſo ripe, it needs muſt breake. Pem. And when it breakes, I feare will iſſue thence The foule corruption of a ſweet childes death. Iohn. We cannot hold mortalities ſtrong hand. Good Lords, although my will to giue, is liuing, The ſuite which you demand is gone, and dead. He tels vs Arthur is deceas'd to night. Sal.

Indeed we fear'd his ſickneſſe was paſt cure.

 Pem. Indeed we heard how neere his death he was, Before the childe himſelfe felt he was ſicke: This muſt be anſwer'd either heere, or hence. Ioh. Why do you bend ſuch ſolemne browes on me? Thinke you I beare the Sheeres of deſtiny? Haue I commandement on the pulſe of life? Sal. It is apparant foule-play, and 'tis ſhame That Greatneſſe ſhould ſo groſſely offer it; So thriue it in your game, and ſo farewell. Pem. Stay yet (Lord Salisbury) Ile go with thee, And finde th' inheritance of this poore childe, His little kingdome of a forced graue. That blood which ow'd the bredth of all this Ile, Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while: This muſt not be thus borne, this will breake out To all our ſorrowes, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt Io. They burn in indignation: I repent: Enter Meſ. There is no ſure foundation ſet on blood: No certaine life atchieu'd by others death: A fearefull eye thou haſt. Where is that blood, That I haue ſeene inhabite in thoſe cheekes? So foule a skie, cleeres not without a ſtorme, Poure downe thy weather: how goes all in France? Meſ. From France to England, neuer ſuch a powre For any forraigne preparation, Was leuied in the body of a land. The Copie of your ſpeede is learn'd by them: For when you ſhould be told they do prepare, The tydings comes, that they are all arriu'd. Ioh. Oh where hath our Intelligence bin drunke? Where hath it ſlept? Where is my Mothers care? That ſuch an Army could be drawne in France, And ſhe not heare of it? Meſ. My Liege, her eare Is ſtopt with duſt: the firſt of Aprill di'de Your noble mother; and as I heare, my Lord, The Lady Conſtance in a frenzie di'de Three dayes before: but this from Rumors tongue I idely heard: if true, or falſe I know not. Iohn. With-hold thy ſpeed, dreadfull Occaſion: O make a league with me, 'till I haue pleas'd My diſcontented Peeres. What? Mother dead? How wildely then walkes my Eſtate in France? Vnder whoſe conduct came thoſe powres of France, That thou for truth giu'ſt out are landed heere? Meſ.

Vnder the Dolphin.

 Enter Baſtard and Peter of Pomfret. Ioh. Thou haſt made me giddy With theſe ill tydings: Now? What ſayes the world To your proceedings? Do not ſeeke to ſtuffe My head with more ill newes: for it is full. Baſt. But if you be a-feard to heare the worſt, Then let the worſt vn-heard, fall on your head. Iohn. Beare with me Coſen, for I was amaz'd Vnder the tide; but now I breath againe Aloft the flood, and can giue audience To any tongue, ſpeake it of what it will. Baſt. How I haue ſped among the Clergy men, The ſummes I haue collected ſhall expreſſe: But as I trauail'd hither through the land, I finde the people ſtrangely fantaſied, Poſſeſt with rumors, full of idle dreames, Not knowing what they feare, but full of feare. And here's a Prophet that I brought with me From forth the ſtreets of Pomfret, whom I found With many hundreds treading on his heeles: To whom he ſung in rude harſh ſounding rimes, That ere the next Aſcenſion day at noone, Your Highnes ſhould deliuer vp your Crowne. Iohn.

Thou idle Dreamer, wherefore didſt thou ſo?

 Pet.

Fore-knowing that the truth will fall out ſo.

 Iohn. Hubert, away with him: impriſon him, And on that day at noone, whereon he ſayes I ſhall yeeld vp my Crowne, let him be hang'd. Deliuer him to ſafety, and returne, For I muſt vſe thee. O my gentle Coſen, Hear'ſt thou the newes abroad, who are arriu'd? Baſt. The French (my Lord) mens mouths are ful of it: Beſides I met Lord Bigot, and Lord Salisburie With eyes as red as new enkindled fire, And others more, going to ſeeke the graue Of Arthur, whom they ſay is kill'd to night, on your ſuggeſtion. Iohn. Gentle kinſman, go And thruſt thy ſelfe into their Companies, I haue a way to winne their loues againe: Bring them before me. Baſt.

I will ſeeke them out.

 Iohn. Nay, but make haſte: the better foote before. O, let me haue no ſubiect enemies, When aduerſe Forreyners affright my Townes With dreadfull pompe of ſtout inuaſion. Be Mercurie, ſet feathers to thy heeles, And flye (like thought) from them, to me againe. Baſt.

The ſpirit of the time ſhall teach me ſpeed.

Exit Iohn. Spoke like a ſprightfull Noble Gentleman. Go after him: for he perhaps ſhall neede Some Meſſenger betwixt me, and the Peeres, And be thou hee. Meſ.

With all my heart, my Liege.

 Iohn.

My mother dead?

 Enter Hubert. Hub. My Lord, they ſay fiue Moones were ſeene to night: Foure fixed, and the fift did whirle about The other foure, in wondrous motion. Ioh.

Fiue Moones?

 Hub. Old men, and Beldames, in the ſtreets Do propheſie vpon it dangerouſly: Yong Arthurs death is common in their mouths, And when they talke of him, they ſhake their heads, And whiſper one another in the eare. And he that ſpeakes, doth gripe the hearers wriſt, Whilſt he that heares, makes fearefull action With wrinkled browes, with nods, with rolling eyes. I ſaw a Smith ſtand with his hammer (thus) The whilſt his Iron did on the Anuile coole, With open mouth ſwallowing a Taylors newes, Who with his Sheeres, and Meaſure in his hand, Standing on ſlippers, which his nimble haſte Had falſely thruſt vpon contrary feete, Told of a many thouſand warlike French, That were embattailed, and rank'd in Kent. Another leane, vnwaſh'd Artificer, Cuts off his tale, and talkes of Arthurs death. Io. Why ſeek'ſt thou to poſſeſſe me with theſe feares? Why vrgeſt thou ſo oft yong Arthurs death? Thy hand hath murdred him: I had a mighty cauſe To wiſh him dead, but thou hadſt none to kill him. H

No had (my Lord?) why, did you not prouoke me?

 Iohn. It is the curſe of Kings, to be attended By ſlaues, that take their humors for a warrant, To breake within the bloody houſe of life, And on the winking of Authoritie To vnderſtand a Law; to know the meaning Of dangerous Maieſty, when perchance it frownes More vpon humor, then aduis'd reſpect. Hub.

Heere is your hand and Seale for what I did.

 Ioh. Oh, when the laſt accompt twixt heauen & earth Is to be made, then ſhall this hand and Seale Witneſſe againſt vs to damnation. How oft the ſight of meanes to do ill deeds, Make deeds ill done? Had'ſt not thou beene by, A fellow by the hand of Nature mark'd, Quoted, and ſign'd to do a deede of ſhame, This murther had not come into my minde. But taking note of thy abhorr'd Aſpect, Finding thee fit for bloody villanie: Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthurs death: And thou, to be endeered to a King, Made it no conſcience to deſtroy a Prince. Hub.

My Lord.

 Ioh. Had'ſt thou but ſhooke thy head, or made a pauſe When I ſpake darkely, what I purpoſed: Or turn'd an eye of doubt vpon my face; As bid me tell my tale in expreſſe words: Deepe ſhame had ſtruck me dumbe, made me break off, And thoſe thy feares, might haue wrought feares in me. But, thou didſt vnderſtand me by my ſignes, And didſt in ſignes againe parley with ſinne, Yea, without ſtop, didſt let thy heart conſent, And conſequently, thy rude hand to acte The deed, which both our tongues held vilde to name. Out of my ſight, and neuer ſee me more: My Nobles leaue me, and my State is braued, Euen at my gates, with rankes of forraigne powres; Nay, in the body of this fleſhly Land, This kingdome, this Confine of blood, and breathe Hoſtilitie, and ciuill tumult reignes Betweene my conſcience, and my Coſins death. Hub. Arme you againſt your other enemies: Ile make a peace betweene your ſoule, and you. Yong Arthur is aliue: This hand of mine Is yet a maiden, and an innocent hand. Not painted with the Crimſon ſpots of blood, Within this boſome, neuer entred yet The dreadfull motion of a murderous thought, And you haue ſlander'd Nature in my forme, Which howſoeuer rude exteriorly, Is yet the couer of a fayrer minde, Then to be butcher of an innocent childe. Iohn. Doth Arthur liue? O haſt thee to the Peeres, Throw this report on their incenſed rage, And make them tame to their obedience. Forgiue the Comment that my paſſion made Vpon thy feature, for my rage was blinde, And foule immaginarie eyes of blood Preſented thee more hideous then thou art. Oh, anſwer not; but to my Cloſſet bring▪ The angry Lords, with all expedient haſt, I coniure thee but ſlowly: run more faſt. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Arthur on the walles. Ar. The Wall is high, and yet will I leape downe. Good ground be pittifull, and hurt me not: There's few or none do know me, if they did, This Ship-boyes ſemblance hath diſguis'd me quite. I am afraide, and yet Ile venture it. If I get downe, and do not breake my limbes, Ile finde a thouſand ſhifts to get away; As good to dye, and go; as dye, and ſtay. Oh me, my Vnckles ſpirit is in theſe ſtones, Heauen take my ſoule, and England keep my bones. Dies Enter Pembroke, Salisburry, & Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at S. Edmondsbury, It is our ſafetie, and we muſt embrace This gentle offer of the perillous time. Pem.

Who brought that Letter from the Cardinall?

 Sal. The Count Meloone, a Noble Lord of France, Whoſe priuate with me of the Dolphines loue, Is much more generall, then theſe lines import. Big.

To morrow morning let vs meete him then.

 Sal. Or rather then ſet forward, for 'twill be Two long dayes iourney (Lords) or ere we meete. Enter Baſtard. Baſt. Once more to day well met, diſtemper'd Lords, The King by me requeſts your preſence ſtraight. Sal. The king hath diſpoſſeſt himſelfe of vs, We will not lyne his thin-beſtained cloake▪ With our pure Honors: nor attend the foote. That leaues the print of blood where ere it walkes. Returne, and tell him ſo: we know the worſt. Baſt.

What ere you thinke, good words I thinke were beſt.

 Sal.

Our greefes, and not our manners reaſon now.

 Baſt. But there is little reaſon in your greefe. Therefore 'twere reaſon you had manners now. Pem.

Sir, ſir, impatience hath his priuiledge.

 Baſt.

'Tis t • ue, to hurt his maſter, no mans elſe.

 Sal.

This is the priſon: What is he lyes heere?

 P. Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beuty, The earth had not a hole to hide this deede. Sal. Murther, as hating what himſelfe hath done, Doth lay it open to vrge on reuenge. Big. Or when he doom'd this Beautie to a graue, Found it too precious Princely, for a graue. Sal. Sir Richard, what thinke you? you haue beheld, Or haue you read, or heard, or could you thinke? Or do you almoſt thinke, although you ſee, That you do ſee? Could thought, without this obiect Forme ſuch another? This is the very top, The heighth, the Creſt: or Creſt vnto the Creſt Of murthers Armes: This is the bloodieſt ſhame, The wildeſt Sa • agery, the vildeſt ſtroke That euer wall-ey'd wrath, or ſtaring rage Preſented to the teares of ſoft remorſe. Pem. All murthers paſt, do ſtand excus'd in this: And this ſo ſole, and ſo vnmatcheable, Shall giue a holineſſe, a puritie, To the yet vnbegotten ſinne of times; And proue a deadly blood-ſhed, but a ieſt, Exampled by this heynous ſpectacle. Baſt. It is a damned, and a bloody worke, The graceleſſe action of a heauy hand, If that it be the worke of any hand. Sal. If that it be the worke of any hand? We had a kinde of light, what would enſue: It is the ſhamefull worke of Huberts hand, The practice, and the purpoſe of the king: From whoſe obedience I forbid my ſoule, Kneeling before this ruine of ſweete life, And breathing to his breathleſſe Excellence The Incenſe of a Vow, a holy Vow: Neuer to taſte the pleaſures of the world, Neuer to be infected with delight, Nor conuerſant with Eaſe, and Idleneſſe, Till I haue ſet a glory to this hand, By giuing it the worſhip of Reuenge. Pem. Big.

Our ſoules religiouſly confirme thy words.

 Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with haſte, in ſeeking you, Arthur doth liue, the king hath ſent for you. Sal. Oh he is bold, and bluſhes not at death, Auant thou hatefull villain, get thee gone. Hu.

I am no villaine.

 Sal.

Muſt I rob the Law?

 Baſt.

Your ſword is bright ſir, put it vp againe.

 Sal.

Not till I ſheath it in a murtherers skin.

 Hub. Stand backe Lord Salsbury, ſtand backe I ſay. By heauen, I thinke my ſword's as ſharpe as yours. I would not haue you (Lord) forget your ſelfe, Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; Leaſt I, by marking of your rage, forget your Worth, your Greatneſſe, and Nobility. Big.

Out dunghill: dar'ſt thou braue a Nobleman?

 Hub. Not for my life: But yet I dare defend My innocent life againſt an Emperor. Sal. Thou art a Murtherer. Hub. Do not proue me ſo: Yet I am none. Whoſe tongue ſo ere ſpeakes falſe, Not truely ſpeakes: who ſpeakes not truly, Lies. Pem.

Cut him to peeces.

 Baſt.

Keepe the peace, I ſay.

 Sal.

Stand by, or I ſhall gaul you Faulconbridge.

Baſt. Thou wer't better gaul the diuell Salsbury. If thou but frowne on me, or ſtirre thy foote, Or teach thy haſtie ſpleene to do me ſhame, Ile ſtrike thee dead. Put vp thy ſword betime, Or Ile ſo maule you, and your toſting-Iron, That you ſhall thinke the diuell is come from hell. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? Second a Villaine, and a Murtherer? Hub.

Lord Bigot, I am none.

 Big.

Who kill'd this Prince?

 Hub. 'Tis not an houre ſince I left him well: I honour'd him, I lou'd him, and will weepe My date of life out, for his ſweete liues loſſe. Sal. Truſt not thoſe cunning waters of his eyes, For villanie is not without ſuch rheume, And he, long traded in it, makes it ſeeme Like Riuers of remorſe and innocencie. Away with me, all you whoſe ſoules abhorre Th' vncleanly ſauours of a Slaughter-houſe, For I am ſtifled with this ſmell of ſinne. Big.

Away, toward Burie, to the Dolphin there.

 P. There tel the king, he may inquire vs out. Ex Lords. Ba. Here's a good world: knew you of this faire work? Beyond the infinite and boundleſſe reach of mercie, (If thou didſt this deed of death) art yu damn'd Hubert. Hub

Do but heare me ſir.

 Baſt. Ha? Ile tell thee what. Thou'rt damn'd as blacke, nay nothing is ſo blacke, Thou art more deepe damn'd then Prince Lucifer: There is not yet ſo vgly a fiend of hell As thou ſhalt be, if thou didſt kill this childe. Hub.

Vpon my ſoule.

 Baſt. If thou didſt but conſent To this moſt cruell Act: do but diſpaire, And if thou want'ſt a Cord, the ſmalleſt thred That euer Spider twiſted from her wombe Will ſerue to ſtrangle thee: A ruſh will be a beame To hang thee on. Or wouldſt thou drowne thy ſelfe, Put but a little water in a ſpoone, And it ſhall be as all the Ocean, Enough to ſtifle ſuch a villaine vp. I do ſuſpect thee very greeuouſly. Hub. If I in act, conſent, or ſinne of thought, Be guiltie of the ſtealing that ſweete breath Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, Let hell want paines enough to torture me: I left him well. Baſt. Go, beare him in thine armes: am amaz'd me thinkes, and looſe my way Among the thornes, and dangers of this world▪ How eaſie doſt thou take all England vp, From forth this morcell of dead Royaltie? The life, the right, and truth of all this Realme Is fled to heauen: and England now is left To tug and ſcamble, and to part by th' teeth The vn-owed intereſt of proud ſwelling State: Now for the bare-pickt bone of Maieſty, Doth dogged warre briſtle his angry creſt, And ſnarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: Now▪ Powers from home, and diſcontents at home Meet in one line: and vaſt confuſion waites As doth a Rauen on a ſicke-falne beaſt, The iminent decay of wreſted pompe. Now happy he, whoſe cloake and center can Hold out this tempeſt. Beare away that childe, And follow me with ſpeed: Ile to the King: A thouſand buſineſſes are briefe in hand, And heauen it ſelfe doth frowne vpon the Land. Exit.
Actus Quartus,
Scaena prima. Enter King Iohn and Pandolph, attendants. K. Iohn. Thus haue I yeelded vp into your hand The Circle of my glory. Pan. Take againe From this my hand, as holding of the Pope Your Soueraigne greatneſſe and authoritie. Iohn. Now keep your holy word, go meet the French, And from his holineſſe vſe all your power To ſtop their marches 'fore we are enflam'd: Our diſcontented Counties doe reuolt: Our people quarrell with obedience, Swearing Allegiance, and the loue of ſoule To ſtranger-bloud, to for • en Royalty; This inundation of miſtempred humor, Reſts by you onely to be qualified. Then pauſe not: for the preſent time's ſo ſicke, That preſent medcine muſt be miniſtred, Or ouerthrow incureable enſues. Pand. It was my breath that blew this Tempeſt vp, Vpon your ſtubborne vſage of the Pope: But ſince you are a gentle conuertite, My tongue ſhall huſh againe this ſtorme of warre, And make faire weather in your bluſtring land: On this Aſcention day, remember well, Vpon your oath of ſeruice to the Pope, Goe I to make the French lay downe their Armes. Exit. Iohn. Is this Aſcenſion day: did not the Prophet Say, that before Aſcenſion day at noone, My Crowne I ſhould giue off? euen ſo I haue: I did ſuppoſe it ſhould be on conſtraint, But (heau'n be thank'd) it is but voluntary. Enter Baſtard. Baſt. All Kent hath yeelded: nothing there holds out But Douer Caſtle: London hath receiu'd Like a kinde Hoſt, the Dolphin and his powers. Your Nobles will not heare you, but are gone To offer ſeruice to your enemy: And wilde amazement hurries vp and downe The little number of your doubtfull friends. Iohn. Would not my Lords returne to me againe After they heard yong Arthur was aliue? Bast. They found him dead, and caſt into the ſtreets, An empty Casket, where the Iewell of life By ſome damn'd hand was rob'd, and tane away. Iohn.

That villaine Hubert told me he did liue.

 Baſt. So on my ſoule he did, for ought he knew: But wherefore doe you droope? why looke you ſad? Be great in act, as you haue beene in thought: Let not the world ſee feare and ſad diſtruſt Gouerne the motion of a kinglye eye: Be ſtirring as the time, be fire with fire, Threaten the threatner, and out-face the brow Of bragging horror: So ſhall inferior eyes That borrow their behauiours from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntleſſe ſpirit of reſolution. Away, and gliſter like the god of warre When he intendeth to become the field: Shew boldneſſe and aſpiring confidence: What, ſhall they ſeeke the Lion in his denne, And fright him there? and make him tremble there? Oh let it not be ſaid: forrage, and runne To meet diſpleaſure farther from the dores, And grapple with him ere he come ſo nye. Iohn. The Legat of the Pope hath beene with mee, And I haue made a happy peace with him, And he hath promis'd to diſmiſſe the Powers Led by the Dolphin. Baſt. Oh inglorious league: Shall we vpon the footing of our land, Send fayre-play-orders, and make comprimiſe, Inſinuation, parley, and baſe truce To Armes Inuaſiue? Shall a beardleſſe boy, A cockred-ſilken wanton braue our fields, And fleſh his ſpirit in a warre-like ſoyle, Mocking the ayre with colours idlely ſpred, And finde no checke? Let vs my Liege to Armes: Perchance the Cardinall cannot make your peace; Or if he doe, let it at leaſt be ſaid They ſaw we had a purpoſe of defence. Iohn.

Haue thou the ordering of this preſent time.

 Baſt. Away then with good courage: yet I know Our Partie may well meet a prowder foe. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter (in Armes) Dolphin, Salisbury, Meloone, Pembroke, Bigot, Souldiers. Dol. My Lord Melloone, let this be coppied out, And keepe it ſafe for our remembrance: Returne the preſident to theſe Lords againe, That hauing our faire order written downe, Both they and we, peruſing ore theſe notes May know wherefore we tooke the Sacrament, And keepe our faithes firme and inuiolable. Sal. Vpon our ſides it neuer ſhall be broken. And Noble Dolphin, albeit we ſweare A voluntary zeale, and an vn-urg'd Faith To your proceedings: yet beleeue me Prince, I am not glad that ſuch a ſore of Time Should ſeeke a plaſter by contemn'd reuolt, And heale the inueterate Canker of one wound, By making many: Oh it grieues my ſoule, That I muſt draw this mettle from my ſide To be a widdow-maker: oh, and there Where honourable reſcue, and defence Cries out vpon the name of Salisbury. But ſuch is the infection of the time, That for the health and Phyſicke of our right, We cannot deale but with the very hand Of ſterne Iniuſtice, and confuſed wrong: And is't not pitty, (oh my grieued friends) That we, the ſonnes and children of this Iſle, Was borne to ſee ſo ſad an houre as this, Wherein we ſtep after a ſtranger, march Vpon her gentle boſom, and fill vp Her Enemies rankes? I muſt withdraw, and weepe Vpon the ſpot of this inforced cauſe, To grace the Gentry of a Land remote, And follow vnacquainted colours heere: What heere? O Nation that thou couldſt remoue, That Neptunes Armes who clippeth thee about, Would beare thee from the knowledge of thy ſelfe, And cripple thee vnto a Pagan ſhore, Where theſe two Chriſtian Armies might combine The bloud of malice, in a vaine of league, And not to ſpend it ſo vn-neighbourly. Dolph. A noble temper doſt thou ſhew in this, And great affections wraſtling in thy boſome Doth make an earth-quake of Nobility: Oh, what a noble combat haſt fought Between compulſion, and a braue reſpect: Let me wipe off this honourable dewe, That ſiluerly doth progreſſe on thy cheekes: My heart hath melted at a Ladies teares, Being an ordinary Inundation: But this effuſion of ſuch manly drops, This ſhowre, blowne vp by tempeſt of the ſoule, Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd Then had I ſeene the vaultie top of heauen Figur'd quite ore wirh burning Meteors. Lift vp thy brow (renowned Salisburie) And with a great heart heaue away this ſtorme: Commend theſe waters to thoſe baby-eyes That neuer ſaw the giant-world enrag'd, Nor met with Fortune, other then at feaſts, Full warm of blood, of mirth, of goſſipping: Come, come; for thou ſhalt thruſt thy hand as deepe Into the purſe of rich proſperity As Lewis himſelfe: ſo (Nobles) ſhall you all, That knit your ſinewes to the ſtrength of mine. Enter Pandulpho. And euen there, methinkes an Angell ſpake, Looke where the holy Legate comes apace, To giue vs warrant from the hand of heauen, And on our actions ſet the name of right With holy breath. Pand. Haile noble Prince of France: The next is this: King Iohn hath reconcil'd Himſelfe to Rome, his ſpirit is come in, That ſo ſtood out againſt the holy Church, The great Metropolis and Sea of Rome: Therefore thy threatning Colours now winde vp, And tame the ſauage ſpirit of wilde warre, That like a Lion foſtered vp at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace. And be no further harmefull then in ſhewe. Dol. Your Grace ſhall pardon me, I will not backe: I am too high-borne to be proportied To be a ſecondary at controll, Or vſefull ſeruing-man, and Inſtrument To any Soueraigne State throughout the world. Your breath firſt kindled the dead coale of warres, Betweene this chaſtiz'd kingdome and my ſelfe, And brought in matter that ſhould feed this fire; And now 'tis farre too huge to be blowne out With that ſame weake winde, which enkindled it: You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with intereſt to this Land, Yea, thruſt this enterprize into my heart, And come ye now to tell me Iohn hath made His peace with Rome? what is that peace to me? I (by the honour of my marriage bed) After yong Arthur, claime this Land for mine, And now it is halfe conquer'd, muſt I backe, Becauſe that Iohn hath made his peace with Rome? Am I Romes ſlaue? What penny hath Rome borne? What men prouided? What munition ſent To vnder-prop this Action? Is't not I That vnder-goe this charge? Who elſe but I, And ſuch as to my claime are liable, Sweat in this buſineſſe, and maintaine this warre? Haue I not heard theſe Iſlanders ſhout out Ʋiue le Roy; as I haue bank'd their Townes? Haue I not heere the beſt Cards for the game To winne this eaſie match, plaid for a Crowne? And ſhall I now giue ore the yeelded Set? No, no, on my ſoule it neuer ſhall be ſaid. Pand.

You looke but on the out-ſide of this worke.

 Dol. Out-ſide or in-ſide, I will not returne Till my attempt ſo much be glorified, As to my ample hope was promiſed, Before I drew this gallant head of warre, And cull'd theſe fiery ſpirits from the world To out-looke Conqueſt, and to winne renowne Euen in the iawes of danger, and of death: What luſty Trumpet thus doth ſummon vs? Enter Baſtard. Baſt. According to the faire-play of the world, Let me haue audience: I am ſent to ſpeake: My holy Lord of Millane, from the King I come to learne how you haue dealt for him: And, as you anſwer, I doe know the ſcope And warrant limited vnto my tongue. Pand. The Dolphin is too wilfull oppoſite And will not temporize with my intreaties: He flatly ſaies, hee • ll not lay downe his Armes. Baſt. By all the bloud that euer fury breath'd, The youth ſaies well. Now heare our Engliſh King, For thus his Royaltie doth ſpeake in me: He is prepar'd, and reaſon to he ſhould, This apiſh and vnmannerly approach, This harneſs'd Maske, and vnaduiſed Reuell, This vn-heard ſawcineſſe and boyiſh Troopes, The King doth ſmile at, and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfiſh warre, this Pigmy Armes From out the circle of his Territories. That hand which had the ſtrength, euen at your dore, To cudgell you, and make you take the hatch, To diue like Buckets in concealed Welles, To crowch in litter of your ſtable plankes, To lye like pawnes, lock'd vp in cheſts and truncks, To hug with ſwine, to ſeeke ſweet ſafety out In vaults and priſons, and to thrill and ſhake, Euen at the crying of your Nations crow, Thinking this voyce an armed Engliſhman. Shall that victorious hand be feebled heere, That in your Chambers gaue you chaſticement? No: know the gallant Monarch is in Armes, And like an Eagle, o're his ayerie towres, To ſowſſe annoyance that comes neere his Neſt; And you degenerate, you ingrate Reuolts, you bloudy Nero's, ripping vp the wombe Of your deere Mother-England: bluſh for ſhame: For your owne Ladies, and pale-viſag'd Maides, Like Amazons, come tripping after drummes: Their thimbles into armed Gantlets change, Their Needl's to Lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination. Dol. There end thy braue, and turn thy face in peace, We grant thou canſt out-ſcold vs: Far thee well, We hold our time too precious to be ſpent With ſuch a brabler. Pan.

Giue me leaue to ſpeake.

 Baſt.

No, I will ſpeake.

 Dol. We will attend to neyther: Strike vp the drummes, and let the tongue of warre Pleade for our intereſt, and our being heere. Baſt. Indeede your drums being beaten, wil cry out; And ſo ſhall you, being beaten: Do but ſtart An eccho with the clamor of thy drumme, And euen at hand, a drumme is readie brac'd, That ſhall reuerberate all, as lowd as thine. Sound but a 〈◊〉 , and another ſhall (As lowd as thine) rattle the Welkins eare, And mocke the deepe mouth'd Thunder: for at hand (Not truſting to this halting Legate heere, Whom he hath vs'd rather for ſport, then neede) Is warlike Iohn: and in his fore-head ſits A bare-rib'd death, whoſe office is this day To feaſt vpon whole thouſands of the French. Dol.

Strike vp our drummes, to finde this danger out.

 Baſt.

And thou ſhalt finde it (Dolphin) do not doubt

 Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Alarums. Enter Iohn and Hubert. Iohn.

How goes the day with vs? oh tell me Hubert.

Hub.

Badly I feare; how fares your Maieſty?

 Iohn. This Feauer that hath troubled me ſo long, Lyes heauie on me: oh, my heart is ſicke. Enter a Meſſenger. Meſ. My Lord: your valiant kinſman Falconbridge, Deſires your Maieſtie to leaue the field, And ſend him word by me, which way you go. Iohn.

Tell him toward Swinſted, to the Abbey there.

 Meſ. Be of good comfort: for the great ſupply, That was expected by the Dolphin heere, Are wrack'd three nights ago on Goodwin ſands. This newes was brought to Richard but euen now, The French fight coldly, and retyre themſelues. Iohn. Aye me, this tyrant Feauer burnes mee vp, And will not let me welcome this good newes. Set on toward Swinſted: to my Litter ſtraight, Weakneſſe poſſeſſeth me, and I am faint. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot. Sal.

I did not thinke the King ſo ſtor'd with friends.

 Pem. Vp once againe: put ſpirit in the French, If they miſcarry: we miſcarry too. Sal. That misbegotten diuell Falconbridge, In ſpight of ſpight, alone vpholds the day. Pem.

They ſay King Iohn ſore ſick, hath left the field.

 Enter Meloon wounded. Mel.

Lead me to the Reuolts of England heere.

 Sal.

When we were happie, we had other names.

 Pem.

It is the Count Meloone.

Sal.

Wounded to death.

 Mel. Fly Noble Engliſh, you are bought and ſold, Vnthred the rude eye of Rebellion, And welcome home againe diſcarded faith, Seeke out King Iohn, and fall before his feete: For if the French be Lords of this loud day, He meanes to recompence the paines you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he ſworne, And I with him, and many moe with mee, Vpon the Altar at S. Edmondsbury, Euen on that Altar, where we ſwore to you Deere Amity, and euerlaſting loue. Sal.

May this be poſſible? May this be true?

 Mel. Haue I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life, Which bleeds away, euen as a forme of waxe Reſolueth from his figure 'gainſt the fire? What in the world ſhould make me now deceiue, Since I muſt looſe the vſe of all deceite? Why ſhould I then be falſe, ſince it is true That I muſt dye heere, and liue hence, by Truth? I ſay againe, if Lewis do win the day, He is forſworne, if ere thoſe eyes of yours Behold another day breake in the Eaſt: But euen this night, whoſe blacke contagious breath Already ſmoakes about the burning Creſt Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied Sunne, Euen this ill night, your breathing ſhall expire, Paying the fine of rated Treachery, Euen with a treacherous fine of all your liues: If Lewis, by your aſsiſtance win the day. Commend me to one Hubert, with your King; The loue of him, and this reſpect beſides (For that my Grandſite was an Engliſhman) Awakes my Conſcience to confeſſe all this. In lieu whereof, I pray you beare me hence From forth the noiſe and rumour of the Field; Where I may thinke the remnant of my thoughts In peace: and part this bodie and my ſoule With contemplation, and deuout deſires. Sal. We do beleeue thee, and beſhrew my ſoule, But I do loue the fauour, and the forme Of this moſt faire occaſion, by the which We will vntread the ſteps of damned flight, And like a bated and retired Flood, Leauing our rankneſſe and irregular courſe, Stoope lowe within thoſe bounds we haue ore-look'd, And calmely run on in obedience Euen to our Ocean, to our great King Iohn. My arme ſhall giue thee helpe to beare thee hence, For I do ſee the cruell pangs of death Right in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight, And happie newneſſe, that intends old right. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Dolphin, and his Traine. Dol. The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to ſet; But ſtaid, and made the Weſterne Welkin bluſh, When Engliſh meaſure backward their owne ground In faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off, When with a volley of our needleſſe ſhot, After ſuch bloody toile, we bid good night, And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp, Laſt in the field, and almoſt Lords of it. Enter a Meſſenger. Meſ.

Where is my Prince, the Dolphin?

 Dol.

Heere: what newes?

 Meſ. The Count Meloone is ſlaine: The Engliſh Lords By his perſwaſion, are againe falne off, And your ſupply, which you haue wiſh'd ſo long, Are caſt away, and ſunke on Goodwin ſands. Dol. Ah fowle, ſhrew'd newes. Beſhrew thy very hart: I did not thinke to be ſo ſad to night As this hath made me. Who was he that ſaid King Iohn did flie an houre or two before The ſtumbling night did part our wearie powres? Meſ.

Who euer ſpoke it, it is true my Lord.

 Dol. Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night, The day ſhall not be vp ſo ſoone as I, To try the faire aduenture of to morrow. Exeunt
Scena Sexta. Enter Baſtard and Hubert, ſeuerally. Hub.

Whoſe there? Speake hoa, ſpeake quickely, or I ſhoote.

 Baſt.

A Friend. What art thou?

 Hub.

Of the part of England.

 Baſt.

Whether doeſt thou go?

 Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand of thine affaires, As well as thou of mine? Baſt.

Hubert, I thinke.

 Hub. Thou haſt a perfect thought: I will vpon all hazards well beleeue Thou art my friend, that know'ſt my tongue ſo well: Who art thou? Baſt. Who thou wilt: and if thou pleaſe Thou maiſt be-friend me ſo much, as to thinke I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night, Haue done me ſhame: Braue Soldier, pardon me, That any accent breaking from thy tongue, Should ſcape the true acquaintance of mine eare. Baſt.

Come, come: ſans complement, What newes abroad?

 Hub. Why heere walke I, in the black brow of night To finde you out. Baſt.

Brcefe then: and what's the newes?

 Hub. O my ſweet ſir, newes fitting to the night, Blacke, fearefull, comfortleſſe, and horrible. Baſt. Shew me the very wound of this ill newes, I am no woman, Ile not ſwound at it. Hub. The King I feare is poyſon'd by a Monke, I left him almoſt ſpeechleſſe, and broke out To acquaint you with this euill, that you might The better arme you to the ſodaine time, Then if you had at leiſure knowne of this. Baſt.

How did he take it? Who did taſte to him?

 Hub. A Monke I tell you, a reſolued villaine Whoſe Bowels ſodainly burſt out: The King Yet ſpeakes, and peraduenture may recouer. Baſt

Who didſt thou leaue to tend his Maieſty?

 Hub. Why know you not? The Lords are all come backe, And brought Prince Henry in their companie, At whoſe requeſt the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his Maieſtie. Baſt. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen, And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power: Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this night Paſsing theſe Flats, are taken by the Tide, Theſe Lincolne-Waſhes haue deuoured them, My ſelfe, well mounted, hardly haue eſcap'd. Away before: Conduct me to the king, I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Prince Henry, Salisburie, and Bigot. Hen. It is too late, the life of all his blood Is touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine (Which ſome ſuppoſe the ſoules fraile dwelling houſe) Doth by the idle Comments that it makes, Fore-tell the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke. Pem. His Highneſſe yet doth ſpeak, & holds beleefe, That being brought into the open ayre, It would allay the burning qualitie Of that fell poiſon which aſſayleth him. Hen. Let him be brought into the Orchard heere: Doth he ſtill rage? Pem. He is more patient Then when you left him; euen now he ſung. Hen. Oh vanity of ſickneſſe: fierce extreames In their continuance, will not feele themſelues. Death hauing praide vpon the outward parts Leaues them inuiſible, and his ſeige is now Againſt the winde, the which he prickes and wounds With many legions of ſtrange fantaſies, Which in their throng, and preſſe to that laſt hold, Counfound themſelues. 'Tis ſtrange yt death ſhold ſing: I am the Symer to this pale faint Swan, Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death, And from the organ-pipe of frailety ſings His ſoule and body to their laſting reſt. Sal. Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borne To ſet a forme vpon that indigeſt Which he hath left ſo ſhapeleſſe, and ſo rude. Iohn brought in. Iohn. I marrie, now my ſoule hath elbow roome, It would not out at windowes, nor at doores, There is ſo hot a ſummer in my boſome, That all my bowels crumble vp to duſt: I am a ſcribled forme drawne with a pen Vpon a Parchment, and againſt this fire Do I ſhrinke vp. Hen.

How fares your Maieſty?

 Ioh. Poyſon'd, ill fare: dead, forſooke, caſt off, And none of you will bid the winter come To thruſt his ycie fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdomes Riuers take their courſe Through my burn'd boſome: nor intreat the North To make his bleake windes kiſſe my parched lips, And comfort me with cold. I do not aske you much, I begge cold comfort: and you are ſo ſtraight And ſo ingratefull, you deny me that. Hen. Oh that there were ſome vertue in my teares, That might releeue you. Iohn. The ſalt in them is hot. Within me is a hell, and there the poyſon Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize, On vnrepreeuable condemned blood. Enter Baſtard. Baſt. Oh, I am ſcalded with my violent motion And ſpleene of ſpeede, to ſee your Maieſty. Iohn. Oh Cozen, thou art come to ſet mine eye: The tackle of my heart, is crack'd and burnt, And all the ſhrowds wherewith my life ſhould ſaile, Are turned to one thred, one little haire: My heart hath one poore ſtring to ſtay it by, Which holds but till thy newes be vttered, And then all this thou ſeeſt, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty. Baſt. The Dolphin is preparing hither-ward, Where heauen he knowes how we ſhall anſwer him. For in a night the beſt part of my powre, As I vpon aduantage did remoue, Were in the Waſhes all vnwarily, Deuoured by the vnexpected flood. Sal. You breath theſe dead newes in as dead an eare My Liege, my Lord: but now a King, now thus. Hen. Euen ſo muſt I run on, and euen ſo ſtop. What ſurety of the world, what hope, what ſtay, When this was now a King, and now is clay? Baſt. Art thou gone ſo? I do but ſtay behinde, To do the office for thee, of reuenge, And then my ſoule ſhall waite on thee to heauen, As it on earth hath bene thy ſeruant ſtill. Now, now you Starres, that moue in your right ſpheres, Where be your powres? Shew now your mended faiths, And inſtantly returne with me againe. To puſh deſtruction, and perpetuall ſhame Out of the weake doore of our fainting Land: Straight let vs ſeeke, or ſtraight we ſhall be ſought, The Dolphine rages at our verie heeles. Sal. It ſeemes you know not then ſo much as we, The Cardinall Pandulph is within at reſt, Who halfe an houre ſince came from the Dolphin, And brings from him ſuch offers of our peace, As we with honor and reſpect may take, With purpoſe preſently to leaue this warre. Baſt. He will the rather do it, when he ſees Our ſelues well ſinew'd to our defence. Sal. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already, For many carriages hee hath diſpatch'd To the ſea ſide, and put his cauſe and quarrell To the diſpoſing of the Cardinall, With whom your ſelfe, my ſelfe, and other Lords, If you thinke meete, this afternoone will poaſt To conſummate this buſineſſe happily. Baſt. Let it be ſo, and you my noble Prince, With other Princes that may beſt be ſpar'd, Shall waite vpon your Fathers Funerall. Hen. At Worſter muſt his bodie be interr'd, For ſo he will'd it. Baſt. Thither ſhall it then, And happily may your ſweet ſelfe put on The lineall ſtate, and glorie of the Land, To whom with all ſubmiſsion on my knee, I do bequeath my faithfull ſeruices And true ſubiection euerlaſtingly. Sal. And the like tender of our loue wee make To reſt without a ſpot for euermore. Hen. I haue a kinde ſoule, that would giue thankes, And knowes not how to do it, but with teares. Baſt. Oh let vs pay the time: but needfull woe, Since it hath beene before hand with our greefes. This England neuer did, nor neuer ſhall Lye at the proud foote of a Conqueror, But when it firſt did helpe to wound it ſelfe. Now, theſe her Princes are come home againe, Come the three corners of the world in Armes, And we ſhall ſhocke them: Naught ſhall make vs rue, If England to it ſelfe, do reſt but true. Exeunt.
The life and death of King Richard the Second.
Actus Primus,
Scaena Prima. Enter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants. King Richard. OLd Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaſter, Haſt thou according to thy oath and band Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold ſon: Heere to make good ye boiſtrous late appeale, Which then our leyſure would not let vs heare, Againſt the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt.

I haue my Liege.

 King. Tell me moreouer, haſt thou ſounded him, If he appeale the Duke on ancient malice, Or worthily as a good ſubiect ſhould On ſome knowne ground of treacherie in him. Gaunt. As neere as I could ſift him on that argument, On ſome apparant danger ſeene in him, Aym'd at your Highneſſe, no inueterate malice. Kin. Then call them to our preſence face to face, And frowning brow to brow, our ſelues will heare Th' accuſer, and the accuſed, freely ſpeake; High ſtomack • d are they both, and full of ire, In rage, deafe as the ſea; haſtie as fire. Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray. Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall My gracious Soueraigne, my moſt louing Liege. Mow. Each day ſtill better others happineſſe, Vntill the heauens enuying earths good hap, Adde an immortall title to your Crowne. King. We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs, As well appeareth by the cauſe you come, Namely, to appeale each other of high treaſon. Cooſin of Hereford, what doſt thou obiect Againſt the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Bul. Firſt, heauen be the record to my ſpeech, In the deuotion of a ſubiects loue, Tendering the precious ſafetie of my Prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appealant to this Princely preſence. Now Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee, And marke my greeting well: for what I ſpeake, My body ſhall make good vpon this earth, Or my diuine ſoule anſwer it in heauen. Thou art a Traitor, and a Miſcreant; Too good to be ſo, and too bad to liue, Since the more faire and chriſtall is the skie, The vglier ſeeme the cloudes that in it flye: Once more, the more to aggrauate the note, With a foule Traitors name ſtuffe I thy throte, And wiſh (ſo pleaſe my Soueraigne) ere I moue, What my tong ſpeaks, my right drawn ſword may proue Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuſe my zeale: 'Tis not the triall of a Womans warre, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cauſe betwixt vs twaine: The blood is hot that muſt be cool'd for this. Yet can I not of ſuch tame patience boaſt, As to be huſht, and nought at all to ſay. Firſt the faire reuerence of your Highneſſe curbes mee, From giuing reines and ſpurres to my free ſpeech, Which elſe would poſt, vntill it had return'd Theſe tearmes of treaſon, doubly downe his throat. Setting aſide his high bloods royalty, And let him be no Kinſman to my Liege, I do defie him, and I ſpit at him, Call him a ſlanderous Coward, and a Villaine: Which to maintaine, I would allow him oddes, And meete him, were I tide to runne afoote, Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where euer Engliſhman durſt ſet his foote. Meane time, let this defend my loyaltie, By all my hopes moſt falſely doth he lie. Bul. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage, Diſclaiming heere the kindred of a King, And lay aſide my high bloods Royalty, Which feare, not reuerence makes thee to except. If guilty dread hath left thee ſo much ſtrength, As to take vp mine Honors pawne, then ſtoope. By that, and all the rites of Knight-hood elſe, Will I make good againſt thee arme to arme, What I haue ſpoken, or thou canſt deuiſe. Mow. I take it vp, and by that ſword I ſweare, Which gently laid my Knight-hood on my ſhoulder, Ile anſwer thee in any faire degree, Or Chiualrous deſigne of knightly triall: And when I mount, aliue may I not light, If I be Traitor, or vniuſtly fight. King. What doth our Coſin lay to Mowbraies charge? It muſt be great that can inherite vs, So much as of a thought of ill in him. Bul. Looke what I ſaid, my life ſhall proue it true, That Mowbray hath receiu'd eight thouſand Nobles, 〈◊〉 • ame of lendings for your Highneſſe Soldiers, • e which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, like a falſe Traitor, and inuirious Villaine. Beſides I ſay, and will in battaile proue, Or heere, or elſewhere to the furtheſt Verge That euer was ſuruey'd by Engliſh eye, That all the Treaſons for theſe eighteene yeeres Complotted, and contriued in this Land, Fetch'd from falſe Mowbray their firſt head and ſpring▪ Further I ſay▪ and further will maintaine Vpon his bad life, to make all this good. That he did plot the Duke of Glouſters death, Suggeſt his ſoone beleeuing aduerſaries, And conſequently, like a Traitor Coward, Sluc'd out his innocent ſoule through ſtreames of blood: Which blood, like ſacrificing Abels cries, (Euen from the toongleſſe cauernes of the earth) To me for iuſtice, and rough chaſticement: And by the glorious worth of my diſcent, This arme ſhall do it, or this life be ſpent. King. How high a pitch his reſolution ſoares: Thomas of Norfolke, what ſayeſt thou to this? Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face, And bid his eares a little while be deafe, Till I haue told this ſlander of his blood, How God and good men, hate ſo foule a lyar. King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares, Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre, As he is but my fathers brothers ſonne; Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour-neereneſſe to our ſacred blood, Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize The vn-ſtooping firmeneſſe of my vpright ſoule. He is our ſubiect (Mowbray) ſo art thou, Free ſpeech, and feareleſſe, I to thee allow. Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart, Through the falſe paſſage of thy throat; thou lyeſt: Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice, Disburſt I to his Highneſſe ſouldiers; The other part reſeru'd I by conſent, For that my Soueraigne Liege was in my debt, Vpon remainder of a deere Accompt, Since laſt I went to France to fetch his Queene: Now ſwallow downe that Lye. For Glouſters death, I ſlew him not; but (to mine owne diſgrace) Neglected my ſworne duty in that caſe: For you my noble Lord of Lancaſter, The honourable Father to my foe, Once I did lay an ambuſh for your life, A treſpaſſe that doth vex my greeued ſoule: But ere I laſt receiu'd the Sacrament, I did confeſſe it, and exactly begg'd Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the reſt appeal'd, It iſſues from the rancour of a Villaine, A recreant, and moſt degenerate Traitor, Which in my ſelfe I boldly will defend, And interchangeably hurle downe my gage Vpon this ouer-weening Traitors foote, To proue my ſelfe a loyall Gentleman, Euen in the beſt blood chamber'd in his boſome▪ In haſt whereof, moſt heartily I pray Your Highneſſe to aſſigne our Triall day. King. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen be rul'd by me: Let's purge this choller without letting blood: This we preſcribe, though no Phyſition, Deepe malice makes too deepe inciſion. Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed▪ Our Doctors ſay, This is no time to bleed. Good Vnckle, let this end where it begun▪ Wee'l calme the Duke of Norfolke▪ you, your ſon. Gaunt. To be a make-peace ſhall become my age, Throw downe (my ſonne) the Duke of Norfolkes gage. King.

And Norfolke, throw downe hi •

Gaunt. When Harris when Obedience bids, Obedience bids I ſhould not bid agen. King.

Norfolke, throw downe, we bidde; there is no boote.

 Mow. My ſelfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy foot. My life thou ſhalt command, but not my ſhame, The one my dutie owes, but my faire name Deſpight of death, that liues vpon my graue To darke diſhonours vſe, thou ſhalt not haue. I am diſgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffel'd heere, Pierc'd to the ſoule with ſlanders venom'd ſpeare: The which no balme can cure, but his heart blood Which breath'd this poyſon. King. Rage muſt be withſtood: Giue me his gage: Lyons make Leopards tame. Mo. Yea, but not change his ſpots: take but my ſha • , And I reſigne my gage▪ My deere, deere Lord, The pureſt treaſure mortall times afford Is ſpotleſſe reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loame, or painted clay. A Iewell in a ten times barr'd vp Cheſt, Is a bold ſpirit, in a loyall breſt. Mine Honor is my life; both grow in one: Take Honor from me, and my life is done. Then (deere my Liege) mine Honor let me trie, In that I liue; and for that will I die. King. Cooſin, throw downe your gage, Do you begin. Bul. Oh heauen defend my ſoule from ſuch foule ſin. Shall I ſeeme Creſt-falne in my fathers ſight, Or with pale beggar-feare impeach my hight Before this out-dar'd daſtard? Ere my toong, Shall wound mine honor with ſuch feeble wrong; Or ſound ſo baſe a parle: my teeth ſhall teare The ſlauiſh motiue of recanting feare. And ſpit it bleeding in his high diſgrace, Where ſhame doth harbour, euen in Mowbrayes face. Exit Gaunt. King. We were not borne to ſue, but to command, Which ſince we cannot do to make you friends, Be readie, (as your liues ſhall anſwer it) At Couentree, vpon S. Lamberts day: There ſhall your ſwords and Lances arbitrate The ſwelling difference of your ſetled hate: Since we cannot attone you, you ſhall ſee Iuſtice deſigne the Victors Chiualrie. Lord Marſhall, command our Officers at Armes, Be readie to direct theſe home Alarmes. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Gaunt, and Dutcheſſe of Glo • ceſter. Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glouſters blood, Doth more ſolicite me then your exclaimes, To ſtirre againſt the Butchers of his life. But ſince correction lyeth in thoſe hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen, Who when they ſee the houres ripe on earth, Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads. Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no ſharper ſpurre? Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire? Edwards ſeuen ſonnes (whereof thy ſelfe art one) Were as ſeuen violles of his Sacred blood, Or ſeuen faire branches ſpringing from one roote: Some of thoſe ſeuen are dride by natures courſe, Some of thoſe branches by the deſtinies cut: But Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouſter, One Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood, One flouriſhing branch of his moſt Royall roote Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor ſpilt; Is hackt downe, and his ſummer leafes all vaded By Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe. Ah Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe, That mettle, that ſelfe-mould that faſhion'd thee, Made him a man: and though thou liu'ſt, and breath'ſt, Yet art thou ſlaine in him: thou doſt conſent In ſome large meaſure to thy Fathers death, In that thou ſeeſt thy wretched brother dye, Who was the modell of thy Fathers life. Call it not patience (Gaunt) it is diſpaire, In ſuffering thus thy brother to be ſlaughter'd, Thou ſhew'ſt the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching ſterne murther how to butcher thee: That which in meane men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breſts: What ſhall I ſay, to ſafegard thine owne life, The beſt way is to venge my Glouſters death. Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens ſubſtitute His Deputy annointed in his ſight, Hath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully Let heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift An angry arme againſt his Miniſter. Dut.

Where then (alas may I) complaint my ſelfe?

 Gau.

To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence

 Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt. Thou go'ſt to Couentrie, there to behold Our Coſine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight: O ſit my husbands wrongs on Herfords ſpeare, That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes breſt: Or if misfortune miſſe the firſt carreere, Be Mowbrayes ſinnes ſo heauy in his boſome, That they may breake his foaming Courſers backe, And throw the Rider headlong in the Liſts, A Gaytiffe recreant to my Coſine Herford: Farewell old Gaunt, thy ſometimes brothers wife With her companion Greefe, muſt end her life. Gau. Siſter farewell: I muſt to Couentree, As much good ſtay with thee, as go with mee. Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls, Not with the emptie hollownes, but weight: I take my leaue, before I haue begun, For ſorrow ends not, when it ſeemeth done. Commend me to my brother Edmund Yorke. Loe, this is all: nay, yet depart not ſo, Though this be all, do not ſo quickly go, I ſhall remember more. Bid him, Oh, what? With all good ſpeed at Plaſhie viſit mee. Alacke, and what ſhall good old Yorke there ſee But empty lodgings, and vnfurniſh'd walles, Vn-peopel'd Offices, vntroden ſtones? And what heare there for welcome, but my grones? Therefore commend me, let him not come there, To ſeeke out ſorrow, that dwels euery where: Deſolate, deſolate will I hence, and dye, The laſt leaue of thee, takes my weeping eye. Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter Marſhall, and Aumerle. Mar.

My L. Aumerle, is Harry Herford arm'd.

 Aum.

Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.

 Mar. The Duke of Norfolke, ſprightfully and bold, Stayes but the ſummons of the Appealants Trumpet. Au. Why then the Champions, are prepar'd, and ſtay For nothing but his Maieſties approach. Flouriſh. Enter King, Gaunt, Buſhy, Bagot, Greene, & others: Then Mowbray in Armor, and Harrold. Rich. Marſhall, demand of yonder Champion The cauſe of his arriuall heere in Armes, Aske him his name, and orderly proceed To ſweare him in the iuſtice of his cauſe. Mar. In Gods name, and the Kings, ſay who yu art, And why thou com'ſt thus knightly clad in Armes? Againſt what man thou com'ſt, and what's thy quarrell, Speake truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath, As ſo defend thee heauen, and thy valour. Mow. My name is Tho. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, Who hither comes engaged by my oath (Which heauen defend a knight ſhould violate) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, my King, and his ſucceeding iſſue, Againſt the Duke of Herford, that appeales me: And by the grace of God, and this mine arme, To proue him (in defending of my ſelfe) A Traitor to my God, my King, and me, And as I truly fight, defend me heauen. Tucket. Enter Hereford, and Harold. Rich. Marſhall: Aske yonder Knight in Armes, Both who he is, and why he commeth hither, Thus placed in habiliments of warre: And formerly according to our Law Depoſe him in the iuſtice of his cauſe. Mar. What is thy name? and wherfore comſt yu hither Before King Richard in his Royall Liſts? Againſt whom com'ſt thou? and what's thy quarrell? Speake like a true Knight, ſo defend thee heauen. Bul. Harry of Herford, Lancaſter, and Derbie, Am I: who ready heere do ſtand in Armes, To proue by heauens grace, and my bodies valour, In Liſts, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolke, That he's a Traitor foule, and dangerous, To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me, And as I truly fight, defend me heauen. Mar. On paine of death, no perſon be ſo bold, Or daring hardie as to touch the Liſtes, Except the Marſhall, and ſuch Officers Appointed to direct theſe faire deſignes. Bul. Lord Marſhall, let me kiſſe my Soueraigns hand, And bow my knee before his Maieſtie: For Mowbray and my ſelfe are like two men, That vow a long and weary pilgrimage, Then let vs take a ceremonious leaue And lo • ing farwell of our ſeuerall friends. Mar. The Appealant in all duty greets your Highnes, And craues to kiſſe your hand, and take his leaue. Rich. We will deſcend, and fold him in our armes. Coſin of Herford, as thy cauſe is iuſt, So be thy fortune in this Royall fight: Farewell, my blood, which if to day thou ſhead, Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead. Bull. Oh let no noble eye prophane a teare For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbrayes ſpeare: As confident, as is the Falcons flight Againſt a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My louing Lord, I take my leaue of you, Of you (my Noble Coſin) Lord Aumerle; Not ſicke, although I haue to do with death, But luſtie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath. Loe, as at Engliſh Feaſts, ſo I regreete The daintieſt laſt, to make the end moſt ſweet. Oh thou the earthy author of my blood, Whoſe youthfull ſpirit in me regenerate, Doth with a two-fold rigor lift mee vp To reach at victory aboue my head, Adde proofe vnto mine Armour with thy prayres, And with thy bleſsings ſteele my Lances point, That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen Coate, And fu • niſh new the name of Iohn a Gaunt, Euen in the luſty hauiour of his ſonne. Gaunt. Heauen in thy good cauſe make thee proſp'rous Be ſwift like lightning in the execution, And let thy blowes doubly redoubled. Fall like amazing thunder on the Caske Of thy amaz'd pernicious enemy. Rouze vp thy youthfull blood, be valiant, and liue. Bul.

Mine innocence, and S. George to thriue.

 Mow. How euer heauen or fortune caſt my lot, There liues, or dies, true to Kings Richards Throne, A loyall, iuſt, and vpright Gentleman: Neuer did Captiue with a freer heart, Caſt off his chaines of bondage, and embrace His golden vncontroul'd enfranchiſement, More then my dancing ſoule doth celebrate This Feaſt of Battell, with mine Aduerſarie. Moſt mighty Liege, and my companion Peeres, Take from my mouth, the wiſh of happy yeares, As gentle, and as iocond, as to ieſt, Go I to fight: Truth, hath a quiet breſt. Rich. Farewell, my Lord, ſecurely I eſpy Vertue with Valour, couched in thine eye: Order the triall Marſhall, and begin. Mar. Harrie of Herford, Lancaſter, and Derby, Receiue thy Launce, and heauen defend thy right. Bul.

Strong as a towre in hope, I cry Amen.

 Mar.

Go beare this Lance to Thomas D. of Norfolke.

 1. Har. Harry of Herford, Lancaſter, and Derbie, Stands heere for God, his Soueraigne, and himſelfe, On paine to be found falſe, and recreant, To proue the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray, A Traitor to his God, his King, and him, And dares him to ſet forwards to the fight. 3. Har. Here ſtandeth Tho: Mowbray Duke of Norfolk On paine to be found falſe and recreant, Both to defend himſelfe, and to approue Henry of Herford, Lancaſter, and Derby, To God, his Soueraigne, and to him diſloyall: Couragiouſly, and with a free deſire Attending but the ſignall to begin. A charge ſounded Mar. Sound Trumpets, and ſet forward Combatants: Stay, the King hath throwne his Warder downe. Rich. Let them lay by their Helmets & their Speares, And both returne backe to their Chaires againe: Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets ſound, While we returne theſe Dukes what we decree. A long Flouriſh. Draw neere and liſt What with our Councell we haue done. For that our kingdomes earth ſhould not be ſoyld With that deere blood which it hath foſtered, And for our eyes do hate the dire aſpect Of ciuill wounds plowgh'd vp with neighbors ſwords, Which ſo rouz'd vp with boyſtrous vntun'd drummes, With harſh reſounding Trumpets dreadfull bray, And grating ſhocke of wrathfull yron Armes, Might from our quiet Confines fright faire peace, And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood: Therefore, we baniſh you our Territories. You Coſin Herford, vpon paine of death, Till twice fiue Summers haue enrich'd our fields, Shall not regreet our faire dominions, But treade the ſtranger pathes of baniſhment. Bul. Your will be done: This muſt my comfort be, That Sun that warmes you heere, ſhall ſhine on me: And thoſe his golden beames to you heere lent, Shall point on me, and gild my baniſhment. Rich. Norfolke: for thee remaines a heauier dombe, Which I with ſome vnwillingneſſe pronounce, The ſlye ſlow houres ſhall not determinate The dateleſſe limit of thy deere exile: The hopeleſſe word, of Neuer to returne, Breath I againſt thee, vpon paine of life. Mow. A heauy ſentence, my moſt Soueraigne Liege, And all vnlook'd for from your Highneſſe mouth: A deerer merit, not ſo deepe a maime, As to be caſt forth in the common ayre Haue I deſerued at your Highneſſe hands. The Language I haue learn'd theſe forty yeares (My natiue Engliſh) now I muſt forgo, And now my tongues vſe is to me no more, Then an vnſtringed Vyall, or a Harpe, Or like a cunning Inſtrument cas'd vp, Or being open, put into his hands That knowes no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you haue engaol'd my tongue, Doubly perculliſt with my teeth and lippes, And dull, vnfeeling, barren ignorance, Is made my Gaoler to attend on me: I am too old to fawne vpon a Nurſe, Too farre in yeeres to be a pupill now: What is thy ſentence then, but ſpeechleſſe death, Which robs my tongue from breathing natiue breath? Rich. It boots thee not to be compaſsionate, After our ſentence, plaining comes too late. Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries light To dwell in ſolemne ſhades of endleſſe night. Ric. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee, Lay on our Royall ſword, your baniſht hands; Sweare by the duty that you owe to heauen (Our part therein we baniſh with your ſelues) To keepe the Oath that we adminiſter: You neuer ſhall (ſo helpe you Truth, and Heauen) Embrace each others loue in baniſhment, Nor euer looke vpon each others face, Nor euer write, regreete, or reconcile This lowring tempeſt of your home-bred hate, Nor euer by aduiſed purpoſe meete, To plot, contriue, or complot any ill, 'Gainſt Vs, our State, our Subiects, or our Land. Bull.

I ſweare.

 Mow.

And I, to keepe all this.

 Bul. Norfolke, ſo fare, as to mine enemie, By this time (had the King permitted vs) One of our ſoules had wandred in the ayre, Baniſh'd this fraile ſepulchre of our fleſh, As now our fleſh is baniſh'd from this Land. Confeſſe thy Treaſons, ere thou flye this Realme, Since thou haſt farre to go, beare not along The clogging burthen of a guilty ſoule. Mow. No Bullingbroke: If euer I were Traitor, My name be blotted from the booke of Life, And I from heauen baniſh'd, as from hence: But what thou art, heauen, thou, and I do know, And all too ſoone (I feare) the King ſhall rue. Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I ſtray, Saue backe to England, all the worlds my way. Exit. Rich. Vncle, euen in the glaſſes of thine eyes I ſee thy greeued heart: thy ſad aſpect, Hath from the number of his baniſh'd yeares Pluck'd foure away: Six frozen Winters ſpent, Returne with welcome home, from baniſhment. Bul. How long a time lyes in one little word: Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton ſprings End in a word, ſuch is the breath of Kings. Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of me He ſhortens foure yeares of my ſonnes exile: But little vantage ſhall I reape thereby. For ere the ſixe yeares that he hath to ſpend Can change their Moones, and bring their times about, My oyle-dride Lampe, and time-bewaſted light Shall be extinct with age, and endleſſe night: My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done, And blindfold death, not let me ſee my ſonne. Rich.

Why Vncle, thou haſt many yeeres to liue.

 Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canſt giue; Shorten my dayes thou canſt with ſudden ſorow, And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow: Thou canſt helpe time to furrow me with age, But ſtop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage: Thy word is currant with him, for my death, But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath. Ric. Thy ſonne is baniſh'd vpon good aduice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gaue, Why at our Iuſtice ſeem'ſt thou then to lowre? Gau. Things ſweet to taſt, proue in digeſtion ſowre: You vrg'd me as a Iudge, but I had rather you would haue bid me argue like a Father. Alas, I look'd when ſome of you ſhould ſay, I was too ſtrict to make mine owne away: But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong, Againſt my will, to do my ſelfe this wrong. Rich. Coſine farewell: and Vncle bid him ſo: Six yeares we baniſh him, and he ſhall go. Exit. Flouriſh. Au. Coſine farewell: what preſence muſt not know From where you do remaine, let paper ſhow. Mar. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride As farre as land will let me, by your ſide. Gaunt. Oh to what purpoſe doſt thou hord thy words, That thou teturnſt no greeting to thy friends? Bull. I haue too few to take my leaue of you, When the tongues office ſhould be prodigall, To breath th' abundant dolour of the heart. Gau.

Thy greefe is but thy abſence for a time.

 Bull.

Ioy abſent, greefe is preſent for that time.

 Gau.

What is ſixe Winters, they are quickely gone?

 Bul.

To men in ioy, but greefe makes one houre ten.

 Gau.

Call it a trauell that thou tak'ſt for pleaſure.

 Bul. My heart will ſigh, when I miſcall it ſo, Which findes it an inforced Pilgrimage. Gau. The ſullen paſſage of thy weary ſteppes Eſteeme a ſoyle, wherein thou art to ſet The precious Iewell of thy home returne. Bul. Oh who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the froſtie Caucaſus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, by bare imagination of a Feaſt? Or Wallow naked in December ſnow by thinking on fantaſticke ſummers heate? Oh no, the apprehenſion of the good Giues but the greater feeling to the worſe: Fell ſorrowes tooth, doth euer ranckle more Then when it bites, but lanceth not the ſore. Gau. Come, come (my ſon) Ile bring thee on thy way Had I thy youth, and cauſe, I would not ſtay. Bul. Then Englands ground farewell: ſweet ſoil adieu, My Mother, and my Nurſe, which beares me yet: Where ere I wander, boaſt of this I can, Though baniſh'd, yet a true-borne Engliſhman.
Scoena Quarta. Enter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot. Rich. We did obſerue. Coſine Aumerle, How far brought you high Herford on his way? Aum.

I brought high Herford (if you call him ſo) but to the next high way, and there I left him.

 Rich.

And ſay, what ſtore of parting tears were ſhed?

 Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeaſt wind Which then grew bitterly againſt our face, Awak'd the ſleepie rhew me, and ſo by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a teare. Rich.

What ſaid our Coſin when you parted with him?

 Au. Farewell: and for my hart diſdained yt my tongue Should ſo prophane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppreſsion of ſuch greefe, That word ſeem'd buried in my ſorrowes graue. Marry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen'd houres, And added yeeres to his ſhort baniſhment, He ſhould haue had a volume of Farwels, but ſince it would not, he had none of me. Rich. He is our Coſin (Coſin) but 'tis doubt, When time ſhall call him home from baniſhment, Whether our kinſman come to ſee his friends, Our ſelfe, and Buſhy: heere Bagot and Greene Obſeru'd his Courtſhip to the common people: How he did ſeeme to diue into their hearts, With humble, and familiat courteſie, What reuerence he did throw away on ſlaues; Wooing poore Crafteſ-men, with the craft of ſoules, And patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune, As 'twere to baniſh their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an Oyſter-wench, A brace of Dray-men bid God ſpeed him well, And had the tribute of his ſupple knee, With thankes my Countrimen, my louing friends, As were our England in reuerſion his, And he our ſubiects next degree in hope. Gr. Well, he is gone, & with him go theſe thoughts: Now for the Rebels, which ſtand out in Ireland, Expedient manage muſt be made my Liege Ere further leyſure, yeeld them further meanes For their aduantage, and your Highneſſe loſſe. Ric. We will our ſelfe in perſon to this warre, And for our Coffers, with too great a Court, And liberall Largeſſe, are growne ſomewhat light, We are inforc'd to farme our royall Realme, The Reuennew whereof ſhall furniſh vs For our affayres in hand: if that come ſhort Our Subſtitutes at home ſhall haue Blanke-charters: Whereto, when they ſhall know what men are rich, They ſhall ſubſcribe them for large ſummes of Gold, And ſend them after to ſupply our wants: For we will make for Ireland preſently. Enter Buſhy. Buſhy,

what newes?

 Bu. Old Iohn of Gaunt is verie ſicke my Lord, Sodainly taken, and hath ſent poſt haſte To entreat your Maieſty to viſit him. Ric.

Where lyes he?

 Bu.

At Ely houſe.

 Ric. Now put it (heauen) in his Phyſitians minde, To helpe him to his graue immediately: The lining of his coffers ſhall make Coates To decke our ſouldiers for theſe Iriſh warres. Come Gentlemen, let's all go viſit him: Pray heauen we may make haſt, and come too late. Exit.
Actus Secundus.
Scena Prima. Enter Gaunt, ſicke with Yorke. Gau. Will the King come, that I may breath my laſt In wholſome counſell to his vnſtaid youth? Yor. Vex not your ſelfe, nor ſtriue not with your breth, For all in vaine comes counſell to his eare. Gau. Oh but (they ſay) the tongues of dying men Inforce attention like deepe harmony; Where words are ſcarſe, they are ſeldome ſpent in vaine, For they breath truth, that breath their words in paine. He that no more muſt ſay, is liſten'd more, Then they whom youth and eaſe haue taught to gloſe, More are mens ends markt, then their liues before, The ſetting Sun, and Muſicke is the cloſe As the laſt taſte of ſweetes, is ſweeteſt laſt, Writ in remembrance, more then things long paſt; Though Richard my liues counſell would not heare, My deaths ſad tale, may yet vndeafe his eare. Yor. No, it is ſtopt with other flatt'ring ſounds As praiſes of his ſtate: then there are ſound Laſc • ious Meeters▪ to whoſe venom ſound The open eare of youth doth alwayes liſten. Report of faſhions in proud Italy, Whoſe: manners ſtill our tardie apiſh Nation Limpes after in baſe imitation. Where doth the world thruſt forth a vanity, So it be new, there's no reſpect how vile, That is not quickly buz'd into his eares? That all too late comes counſell to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wits regard: Direct not him, whoſe way himſelfe will chooſe, Tis breath thou lackſt, and that breath wilt thou looſe. Gaunt. Me thinkes I am a Prophet new inſpir'd, And thus expiring, do foretell of him, His raſh fierce blaze of Ryot cannot laſt, For violent fires ſoone burne out themſelues, Small ſhowres laſt long, but ſodaine ſtormes are ſhort, He tyres betimes, that ſpurs too faſt betimes; With eager feeding, food doth choake the feeder: Light vanity, inſatiate cormorant, Conſuming meanes ſoone preyes vpon it ſelfe. This royall Throne of Kings, this ſceptred Iſle, This earth of Maieſty, this ſeate of Mars, This other Eden, demy paradiſe, This Fortreſſe built by Nature for her ſelfe, Againſt infection, and the hand of warre: This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious ſtone, ſet in the ſiluer ſea, Which ſerues it in the office of a wall, Or as a Moate defenſiue to a houſe, Againſt the enuy of leſſe happier Lands, This bleſſed plot, this earth, this Realme, this England, This Nurſe, this teeming wombe of Royall Kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous for their birth, Renowned for their deeds, as farre from home, For Chriſtian ſeruice, and true Chiualrie, As is the ſepulcher in ſtubborne Iury Of the Worlds ranſome, bleſſed Maries Sonne. This Land of ſuch deere ſoules, this deere-deere Land, Deere for her reputation through the world, Is now Leas'd out (I dye pronouncing it) Like to a Tenement or pelting Farme. England bound in with the triumphant ſea, Whoſe rocky ſhore beates backe the enuious ſiedge Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with ſhame, With Inky blottes, and rotten Parchment bonds. That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a ſhamefull conqueſt of it ſelfe. Ah! would the ſcandall vaniſh with my life, How happy then were my enſuing death? Enter King, Queene, Aumerle, Buſhy, Greene, Bagot, Ros, and Willoughby. Yor. The King is come, deale mildly with his youth, For young hot Colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Qu.

How fares our noble Vncle Lancaſter?

 Ri.

What comfort man? How iſt with aged Gaunt?

 Ga. Oh how that name befits my compoſition: Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me greefe hath kept a tedious faſt, And who abſtaynes from meate, that is not gaunt? For ſleeping England long time haue I watcht, Watching breeds leanneſſe, leanneſſe is all gaunt. The pleaſure that ſome Fathers feede vpon, Is my ſtrict faſt, I meane my Childrens lookes, And therein faſting, haſt thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue, Whoſe hollow wombe inherits naught but bones. Ric.

Can ſicke men play ſo nicely with their names?

 Gau. No, miſery makes ſport to mocke it ſelfe: Since thou doſt ſeeke to kill my name in mec, I mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee. Ric.

Should dying men flatter thoſe that liue?

 Gau.

No, no, men liuing flatter thoſe that dye.

 Rich.

Thou now a dying, ſayſt thou flatter'ſt me.

 Gau.

Oh no, thou dyeſt, though I the ſicker be.

 Rich.

I am in health, I breath, I ſee the • ill.

 Gau. Now he that made me, knowes I ſee thee ill: Ill in my ſelfe to ſee, and in thee, ſeeing ill, Thy death-bed is no leſſer then the Land, Wherein thou lyeſt in reputation ſicke, And thou too care-leſſe patient as thou art, Commit'ſt thy' anointed body to the cure Of thoſe Phyſitians, that firſt wounded thee. A thouſand flatterers ſit within thy Crowne, Whoſe compaſſe is no bigger then thy head, And yet incaged in ſo ſmall a Verge, The waſte is no whit leſſer then thy Land: Oh had thy Grandſire with a Prophets eye, Seene how his ſonnes ſonne, ſhould deſtroy his ſonnes, From forth thy reach he would haue laid thy ſhame, Depoſing thee before thou wert poſſeſt, Which art poſſeſt now to depoſe thy ſelfe. Why (Coſine) were thou Regent of the world, It were a ſhame to let his Land by leaſe: But for thy world enioying but this Land, Is it not more then ſhame, to ſhame it ſo? Landlord of England art thou, and not King: Thy ſtate of Law, is bondſlaue to the law, And— Rich. And thou, a lunaticke leane-witted foole, Preſuming on an Agues priuiledge, Dar'ſt with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheeke, chafing the Royall blood With fury, from his natiue reſidence? Now by my Seates right Royall Maieſtie, Wer't thou not Brother to great Edwards ſonne, This tongue that runs ſo roundly in thy head, Should run thy head from thy vnreuerent ſhoulders. Gau. Oh ſpare me not, my brothers Edwards ſonne, For that I was his Father Edwards ſonne: That blood already (like the Pellican) Thou haſt tapt out, and drunkenly carows'd. My brother Glouceſter, plaine well meaning ſoule (Whom faire befall in heauen 'mongſt happy ſoules) May be a preſident, and witneſſe good, That thou reſpect'ſt not ſpilling Edwards blood: Toyne with the preſent ſickneſſe that I haue, And thy vnkindneſſe be like crooked age, To crop at once a too-long wither'd flowre. Liue in thy ſhame, but dye not ſhame with thee, Theſe words heereafter, thy tormentors bee. Conuey me to my bed, then to my graue, Loue they to liue, that loue and honor haue. Exit Rich. And let them dye, that age and ſullens haue, For both haſt thou, and both become the graue. Yor. I do beſeech your Maieſtie impute his words To wayward ſicklineſſe, and age in him: He loues you on my life▪ and holds you deere As Harry Duke of Herford, were he heere. Rich. Right, you ſay true: as Herfords loue, ſo his; As theirs, ſo mine: and all be as it is. Enter Northumberland. Nor.

My Liege, olde Gaunt commends him to your Maieſtie.

 Rich.

What ſayes he?

 Nor. Nay nothing, all is ſaid: His tongue is now a ſtringleſſe inſtrument, Words, life, and all, old Lancaſter hath ſpent. Yor. Be Yorke the next, that muſt be bankrupt ſo, Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo. Rich. The ripeſt fruit firſt fals, and ſo doth he, His time is ſpent, our pilgrimage muſt be: So much for that. Now for our Iriſh warres, We muſt ſupplant thoſe rough rug-headed Kernes, Which liue like venom, where no venom elſe But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue. And for theſe great affayres do aske ſome charge▪ Towards our aſsiſtance, we do ſeize to vs The plate, coine, reuennewes, and moueables, Whereof our Vncle Gaunt did ſtand poſſeſt. Yor. How long ſhall I be patient? Oh how long Shall tender dutie make me ſuffer wrong? Not Glouſters death, nor Herfords baniſhment, Nor Gauntes rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs, Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke, About his marriage, nor my owne diſgrace Haue euer made me ſowre my patient cheeke, Or bend one wrin • kle on my Soueraignes face: I am the laſt of noble Edwards ſonnes, Of whom thy Father Prince of Wales was firſt, In warre was neuer Lyon rag'd more fierce: In peace, was neuer gentle Lambe more milde, Then was that yong and Princely Gentleman, His face thou haſt, for euen ſo look'd he Accompliſh'd with the number of thy how • rs: But when he frown'd, it was againſt the Fre • ch, And not againſt his friends: h • s noble hand Did w • n what he did ſpend: and ſpe • t not that Which his triumphant fathers hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindreds blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kinne: Oh Richard York is too farre gone with greefe, Or elſe he neuer would compare betweene. Rich. Why Vncle, What's the matter? Yor. Oh my Liege, pardon me if you pleaſe, if not I pleas'd not to be pardon'd, am content with all: Seeke you to ſeize, and gripe into your hands The Royalties and Rights of baniſh'd Herfo • d? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue? Was not Gaunt iuſt? and is not • arry true? Did not the one deſerue to haue an heyre? Is not his heyre a well-deſeruing ſonne? Take Herfords rights away, and take from time His Charters, and his cuſtomarie rights: Let not to morrow then inſue to day, Be not thy ſelfe. For how art thou a King But by faire ſequence and ſucceſsion? Now afore God, God forbid I ſay true, If you do wrongfully ſeize Herfords right, Call in his Letters Patents that he hath By his Atturneyes generall, to ſue His Liuerie, and denie his offer'd homage, You plucke a thouſand • angers on your head, You looſe a thouſand well-diſpoſed hearts, And pricke my tender patience to thoſe thoughts Which honor and allegeance cannnot thinke. Ric. Thinke what you will: we ſei • e into our hands, His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. Yor. Ile no • be by the while: My Liege farewell, What will enſue heereof, there's none can tell. But by bad cou • ſes may be vnderſtood, That their euents can neuer fall out good. Exit. Rich. Go Buſhie to the Earle of Wiltſhire ſtreight, Bid him repaire to vs to Ely houſe, To ſee this buſineſſe: to morrow next We will for Ireland, and 'tis time, I trow: And we create in abſence of our ſelfe Our Vncle Yorke, Lord Gouernor of England: For he is iuſt, and alwayes lou • d vs well. Come on out Queene, to morrow muſt we part, Be merry, for our time of ſtay is ſhort. Flouriſh. Manet North▪ Willoughby, & Roſſ. Nor.

Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaſter is dead.

 Roſſ.

And liuing too, for now his ſonne is Duke.

 Wil.

Barely in title, not in reuennew.

 Nor.

Richly in both, if iuſtice had her right.

 Roſſ. My heart is great: but it muſt break with ſilence, Er't be disburthen'd with a liberall tongue. Nor. Nay ſpeake thy mind: & let him ne'r ſpeak more That ſpeakes thy words againe to do thee harme. Wil. Tends that thou'dſt ſpeake to th' Du▪ of Hereford, If it be ſo, out with it boldly man, Quicke is mine eare to heare of good towards him. Roſſ. No good at all that I can do for him, Vnleſſe you call it good to pitie him, Bereſt and gelded of his patrimonie. Nor. Now afore heauen, 'tis ſhame ſuch wrongs are borne, In him a royall Prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining Land; The King is not himſelfe, but baſely led By Flatterers, and what they will informe Meerely in hate 'gainſt any of vs all, That will the King ſeuerely proſecute 'Gainſt vs, our liues, our children, and our heires. Roſ. The Commons hath he pil'd with greeuous taxes And quite loſt their hearts: the Nobles hath he finde For ancient quarrels, and quite loſt their hearts. Wil. And daily new ex • ctions are deuis'd, As blankes▪ beneuolences, and I wot not what: But what o' Gods name doth become of this? Nor. Wars hath not waſted it, for war'd he hath not. But baſely yeelded vpon comprimize, That which his Anceſtors atchieu'd with blowes: More hath he ſpent in peace, then they in warres. Roſ.

The Earle of Wiltſhire hath the realme in Farme.

 Wil.

The Kings growne bankrupt like a broken man.

 Nor.

Reproach, and diſſolution hangeth ouer him.

 Roſ. He hath not monie for theſe Iriſh warres: (His burthenous taxations notwithſtanding) But by the robbing of the baniſh'd Duke. Nor. His noble Kinſman, moſt degenerate King: But Lords, we heare this fearefull tempeſt ſing, Yet ſeeke no ſhelter to auoid the ſtorme: We ſee the winde ſit ſore vpon our ſalles, And yet we ſtrike not, but ſecurely periſh Roſ. We ſee the very wracke that we muſt ſuffer, And • auoyded is the danger now For • irſt • ng ſo the cauſes of our wracke. Nor. Not ſo: euen through the hollow eyes of death, I ſp • life peering: but I dare not ſay How neere the tidings of our comfort is. Wil. Nay let vs ſhare thy thoughts, as thou doſt ours Roſ. Be confident to ſpeake Northumberland, We three, are but thy ſelfe, and ſpeaking ſo, Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. Nor. Then thus: I haue from Port le Blan A Bay in Britaine, receiu'd intelligence, That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainald Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother Archbiſhop, late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham Sir Iohn Rainſton, Sir Iohn Norberie, Sir Robert W • terton, & Francis Quoint, All theſe well furniſh'd by the Duke of Britaine, With eight tall ſhips, three thouſand men of warre Are making hither with all due expedience, And ſhortly meane to touch our Northerne ſhore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they ſtay The firſt departing of the King for Ireland. If then we ſhall ſhake off our ſlauiſh yoake, Impe out our drooping Countries broken wing, Redeeme from broaking pawne the blemiſh'd Crowne, Wipe off the duſt that hides our Scepters gilt, And make high Maieſtie looke like it ſelfe, Away with me in poſte to Rauenspurgh, But if you faint, as fearing to do ſo, Stay, and be ſecret, and my ſelfe will go. Roſ.

To horſe, to horſe, vrge doubts to them yt feare.

 Wil.

Hold out my horſe, and I will firſt be there.

 Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Queene, Buſhy, and Bagot. Buſh. Madam, your Maieſty is too much ſad, You promis'd when you parted with the King, To lay aſide ſelfe-harming heauineſſe, And entertaine a cheerefull diſpoſition. Qu. To pleaſe the King, I did: to pleaſe my ſelfe I cannot do it: yet I know no cauſe Why I ſhould welcome ſuch a gueſt as greefe, Saue bidding farewell to ſo ſweet a gueſt As my ſweet Richard; yet againe me thinkes, Some vnborne ſorrow, ripe in fortunes wombe Is comming towards me, and my inward ſoule With nothing trembles, at ſomething it greeues, More then with parting from my Lord the King. Buſh. Each ſubſtance of a greefe hath twenty ſhadows Which ſhewes like greefe it ſelfe, but is not ſo: For ſorrowes eye, glazed with blinding teares, Diuides one thing intire, to many obiects, Like perſpectiues, which rightly gaz'd vpon Shew nothing but confuſion, ey'd awry, Diſtinguiſh forme: ſo your ſweet Maieſtie Looking awry vpon your Lords departure, Finde ſhapes of greefe, more then himſelfe to waile, Which look'd on as it is, is naught but ſhadowes Of what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queene, More then your Lords departure weep not, more's not ſeene; Or if it be, 'tis with falſe ſorrowes eie, Which for things true, weepe things imaginary. Qu. It may be ſo: but yet my inward ſoule Perſwades me it is otherwiſe: how ere it be, I cannot but be ſad: ſo heauy ſad, As though on thinking on no thought I thinke, • akes me with heauy nothing faint and ſhrinke. Buſh. 'Tis nothing but conceit (my gracious Lady.) Qu. 'Tis nothing leſſe: conceit is ſtill deriu'd From ſome fore father greefe, mine is not ſo, For nothing hath begot my ſomething greefe, Or ſomething, hath the nothing that I greeue, 'Tis in reuerſion that I do poſſeſſe, But what it is, that is not yet knowne, what I cannot name, 'tis nameleſſe woe I wot. Enter Greene. Gree. Heauen ſaue your Maieſty, and wel met Gentlemen: I hope the King is not yet ſhipt for Ireland. Qu. Why hop'ſt thou ſo? Tis better hope he is: For his deſignes craue haſt, his haſt good hope, Then wherefore doſt thou hope he is not ſhipt? Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr'd his power, and driuen into diſpaire an enemies hope, Who ſtrongly hath ſet footing in this Land. The baniſh'd Bullingbrooke repeales himſelfe, And with vp-lifted Armes is ſafe arriu'd At Rauenſpurg. Qu.

Now God in heauen forbid.

 Gr. O Madam 'tis too true: and that is worſe, The L. Northumberland, his yong ſonne Henrie Percie, The Lords of Roſſe, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powrefull friends are fled to him. Buſh. Why haue you not proclaim'd Northumberland And the reſt of the reuolted faction, Traitors? Gre. We haue: where upon the Earle of Worceſter Hath broke his ſtaffe, reſign'd his Stewardſhip, And al the houſhold ſeruant, fled with him to Bullinbrook Qu. So Greene, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bullinbrooke my ſorrowes diſmall heyre: Now hath my ſoule brought forth her prodegie, And I a gasping new deliuered mother, Haue woe to woe, ſorrow to ſorrow ioyn'd. Buſh.

Diſpaire not Madam.

 Qu. Who ſhall hinder me? I will diſpaire, and be at enmitie With couzening hope; he is a Flatterer, A Paraſite, a keeper backe of death, Who gently would diſſolue the bands of life, Which falſe hopes linger in extremity. Enter Yorke Gre.

Heere comes the Duke of Yorke.

 Qu. With ſignes of warre about his aged necke, Oh full of carefull buſineſſe are his lookes: Vncle▪ for heauens ſake ſpeake comfortable words: Yor. Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth, Where nothing liues but croſſes, care and greefe: Your husband he is gone to ſaile farre off, Whilſt others come to make him looſe at home: Heere am I left to vnder-prop his Land, Who weake with age, cannot ſupport my ſelfe: Now comes the ſicke houre that his ſurfet made, Now ſhall he try his friends that flattered him. Enter a ſeruant. Ser.

My Lord, your ſonne was gone before I came.

 Yor. He was: why ſo: go all which way it will▪ The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold, And will I feare reuolt on Herfords ſide. Sirra, get thee to Plathie to my ſiſter Gloſter, Bid her ſend me preſently a thouſand pound, Hold, take my Ring. Ser. My Lord, I had forgot To tell your Lordſhip, to day I came by, and call'd there, But • ſhall greeue you to report the reſt. Yor.

What is't knaue?

 Ser.

An houre before I came, the Dutcheſſe di'de.

 Yor. Heau'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes Come ruſhing on this wofull Land at once? I know not what to do: I would to heauen (So my vntruth had not prouok'd him to it) The King had cut off my head with my brothers. What, are there poſtes diſpatcht for Ireland? How ſhall we do for money for theſe warres? Come ſiſter (Cozen I would ſay) pray pardon me. Go fellow, get thee home, poouide ſome Carts, And bring away the Armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you muſter men? If I know how, or which way to order theſe affaires Thus diſorderly thruſt into my hands, Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinſmen, Th' one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath And dutie bids defend: th' other againe Is my kinſman, whom the King hath wrong'd, Whom conſcience, and my kindred bids to right: Well, ſomewhat we muſt do: Come Cozen, Ile diſpoſe of you. Gentlemen, go muſter vp your men, And meet me preſently at Barkley Caſtle: I ſhould to Plaſhy too: but time will not permit, All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at ſix and ſeuen. Exit Buſh The winde ſits faire for newes to go to Ireland, But none returnes: For vs to leuy power Proportionable to th' enemy, is all impoſsible. Gr. Beſides our neereneſſe to the King in loue, Is neere the hate of thoſe loue not the King. Ba And that's the wauering Commons, for their loue Lies in their purſes, and who ſo empties them, By ſo much fils their hearts with deadly hate. Buſh.

Wherein the king ſtands generally condemn'd

 Bag. If iudgement lye in them, then ſo do we, Becauſe we haue beene euer neere the King. Gr. Well: I will for refuge ſtraight to Briſtoll Caſtle, The Earle of Wiltſhire is alreadie there. Buſh. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs, Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces: Will you go along with vs? Bag. No; I will to Ireland to his Maieſtie: Farewell, if hearts preſages be not vaine, We three here part, that neu'r ſhall meete againe. Bu.

That's as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke

Gr. Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes I • numbring ſands, and drinking Oceans drie, Where one on his ſide ſights, thouſands will flye. Buſh. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer. Well, we may meete againe. Bag. I feare me neuer. Exit
Scaena Tertia. Enter the Duke of Hereford, and Northumberland. Bul.

How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now?

 Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord, I am a ſtranger heere in Glouſterſhire, Theſe high wilde h • lles, and rough vneeuen waies, Drawes out our miles, and makes them weariſome: And yet our faire diſcourſe hath beene as ſugar, Making the hard way ſweet and delectable: But • bethinke me, what a wearie way From Rauenſpurgh to Cottſhold will be found, In Roſſe and Willoughby, wanting your companie, Which I proteſt hath very much beguild The tediouſneſſe, and proceſſe of my trauell: But theirs is ſweetned with the hope to haue The preſent benefit that I poſſeſſe; And hope to ioy, is little leſſe in ioy, Then hope enioy'd: By this, the wearie Lords Shall make their way ſeeme ſhort, as m • ne hath done, By ſight of what I haue, your Noble Companie. Bull. Of much leſſe value is my Companie, Then your good words: but who comes here? Enter H. Percie. North. It is my Sonne, young Harry Percie, Sent from my Brother Worceſter: Whence ſoeuer. Harry, how fares your Vnckle? Percie.

I had thought, my Lord, to haue learn'd his health of you.

 North.

Why, is he not with the Queene?

 Percie. No, my good Lord, he hath forſook the Court, Broken his Staffe of Office, and diſperſt The Houſehold of the King. North. What was his reaſon? He was not ſo reſolu'd, when we laſt ſpake together. Percie. Becauſe your Lordſhip was proclaimed Traitor. But hee, my Lord, is gone to Rauenſpurgh, To offer ſeruice to the Duke of Hereford, And ſent me ouer by Barkely, to diſcouer What power the Duke of Yorke had leuied there, Then with direction to repaire to Rauenſpurgh. North.

Haue you forgot the Duke of Hereford (Boy.)

 Percie. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgot Which ne're I did remember: to my knowledge, I neuer in my life did looke on him. North.

Then learne to know him now: this is the Duke.

 Percie. My gracious Lord, I tender you my ſeruice, Such as it is, being render▪ raw, and young, Which elder dayes ſhall ripen and confirme To more approued ſeruice, and deſert. Bull. I thanke thee gentle Percie, and be ſure I count my ſelfe in nothing elſe ſo happy. As in a Soule remembring my good Friends: And as my Fortune ripens with thy Loue, It ſhall be ſtill thy true Loues recompence, My Heart this Couenant makes, my Hand thus ſeales it. North. How farre is it to Barkely? and what ſtirre Keepes good old Yorke there, with his Men of Warre? Percie. There ſtands the Caſtle, by yond tuft of Trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I haue heard, And in it are the Lords of Yorke, Barkely, and Seymor, None elſe of Name, and noble eſtimate. Enter Roſſe a • d Willoughby. North. Here con n • the Lords of Roſſe and Willoughby, Bloody with ſpurring, ſi • red with haſle. Bull. Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue purſues A baniſht Pray • 〈◊〉 my Treaſurie 〈◊〉 that vaſel 〈…〉 , which more enrich • d, Shall be your loue, and lab was recompence. R • .

Your preſence makes vs rich, moſt Noble Lord.

 〈◊〉 .

And ſure ſurmounts our labour to attaine it.

 〈◊〉 . Euermore thankes, th' Exchequer of the poore, Which till my infant-fortune comes to yeeres, Stands for my Bountie: but who comes here? Enter Barkely. North.

It is my Lord of Barkely, as I gheſſe.

 Bark.

My Lord of Hereford, my Meſſage is to you.

 Bull. My Lord, my Anſwere is to Lancaſter, And I am come to ſeeke that Name in England, And I muſt finde that Title in your Tongue, Before I make reply to aught you ſay. Bark. Miſtake me not, my Lord, 'tis not my meaning To raze one Title of your Honor out. To you, my Lord, I come (what Lord you will) From the moſt glorious of this Land, The Duke of Yorke, to know what pricks you on To take aduantage of the abſent time, And fright our Natiue Peace with ſelfe-borne Armes. Enter Yorke. Bull. I ſhall not need tranſport my words by you, Here comes his Grace in Perſon. My Noble Vnckle. York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whoſe dutie is deceiuable, and falſe. Bull.

My gracious Vnckle.

 York. Tut, tut, Grace me no Grace, nor Vnckle me, I am no Traytors Vnckle; and that word Grace, In an vngracious mouth, is but prophane. Why haue theſe baniſh'd, and forbidden Legges, Dar'd once to touch a Duſt of Englands Ground? But more then why, why haue they dar'd to march So many miles vpon her peacefull Boſome, Frighting her pale-fac'd Villages with Warre, And oftentation of deſpiſed Armes? Com'ſt thou becauſe th' anoynted King is hence? Why fooliſh Boy, the King is left behind, And in my loyall Boſome lyes his power. Were I bu • now the Lord of ſuch hot youth, A • when braue Gaunt, thy Father, and my ſelfe Reſcued the Black Prince, that yong Mars of men, From forth the Rankes of many thouſand French: Oh then, how quickly ſhould this Arme of mine, Now Priſoner to the Palſie, chaſtiſe thee, And miniſter correction to thy Fault. Bull. My gracious Vnckle, let me know my Fault, On what Condition ſtands it, and wherein? York. Euen in Condition of the worſt degree, In groſſe Rebellion, and deteſted Treaſon: Thou art a baniſh'd man, and here art come Before th' expiration of thy time, In brauing Atm • s againſt thy Soueraigne. Bull. As I was baniſh'd, I was baniſh'd Hereford, But as I come, I come for Lancaſter. And Noble Vnckle, I beſeech your Grace Looke on my Wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my Father, for me thinkes in you I ſee old Gaunt aliue. Oh then my Father, Will you permit, that I ſhall ſtand condemn'd A wandring Vagabond; my Rights and Royalties Pluckt from my armes • erforce, and giuen away To vpſtart Vnthrifts? Wherefore was I borne? If that my Couſin King, be King of England, It muſt be graunted, I am Duke of Lancaſter. You haue a Sonne, Aumerle, my Noble Kinſman, Had you firſt died, and he beene thus trod downe, He ſhould haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a Father, To rowze his Wrongs, and chaſe them to the bay. I am denyde to ſue my Liuerie here, And yet my Letters Patents giue me leaue: My Fathers goods are all diſtraynd▪ and ſold, And theſe, and all, are all amiſſe imployd. What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect, And challenge Law: Attorneyes are deny'd me; And therefore perſonally I lay my claime To my Inheritance of free Diſcent. North.

The Noble Duke hath been too much abus'd.

 Roſſ.

It ſtands your Grace vpon, to doe him right.

 Willo.

Baſe men by his endowments are made great.

 York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this, I haue had feeling of my Coſens Wrongs, And labour'd all I could to doe him right: But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes, Be his owne Caruer, and cut out his way, To find out Right with Wrongs, it may not be; And you that doe abett him in this kind, Cher • ſh Rebellion, and are Rebels all. North. The Noble Duke hath ſworne his comming is But for his owne; and for the right of that, Wee all haue ſtrongly ſworne to giue him ayd, And let him neu'r ſee Ioy, that breakes that Oath. York. Well, well, I ſee the iſſue of theſe Armes, I cannot mend it, I muſt needes confeſſe, Becauſe my power is weake, and all ill left: But if I could, by him that gaue me life, I would attach you all, and make you ſtoope Vnto the Soueraigne Mercy of the King. But ſince I cannot, be it knowne to you, I doe remaine as Neuter. So fare you well, Vnleſſe you pleaſe to enter in the Caſtle, And there repoſe you for this Night. Bull. An offer Vnckle, that wee will accept: But wee muſt winne your Grace to goe with vs To Briſtow Caſtle, which they ſay is held By Buſhie, Bagot, and their Complices, The Caterpillers of the Commonwealth, Which I haue ſworne to weed, and plucke away. York. It may be I will go with you: but yet Ile pawſe, For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes: Nor Friends, nor Foes, to me welcome you are, Things paſt redreſſe, are now with me paſt care. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Salisbury, and a Captaine. Capt. My Lord of Salisbury, we haue ſtayd ten dayes, And hardly kept our Countreymen together, And yet we heare no tidings from the King; Therefore we will diſperſe our ſelues: farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou truſtie Welchman, The King repoſeth all his confidence in thee. Capt. 'Tis thought the King is dead, we will not ſtay; The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are wither'd, And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of Heauen; The pale-fac'd Moone lookes bloody on the Earth, And leane-look'd Prophets whiſper fearefull change; Rich men looke ſad, and Ruffians dance and leape, The one in feare, to looſe what they enioy, The other to enioy by Rage, and Warre: Theſe ſignes fore-run the death of Kings. Farewell, our Countreymen are gone and fled; As well aſſur'd Richard their King is dead. Exit. Sal. Ah Richard, with eyes of heauie mind, I ſee thy Glory, like a ſhooting Starre, Fall to the baſe Earth, from the Firmament: Thy Sunne ſets weeping in the lowly Weſt, Witneſſing Stormes to come, Woe, and Vnreſt: Thy Friends are fled, to wait vpon thy Foes, And croſſely to thy good, all fortune goes. Exit.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Roſſe, Percie, Willoughby, with Buſhie and Greene Priſoners. Bull. Bring forth theſe men: Buſhie and Greene, I will not vex your ſoules, (Since preſently your ſoules muſt part your bodies) With too much vrging your pernitious liues, For 'twere no Charitie: yet to waſh your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will vnfold ſome cauſes of your deaths. You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King, A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments, By you vnhappied, and disfigur'd cleane: You haue in manner with your ſinfull houres Made a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him, Broke the poſſeſſion of a Royall Bed, And ſtayn'd the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes, With teares drawn frō her eyes, with your foule wrongs. My ſelfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth, Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue, Till you did make him miſ-interprete me, Haue ſtoopt my neck vnder your iniuries, And ſigh'd my Engliſh breath in forraine Clouds, Eating the bitter bread of baniſhment; While you haue fed vpon my Seignories, Diſ-park'd my Parkes, and fell'd my Forreſt Woods; From mine owne Windowes torne my Houſehold Coat, Raz'd out my Impreſſe, leauing me no ſigne, Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood, To ſhew the World I am a Gentleman. This, and much more, much more then twice all this, Condemnes you to the death: ſee them deliuered ouer To execution, and the hand of death. Buſhie. More welcome is the ſtroake of death to me, Then Bullingbrooke to England. Greene. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our ſoules, And plague Iniuſtice with the paines of Hell. Bull. My Lord Northumberland, ſee them diſpatch'd: Vnckle, you ſay the Queene is at your Houſe, For Heauens ſake fairely let her be entreated, Tell her I ſend to her my kind commends; Take ſpeciall care my Greetings be deliuer'd. York. A Gentleman of mine I haue diſpatch'd With Letters of your loue, to her at large. Bull. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away, To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices; A while to worke, and after holliday. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Drums: Flouriſh, and Colours. Enter Richard, Aumerle, Carlile, and Souldiers. Rich.

Barkloughly Caſtle call you this at hand?

 Au. Yea, my Lord: how brook: your Grace the ayre, After your late toſſing on the breaking Seas? Rich. Needs muſt I like it well: I weepe for ioy To ſtand vpon my Kingdome once againe. Deere Earth, I doe ſalute thee with my hand, Though Rebels wound thee with their Horſes hoofes: As a long parted Mother with her Child, Playes fondly with her teares, and ſmiles in meeting; So weeping, ſmiling, greet I thee my Earth, And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands. Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth, Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous ſence: But let thy Spiders, that ſuck vp thy Venome, And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way, Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete, Which with vſurping ſteps doe trample thee. Yeeld ſtinging Nettles to mine Enemies; And when they from thy Boſome pluck a Flower, Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder, Whoſe double tongue may with a mortall touch Throw death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies. Mock not my ſenceleſſe Coniuration, Lords; This Earth ſhall haue a feeling, and theſe Stones Proue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue King Shall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes. Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you King Hath power to keepe you King, in ſpight of all. Aum. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remiſſe, Whileſt Bullingbrooke through our ſecuritie, Growes ſtrong and great, in ſubſtance and in friends. Rich. Diſcomfortable Couſin, knoweſt thou not, That when the ſearching Eye of Heauen is hid Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World, Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnſeene, In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here: But when from vnder this Terreſtriall Ball He fires the prowd tops of the Eaſterne Pines, And darts his Lightning through eu'ry guiltie hole, Then Murthers, Treaſons, and deteſted ſinnes (The Cloake of Night being pluckt from off their backs) Stand bare and naked, trembling at themſelues. So when this Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke, Who all this while hath reuell'd in the Night, Shall ſee vs riſing in our Throne, the Eaſt, His Treaſons will ſit bluſhing in his face, Not able to endure the ſight of Day; But ſelfe-affrighted, tremble at his ſinne. Not all the Water in the rough rude Sea Can waſh the Balme from an anoynted King; The breath of worldly men cannot depoſe The Deputie elected by the Lord: For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath preſt, To lift ſhrewd Steele againſt our Golden Crowne, Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly pay A glorious Angell: then if Angels fight, Weake men muſt fall, for Heauen ſtill guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power? Salisb. Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord, Then this weake arme; diſcomfort guides my tongue, And bids me ſpeake of nothing but deſpaire: One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord) Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth: Oh call backe Yeſterday, bid Time returne, And thou ſhalt haue twelue thouſand fighting men: To day, to day, vnhappie day too late Orethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State; For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bullingbrooke, diſperſt, and fled. Aum.

Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace ſo pale?

 Rich. But now the blood of twentie thouſand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled, And till ſo much blood thither come againe, Haue I not reaſon to looke pale, and dead? All Soules that will be ſafe, flye from my ſide, For Time hath ſet a blot vpon my pride. Aum.

Comfort my Liege, remember who you are.

 Rich. I had forgot my ſelfe. Am I not King? Awake thou ſluggard Maieſtie, thou ſleepeſt: Is not the Kings Name fortie thouſand Names? Arme, arme my Name: a punie ſubiect ſtrikes At thy great glory. Looke not to the ground, Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high? High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle Yorke Ha • h Power enough to ſerue our turne. But who comes here? Enter Scroope. Scroope. More health and happineſſe betide my Liege, Then can my care-tun'd tongue deliuer him Rich. Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar'd: The worſt is worldly loſſe, thou canſt vnfold: Say, Is my Kingdome loft? why 'twas my Care: And what loſſe is it to be rid of Care? Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee? Greater he ſhall not be: If hee ſerue God, Wee'l ſerue him too, and be his Fellow ſo. Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend, They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs: Cry Woe, Deſtruction, Ruine, Loſſe, Decay, The worſt is Death, and Death will haue his day. Scroope. Glad am I, that your Highneſſe is ſo arm'd To beare the tidings of Calamitie. Like an vnſeaſonable ſtormie day, Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores, As if the World were all diſſolu'd to teares: So high, aboue his Limits, ſwells the Rage Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull Land With hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele: White Beares haue arm'd their thin and haireleſſe Scalps Againſt thy Maieſtie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces, Striue to ſpeake bigge, and clap their female ioints In ſtiffe vnw • eldie Armes: againſt thy Crowne Thy very Beadſ-men learne to bend their Bowes Of double fatall Eugh: againſt thy State Yea Diſtaffe-Women manage ruſtie Bills: Againſt thy Seat both young and old rebell, And all goes worſe then I haue power to tell. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'ſt a Tale ſo ill. Where is the Earle of Wiltſhire? where is Bagot? What is become of Buſhie? where is Greene? That they haue let the dangerous Enemie Meaſure our Confines with ſuch peacefull ſteps? If we preuaile, their heads ſhall pay for it. I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke. Scroope.

Peace haue they made with him indeede (my Lord.)

 Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption, Dogges, eaſily woon to fawne on any man, Snakes in my heart blood-warm'd, that ſting my heart, Three Iudaſſes, each one thrice worſe then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warre Vpon their ſpotted Soules for this Offence. Scroope. Sweet Loue (I ſee) changing his propertie, Turnes to the ſowreſt, and moſt deadly hate: Againe vncurſe their Soules; their peace is made With Heads, and not with Hands: thoſe whom you curſe Haue felt the worſt of Deaths deſtroying hand, And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground. Aum.

Is Buſhie Greene, and the Earle of Wiltſhire dead?

 Scroope.

Yea all of them at Briſtow loſt their heads.

 Aum.

Where is the Duke my Father with his Power?

 Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man ſpeake: Let's talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs, Make Duſt our Paper, and with Raynie eyes Write Sorrow on the Boſome of the Earth. Let's chuſe Executors, and talke of Wills: And yet not ſo; for what can we bequeath, Saue our depoſed bodies to the ground? Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes, And nothing can we call our owne, but Death, And that ſmall Modell of the barren Earth, Which ſerues as Paſte, and Couer to our Bones: For Heauens ſake let vs ſit vpon the ground, And tell ſad ſtories of the death of Kings: How ſome haue been depos'd, ſome ſlaine in warre, Some haunted by the Ghoſts they haue depos'd, Some poyſon'd by their Wiues, ſome ſleeping kill'd, All murther'd. For within the hollow Crowne That rounds the mortall Temples of a King, Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique ſits Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe, Allowing him a breath, a little Scene, To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with lookes, Infuſing him with ſelfe and vaine conceit, As if this Fleſh, which walls about our Life, Were Braſſe impregnable: and humor'd thus, Comes at the laſt, and with a little Pinne Bores through his Caſtle Walls, and farwell King. Couer your heads, and mock not fleſh and blood With ſolemne Reuerence: throw away Reſpect, Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie, For you haue but miſtooke me all this while: I liue with Bread like you, feele Want, Taſte Griefe, need Friends: ſubiected thus, How can you ſay to me, I am a King? Carl. My Lord, wiſe men ne're waile their preſent woes, But preſently preuent the wayes to waile: To feare the Foe, ſince feare oppreſſeth ſtrength, Giues in your weakeneſſe, ſtrength vnto your Foe; Feare, and be ſlaine, no worſe can come to fight, And fight and die, is death deſtroying death, Where fearing, dying, payes death ſeruile breath. Aum. My Father hath a Power, enquire of him, And learne to make a Body of a Limbe. Rich. Thou chid'ſt me well: proud Bullingbrooke I come To change Blowes with thee, for our day of Doome: This ague fit of feare is ouer-blowne, An eaſie taske it is to winne our owne. Say Scroope, where lyes our Vnckle with his Power? Speake ſweetly man, although thy lookes be ſowre. Scroope. Men iudge by the complexion of the Skie The ſtate and inclination of the day; So may you by my dull and heauie Eye: My Tongue hath but a heauier Tale to ſay: I play the Torturer, by ſmall and ſmall To lengthen out the worſt, that muſt be ſpoken. Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn'd with Bullingbrooke, And all your Northerne Caſtles yeelded vp, And all your Southerne Gentlemen in Armes Vpon his Faction. Rich. Thou haſt ſaid enough. Beſhrew thee Couſin, which didſt lead me forth Of that ſweet way I was in, to deſpaire: What ſay you now? What comfort haue we now? By Heauen Ile hate him euerlaſtingly. That bids me be of comfort any more. Goe to Flint Caſtle, there Ile pine away, A King, Woes ſlaue, ſhall Kingly Woe obey: That Power I haue, diſcharge, and let 'em goe To eare the Land, that hath ſome hope to grow, For I haue none. Let no man ſpeake againe To alter this, for counſaile is but vaine. Aum.

My Liege, one word.

 Rich. He does me double wrong, That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Diſcharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Attendants. Bull. So that by this intelligence we learne The Welchmen are diſpers'd, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed With ſome few priuate friends, vpon this Coaſt. North.

The newes is very faire and good, my Lord, Richard, not farre from hence, hath hid his head.

 York. It would beſeeme the Lord Northumberland, To ſay King Richard: alack the heauie day, When ſuch a ſacred King ſhould hide his head. North. Your Grace miſtakes: onely to be briefe, Left I his Title out. York. The time hath beene, Would you haue beene ſo briefe with him, he would Haue beene ſo briefe with you, to ſhorten you, For taking ſo the Head, your whole heads length. Bull.

Miſtake not (Vnckle) farther then you ſhould.

 York. Take not (good Couſin) farther then you ſhould. Leaſt you miſtake the Heauens are ore your head. Bull. I know it (Vnckle) and oppoſe not my ſelfe Againſt their will. But who comes here? Enter Percie. Welcome Harry: what, will not this Caſtle yeeld? Per. The Caſtle royally is mann'd, my Lord, Againſt thy entrance. Bull.

Royally? Why, it containes no King?

 Per. Yes (my good Lord) It doth containe a King: King Richard lyes Within the limits of yond Lime and Stone, And with him, the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroope, beſides a Clergie man Of holy reuerence; who, I cannot learne. North.

Oh, belike it is the Biſhop of Carl • le.

 Bull. Noble Lord, Goe to the rude Ribs of that ancient Caſtle, Through Brazen Trumpet ſend the breath of Parle Into his ruin'd Eares, and thus deliuer: Henry Bullingbrooke vpon his knees doth kiſſe King Richards hand, and ſends allegeance And true faith of heart to his Royall Perſon: hither come Euen at his feet, to lay my Armes and Power, Prouided, that my Baniſhment repeal'd, And Lands reſtor'd againe, be freely graunted: If not, Ile vſe th' aduantage of my Power, And lay the Summers duſt with ſhowers of blood, Rayn'd from the wounds of ſlaughter'd Engliſhmen; The which, how farre off from the mind of Bullingbrooke It is, ſuch Crimſon Tempeſt ſhould bedrench The freſh greene Lap of faire King Richards Land, My ſtooping dutie tenderly ſhall ſhew. Goe ſignifie as much, while here we march Vpon the Graſſie Carpet of this Plaine: Let's march without the noyſe of threatning Drum, That from this Caſtles tatter'd Battlements Our faire Appointments may be well perus'd. Me thinkes King Richard and my ſelfe ſhould meet With no leſſe terror then the Elements Of Fire and Water, when their thundring ſmoake At meeting teares the cloudie Cheekes of Heauen: Be he the fire, Ile be the yeelding Water; The Rage be his, while on the Earth I raine My Waters on the Earth, and not on him. March on, and marke King Richard how he lookes. Parle without, and anſwere within: then a Flouriſh. Enter on the Walls, Richard, Carlile, Aumerle, Scroop, Salisbury. See, ſee, King Richard doth himſelfe appeare As doth the bluſhing diſcontented Sunne, From out the fierie Portall of the Eaſt, When he perceiues the enuious Clouds are bent To dimme his glory, and to ſtaine the tract Of his bright paſſage to the Occident. York. Yet lookes he like a King: behold his Eye (As bright as is the Eagles) lightens forth Controlling Maieſtie: alack, alack, for woe, That any harme ſhould ſtaine ſo faire a ſhew. Rich. Wee are amaz'd, and thus long haue we ſtood To watch the fearefull bending of thy knee, Becauſe we thought our ſelfe thy lawfull King: And if we be, how dare thy ioynts forget To pay their awfull dutie to our preſence? If we be not, ſhew vs the Hand of God, That hath diſmiſs'd vs from our Stewardſhip, For well wee know, no Hand of Blood and Bone Can gripe the ſacred Handle of our Scepter, Vnleſſe he doe prophane, ſteale, or vſurpe. And though you thinke, that all, as you haue done, Haue torne their Soules, by turning them from vs, And we are barren, and bereft of Friends: Yet know, my Maſter, God Omnipotent, Is muſtring in his Clouds, on our behalfe, Armies of Peſtilence, and they ſhall ſtrike Your Children yet vnborne, and vnbegot, That lift your Vaſſall Hands againſt my Head, And threat the Glory of my precious Crowne. Tell Bullingbrooke, for yond me thinkes he is, That euery ſtride he makes vpon my Land, Is dangerous Treaſon: He is come to ope The purple Teſtament of bleeding Warre; But ere the Crowne he lookes for, liue in peace, Ten thouſand bloody crownes of Mothers Sonnes Shall ill become the flower of Englands face, Change the complexion of her Maid-pale Peace To Scarlet Indignation, and bedew Her Paſtors Graſſe with faithfull Engliſh Blood. North. The King of Heauen forbid our Lord the King Should ſo with ciuill and vnciuill Armes Be ruſh'd vpon: Thy thrice-noble Couſin, Harry Bullingbrooke, doth humbly kiſſe thy hand, And by the Honorable Tombe he ſweares, That ſtands vpon your Royall Grandſires Bones, And by the Royalties of both your Bloods, (Currents that ſpring from one moſt gracious Head) And by the buried Hand of Warlike Gaunt, And by the Worth and Honor of himſelfe, Compriſing all that may be ſworne, or ſaid, His comming hither hath no further ſcope, Then for his Lineall Royalties, and to begge Infranchiſement immediate on his knees: Which on thy Royall partie graunted once, His glittering Armes he will commend to' Ruſt, His barbed Steedes to Stables, and his heart To faithfull ſeruice of your Maieſtie: This ſweares he, as he is a Prince, is iuſt, And as I am a Gentleman, I credit him. Rich. Northumberland, ſay thus: The King returnes, His Noble Couſin is right welcome hither, And all the number of his faire demands Shall be accompliſh'd without contradiction: With all the gracious vtterance thou haſt, Speake to his gentle hearing kind commends, We doe debaſe our ſelfe (Couſin) doe we not, To looke ſo poorely, and to ſpeake ſo faire? Shall we call back Northumberland, and ſend Defiance to the Traytor, and ſo die? Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words, Till tune lend friends, and friends their helpeful Swords. Rich. Oh God, oh God, that ere this tongue of mine, That layd the Sentence of dread Baniſhment On yond prowd man, ſhould take it off againe With words of ſooth: Oh that I were as great As is my Griefe, or leſſer then my Name, Or that I could forget what I haue beene, Or not remember what I muſt be now: Swell'ſt thou prowd heart? Ile giue thee ſcope to beat, Since Foes haue ſcope to beat both thee and me. Aum.

Northumberland comes backe from Bullingbrooke.

Rich. What muſt the King doe now? muſt he ſubmit? The King ſhall doe it: Muſt he be depos'd? The King ſhall be contented: Muſt he looſe The Name of King? o' Gods Name let it goe. Ile giue my Iewels for a ſett of Beades, My gorgeous Pallace, for a Hermitage, My gay Apparrell, for an Almes-mans Gowne, My figur'd Goblets, for a Diſh of Wood, My Scepter, for a Palmers walking Staffe, My Subiects, for a payre of carued Saints, And my large Kingdome, for a little Graue, A little little Graue, an obſcure Graue. Or Ile be buryed in the Kings high-way, Some way of common Trade, where Subiects feet May howrely trample on their Soueraignes Head: For on my heart they tread now, whileſt I liue; And buryed once, why not vpon my Head? Aumerle, thou weep'ſt (my tender-hearted Couſin) Wee'le make foule Weather with deſpiſed Teares: Our ſighes, and they, ſhall lodge the Summer Corne, And make a Dearth in this reuolting Land. Or ſhall we play the Wantons with our Woes, And make ſome prettie Match, with ſhedding Teares? As thus: to drop them ſtill vpon one place, Till they haue fretted vs a payre of Graues, Within the Earth: and therein lay'd there lyes Two Kinſmen, digg'd their Graues with weeping Eyes? Would not this ill, doe well? Well, well, I ſee I talke but idly, and you mock at mee. Moſt mightie Prince, my Lord Northumberland, What ſayes King Bullingbrooke? Will his Maieſtie Giue Richard leaue to liue, till Richard die? You make a Legge, and Bullingbrooke ſayes I. North. My Lord, in the baſe Court he doth attend To ſpeake with you, may it pleaſe you to come downe. Rich. Downe, downe I come, like gliſt'ring Phaeton, Wanting the manage of vnruly Iades. In the baſe Court? baſe Court, where Kings grow baſe, To come at Traytors Calls, and doe them Grace. In the baſe Court come down: down Court, down King, For night-Owls ſhrike, where moūting Larks ſhould ſing. Bull.

What ſayes his Maieſtie?

 North. Sorrow, and griefe of heart Makes him ſpeake fondly, like a frantick man: Yet he is come. Bull. Stand all apart, And ſhew faire dutie to his Maieſtie. My gracious Lord. Rich. Faire Couſin, You debaſe your Princely Knee, To make the baſe Earth prowd with kiſſing it. Me rather had, my Heart might feele your Loue, Then my vnpleas'd Eye ſee your Courteſie. Vp Couſin, vp, your Heart is vp, I know, Thus high at leaſt, although your Knee below. Bull.

My gracious Lord, I come but for mine owne.

 Rich.

Your owne is yours, and I am yours, and all.

 Bull. So farre be mine, my moſt redoubted Lord, As my true ſeruice ſhall deſerue your loue. Rich. Well you deſeru'd: They well deſerue to haue, That know the ſtrong'ſt, and ſureſt way to get. Vnckle giue me your Hand: nay, drie your Eyes, Teares ſhew their Loue, but want their Remedies. Couſin, I am too young to be your Father, Though you are old enough to be my Heire. What you will haue, Ile giue, and willing to, For doe we muſt, what force will haue vs doe. Set on towards London: Couſin, is it ſo? Bull.

Yea, my good Lord.

 Rich.

Then I muſt not ſay, no.

 Flouriſh. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter the Queene, and two Ladies. Qu. What ſport ſhall we deuiſe here in this Garden, To driue away the heauie thought of Care? La.

Madame, wee'le play at Bowles.

 Qu. 'Twill make me thinke the World is full of Rubs, And that my fortune runnes againſt the Byas. La.

Madame, wee'le Dance.

 Qu. My Legges can keepe no meaſure in Delight, When my poore Heart no meaſure keepes in Griefe. Therefore no Dancing (Girle) ſome other ſport. La.

Madame, wee'le tell Tales.

 Qu.

Of Sorrow, or of Griefe?

 La.

Of eyther, Madame.

 Qu. Of neyther, Girle. For if of Ioy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of Sorrow: Or if of Griefe, being altogether had, It addes more Sorrow to my want of Ioy: For what I haue, I need not to repeat; And what I want, it bootes not to complaine. La.

Madame, Ile ſing.

 Qu. 'Tis well that thou haſt cauſe: But thou ſhould'ſt pleaſe me better, would'ſt thou weepe. La.

I could weepe, Madame, would it doe you good.

 Qu. And I could ſing, would weeping doe me good, And neuer borrow any Teare of thee. Enter a Gardiner, and two Seruants. But ſtay, here comes the Gardiners, Let's ſtep into the ſhadow of theſe Trees. My wretchedneſſe, vnto a Rowe of Pinnes, They'le talke of State: for euery one doth ſo, Againſt a Change; Woe is fore-runne with Woe. Gard. Goe binde thou vp yond dangling Apricocks, Which like vnruly Children, make their Syre Stoupe with oppreſſion of their prodigall weight: Giue ſome ſupportance to the bending twigges. Goe thou, and like an Executioner Cut off the heads of too faſt growing ſprayes, That looke too loftie in our Common-wealth: All muſt be euen, in our Gouernment. You thus imploy'd, I will goe root away The noyſome Weedes, that without profit ſucke The Soyles fertilitie from wholeſome flowers. Ser. Why ſhould we, in the compaſſe of a Pale, Keepe Law and Forme, and due Proportion, Shewing as in a Modell our firme Eſtate? When our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land, Is full of Weedes, her faireſt Flowers choakt vp, Her Fruit-trees all vnpruin'd, her Hedges ruin'd, Her Knots diſorder'd, and her wholeſome Hearbes Swarming with Caterpillers. Gard. Hold thy peace. He that hath ſuffer'd this diſorder'd Spring, Hath now himſelfe met with the Fall of Leafe. The Weeds that his broad-ſpreading Leaues did ſhelter, That ſeem'd, in eating him, to hold him vp, Are pull'd vp, Root and all, by Bullingbrooke: I meane, the Earle of Wiltſhire, Buſhie, Greene. Ser.

What are they dead?

 Gard. They are, And Bullingbrooke hath ſeiz'd the waſtefull King. Oh, what pitty is it, that he had not ſo trim'd And dreſt his Land, as we this Garden, at time of yeare, And wound the Barke, the skin of our Fruit-trees, Leaſt being ouer-proud with Sap and Blood, With too much riches it confound it ſelfe? Had he done ſo, to great and growing men, They might haue liu'd to beare, and he to taſte Their fruites of dutie. Superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughes may liue: Had he done ſo, himſelfe had borne the Crowne, Which waſte and idle houres, hath quite thrown downe. Ser.

What thinke you the King ſhall be depos'd?

 Gar. Depreſt he is already, and depos'd 'Tis doubted he will be. Letters came laſt night To a deere Friend of the Duke of Yorkes, That tell blacke tydings. Qu. Oh I am preſt to death through want of ſpeaking: Thou old Adams likeneſſe, ſet to dreſſe this Garden: How dares thy harſh rude tongue ſound this vnpleaſing newes What Eue? what Serpent hath ſuggeſted thee, To make a ſecond fall of curſed man? Why do'ſt thou ſay, King Richard is depos'd, Dar'ſt thou, thou little better thing then earth, Diuine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how Cam'ſt thou by this ill-tydings? Speake thou wretch. Gard. Pardon me Madam. Little ioy haue I To breath theſe newes; yet what I ſay, is true; King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of Bullingbrooke, their Fortunes both are weigh'd: In your Lords Scale, is nothing but himſelfe, And ſome few Vanities, that make him light: But in the Ballance of great Bullingbrooke, Beſides himſelfe, are all the Engliſh Peeres, And with that oddes he weighes King Richard downe. Poſte you to London, and you'l finde it ſo, I ſpeake no more, then euery one doth know. Qu. Nimble miſchance, that art ſo light of foote, Doth not thy Embaſſage belong to me? And am I laſt that knowes it? Oh thou think'ſt To ſerue me laſt, that I may longeſt keepe Thy ſorrow in my breaſt. Come Ladies goe, To meet at London, Londons King in woe. What was I borne to this: that my ſad looke, Should grace the Triumph of great Bullingbrooke. Gard'ner, for telling me this newes of woe, I would the Plants thou graft'ſt, may neuer grow. Exit. G Poore Queen, ſo that thy State might be no worſe, I would my skill were ſubiect to thy curſe: Heere did ſhe drop a teare, heere in this place Ile ſet a Banke of Rew, ſowre Herbe of Grace: Rue, eu'n for ruth, heere ſhortly ſhall be ſeene, In the remembrance of a Weeping Queene. Exit.
Actus Quartus.
Scoena Prima. Enter as to the Parliament, Bullingbrooke, Aumerle, Northumberland Percie, Fitz-Water Surroy, Carlile, Abbot of Weſtminſter. Herauld, Officers, and Bagot. Bullingbrooke. Call forth Bagot. Now Bagot, freely ſpeake thy minde, What thou do'ſt know of Noble Glouſters death: Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd The bloody Office of his Timeleſſe end. Bag.

Then ſet before my face, the Lord Aumerle.

Bul.

Coſin, ſtand forth, and looke vpon that man.

 Bag. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scornes to vnſay, what it hath once deliuer'd. In that dead time, when Glouſters death was plotted, I heard you ſay. Is not my arme of length, That reacheth from the reſtfull Engliſh Court As farre as Callis, to my Vnkles head. Amongſt much other talke, that very time, I heard you ſay, that you had rather refuſe The offer of an hundred thouſand Crownes, Then Bullingbrookes returne to England; adding withall, How bleſt this Land would be, in this your Coſins death. Aum. Princes, and Noble Lords: What anſwer ſhall I make to this baſe man? Shall I ſo much diſhonor my faire Starres, On equall termes to giue him chaſticement? Either I muſt, or haue mine honor ſoyl'd With th' Attaindor of his ſland'rous Lippes. There is my Gage, the manuall Seale of death That markes thee out for Hell. Thou lyeſt, And will maintaine what thou haſt ſaid, is falſe, In thy heart blood, though being all too baſe To ſtaine the temper of my Knightly ſword. Bul.

Bagot forbeare, thou ſhalt not take it vp.

 Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the beſt In all this preſence, that hath mou'd me ſo. Fitz. If that thy valour ſtand on ſympathize: There is my Gage, Aumerle, in Gage to thine: By that faire Sunne, that ſhewes me where thou ſtand'ſt, I heard thee ſay (and vauntingly thou ſpak'ſt it) That thou wer't cauſe of Noble Glouſters death. If thou denieſt it, twenty times thou lyeſt, And I will turne thy falſhood to thy hart, Where it was forged with my Rapiers point. Aum.

Thou dar'ſt not (Coward) liue to ſee the day.

 Fitz.

Now by my Soule, I would it were this houre.

 Aum.

Fitzwater thou art damn'd to hell for this.

 Per. Aumerle, thou lye'ſt: his Honor is as true In this Appeale, as thou art all vniuſt: And that thou art ſo, there I throw my Gage To proue it on thee, to th' extreameſt point Of mortall breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'ſt. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And neuer brandiſh more reuengefull Steele, Ouer the glittering Helmet of my Foe. Surrey. My Lord Fitz-water: I do remember well, the very time Aumerle, and you did talke. Fitz. My Lord, 'Tis very true: You were in preſence then, And you can witneſſe with me, this is true. Surrey. As falſe, by heauen, As Heauen it ſelfe is true. Fitz.

Surrey, thou Lyeſt.

 Surrey. Diſhonourable Boy; That Lye, ſhall lie ſo heauy on my Sword, That it ſhall render Vengeance, and Reuenge, Till thou the Lye-giuer, and that Lye, doe lye In earth as quiet, as thy Fathers Scull. In proofe whereof, there is mine Honors pawne, Engage it to the Triall, if thou dar'ſt. Fitzw. How fondly do'ſt thou ſpurre a forward Horſe? If I dare eate, or drinke, or breathe, or liue, I dare meete Surrey in a Wilderneſſe, And ſpit vpon him, whileſt I ſay he Lyes, And Lyes, and Lyes: there is my Bond of Faith, To tye thee, to my ſtrong Correction. As I intend to thriue in this new World, Aumerle is guiltie of my true Appeale. Beſides, I heard the baniſh'd Norfolke ſay, That thou Aumerle didſt ſend two of thy men, To execute the Noble Duke at Callis. Aum. Some honeſt Chriſtian truſt me with a Gage, That Norfolke lyes: here doe I throw downe this, If he may be repeal'd, to trie his Honor. Bull. Theſe differences ſhall all reſt vnder Gage, Till Norfolke be repeal'd: repeal'd he ſhall be; And (though mine Enemie) reſtor'd againe To all his Lands and Seignories: when hee's return'd, Againſt Aumerle we will enforce his Tryall. Carl. That honorable day ſhall ne're be ſeene. Many a time hath baniſh'd Norfolke fought For Ieſu Chriſt, in glorious Chriſtian field Streaming the Enſigne of the Chriſtian Croſſe, Againſt black Pagans, Turkes, and Saracens: And toyl'd with workes of Warre, retyr'd himſelfe To Italy, and there at Venice gaue His Body to that pleaſant Countries Earth, And his pure Soule vnto his Captaine Chriſt, Vnder whoſe Colours he had fought ſo long. Bull.

Why Biſhop, is Norfolke dead?

 Carl.

As ſure as I liue, my Lord.

 Bull. Sweet peace conduct his ſweet Soule To the Boſome of good old Abraham. Lords Appealants, your differēces ſhal all reſt vnder gage, Till we aſſigne you to your dayes of Tryall. Enter Yorke. Yorke. Great Duke of Lancaſter, I come to thee From plume-pluckt Richard, who with willing Soule Adopts thee Heire, and his high Scepter yeelds To the poſſeſſion of thy Royall Hand. Aſcend his Throne, deſcending now from him, And long liue Henry, of that Name the Fourth. Bull.

In Gods Name, Ile aſcend the Regall Throne.

 Carl. Mary, Heauen forbid. Worſt in this Royall Preſence may I ſpeake, Yet beſt beſeeming me to ſpeake the truth. Would God, that any in this Noble Preſence Were enough Noble, to be vpright Iudge Of Noble Richard: then true Nobleneſſe would Learne him forbearance from ſo foule a Wrong. What Subiect can giue Sentence on his King? And who ſits here, that is not Richards Subiect? Theeues are not iudg'd, but they are by to heare, Although apparant guilt be ſeene in them: And ſhall the figure of Gods Maieſtie, His Captaine, Steward, Deputie elect, Anoynted, Grown'd, planted many yeeres, Be iudg'd by ſubiect, and inferior breathe, And he himſelfe not preſent? Oh, forbid it, God, That in a Chriſtian Climate, Soules refin'de Should ſhew ſo heynous, black, obſcene a deed. I ſpeake to Subiects, and a Subiect ſpeakes, Stirr'd vp by Heauen, thus boldly for his King. My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call King, Is a foule Traytor to prowd Herefords King. And if you Crowne him, let me prophecie, The blood of Engliſh ſhall manure the ground, And future Ages groane for his foule Act. Peace ſhall goe ſleepe with Turkes and Infidels, And in this Seat of Peace, tumultuous Warres Shall Kinne with Kinne, and Kinde with Kinde confound. Diſorder, Horror, Feare, and Mutinie Shall here inhabite, and this Land be call'd The field of Golgotha, and dead mens Sculls. Oh, if you reare this Houſe, againſt this Houſe It will the wofulleſt Diuiſion proue, That euer fell vpon this curſed Earth. Preuent it, reſiſt it, and let it not be ſo, Leaſt Child, Childs Children cry againſt you, Woe. North. Well haue you argu'd Sir: and for your paines, Of Capitall Treaſon we arreſt you here. My Lord of Weſtminſter, be it your charge, To keepe him ſafely, till his day of Tryall. May it pleaſe you, Lords, to grant the Commons Suit? Bull. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may ſurrender: ſo we ſhall proceede Without ſuſpition. Yorke.

I will be his Conduct.

Exit. Bull. Lords, you that here are vnder our Arreſt, Procure your Sureties for your Dayes of Anſwer: Little are we beholding to your Loue, And little look'd for at your helping Hands. Enter Richard and Yorke. Rich. Alack, why am I ſent for to a King, Before I haue ſhooke off the Regall thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet haue learn'd To inſinuate, flatter, bowe, and bend my Knee. Giue Sorrow leaue a while, to tuture me To this ſubmiſſion. Yet I well remember The fauors of theſe men: were they not mine? Did they not ſometime cry, All hayle to me? So Iudas did to Chriſt: but he in twelue, Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelve thouſand, none. God ſaue the King: will no man ſay, Amen? Am I both Prieſt, and Clarke? well then, Amen. God ſaue the King, although I be not hee: And yet Amen, if Heauen doe thinke him mee. To doe what ſeruice, am I ſent for hither? Yorke. To doe that office of thine owne good will, Which tyred Maieſtie did make thee offer: The Reſignation of thy State and Crowne To Henry Bullingbrooke. Rich. Giue me the Crown. Here Couſin, ſeize ye Crown: Here Couſin, on this ſide my Hand, on that ſide thine. Now is this Golden Crowne like a deepe Well, That owes two Buckets, filling one another, The emptier euer dancing in the ayre, The other downe, vnſeene, and full of Water: That Bucket downe, and full of Teares am I, Drinking my Griefes, whil'ſt you mount vp on high. Bull.

I thought you had been willing to reſigne.

 Rich. My Crowne I am, but ſtill my Griefes are mine: You may my Glories and my State depoſe, But not my Griefes; ſtill am I King of thoſe. Bull.

Part of your Cares you giue me with your Crowne.

 Rich. Your Cares ſet vp, do not pluck my Cares downe. My Care, is loſſe of Care, by old Care done, Your Care, is gaine of Care, by new Care wonne: The Cares I giue, I haue, though giuen away, They 'tend the Crowne, yet ſtill with me they ſtay: Bull.

Are you contended to reſigne the Crowne?

 Rich. I, no; no, I: for I muſt nothing bee: Therefore no, no, for I reſigne to thee. Now, marke me how I will vndoe my ſelfe. I giue this heauie Weight from off my Head, And this vnwieldie Scepter from my Hand, The pride of Kingly ſway from out my Heart. With mine owne Teares I waſh away my Balme, With mine owne Hands I giue away my Crowne, With mine owne Tongue denie my Sacred State, With mine owne Breath releaſe all dutious Oathes; All Pompe and Maieſtie I doe forſweare: My Manors, Rents, Reuenues, I forgoe; My Acts, Decrees, and Statutes I denie: God pardon all Oathes that are broke to mee, God keepe all Vowes vnbroke are made to thee. Make me, that nothing haue, with nothing grieu'd, And thou with all pleas'd, that haſt all atchieu'd. Long may'ſt thou liue in Richards Seat to ſit, And ſoone lye Richard in an Earthie Pit. God ſaue King Henry, vn-King'd Richard ſayes, And ſend him many yeeres of Sunne-ſhine dayes. What more remaines? North. No, more: but that you reade Theſe Accuſations, and theſe grieuous Crymes, Committed by your Perſon, and your followers, Againſt the State, and Profit of this Land: That by confeſſing them, the Soules of men May deeme, that you are worthily depos'd. Rich. Muſt I doe ſo? and muſt I rauell out My weau'd-vp follyes? Gentle Northumberland, If thy Offences were vpon Record, Would it not ſhame thee, in ſo faire a troupe, To reade a Lecture of them? If thou would'ſt, There ſhould'ſt thou finde one heynous Article, Contayning the depoſing of a King, And cracking the ſtrong Warrant of an Oath, Mark'd with a Blot, damn'd in the Booke of Heauen. Nay, all of you, that ſtand and looke vpon me, Whil'ſt that my wretchedneſſe doth bait my ſelfe, Though ſome of you, with Pilate, waſh your hands, Shewing an outward pittie: yet you Pilates Haue here deliuer'd me to my ſowre Croſſe, And Water cannot waſh away your ſinne. North.

My Lord diſpatch, reade o're theſe Articles.

 Rich. Mine Eyes are full of Teares, I cannot ſee: And yet ſalt-Water blindes them not ſo much, But they can ſee a ſort of Traytors here. Nay, if I turne mine Eyes vpon my ſelfe, I finde my ſelfe a Traytor with the reſt: For I haue giuen here my Soules conſent, T'vndeck the pompous Body of a King; Made Glory baſe; a Soueraigntie, a Slaue; Prowd Maieſtie, a Subiect; State, a Peſant. North.

My Lord.

 Rich. No Lord of thine, thou haught-inſulting man; No, nor no mans Lord: I haue no Name, no Title; No, not that Name was giuen me at the Font. But 'tis vſurpt: alack the heauie day, That I haue worne ſo many Winters out, And know not now, what Name to call my ſelfe. Oh, that I were a Mockerie, King of Snow, Standing before the Sunne of Bullingbrooke, To melt my ſelfe away in Water-drops. Good King, great King, and yet not greatly good, And if my word be Sterling yet in England, Let it command a Mirror hither ſtraight, That it may ſhew me what a Face I haue, Since it is Bankrupt of his Maieſtie. Bull.

Goe ſome of you, and fetch a Looking-Glaſſe.

 North.

Read o're this Paper, while yc Glaſſe doth come.

 Rich.

Fiend, thou torments me, ere I come to Hell.

 Bull.

Vrge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.

North.

The Commons will not then be ſatisfy'd.

 Rich. They ſhall be ſatisfy'd: Ile reade enough, When I doe ſee the very Booke indeede, Where all my ſinnes are writ, and that's my ſelfe. Enter one with a Glaſſe. Giue me that Glaſſe, and therein will I reade. No deeper wrinckles yet? hath Sorrow ſtrucke So many Blowes vpon this Face of mine, And made no deeper Wounds? Oh flatt'ring Glaſſe, Like to my followers in proſperitie, Thou do'ſt beguile me. Was this Face, the Face That euery day, vnder his Houſe-hold Roofe, Did keepe ten thouſand men? Was this the Face, That like the Sunne, did make beholders winke? Is this the Face, which fac'd ſo many follyes, That was at laſt out-fac'd by Bullingbrooke? A brittle Glory ſhineth in this Face, As brittle as the Glory, is the Face, For there it is, crackt in an hundred ſhiuers. Marke ſilent King, the Morall of this ſport, How ſoone my Sorrow hath deſtroy'd my Face. Bull. The ſhadow of your Sorrow hath deſtroy'd The ſhadow of your Face. Rich. Say that againe. The ſhadow of my Sorrow: ha, let's ſee, 'Tis very true, my Griefe lyes all within, And theſe externall manner of Laments, Are meerely ſhadowes, to the vnſeene Griefe, That ſwells with ſilence in the tortur'd Soule. There lyes the ſubſtance: and I thanke thee King For thy great bountie, that not onely giu'ſt Me cauſe to wayle, but teacheſt me the way How to lament the cauſe. Ile begge one Boone, And then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtaine it? Bull.

Name it, faire Couſin.

 Rich. Faire Couſin? I am greater then a King: For when I was a King, my flatterers Were then but ſubiects; being now a ſubiect, I haue a King here to my flatterer: Being ſo great, I haue no neede to begge. Bull.

Yet aske.

 Rich.

And ſhall I haue?

 Bull.

You ſhall.

 Rich.

Then giue me leaue to goe.

 Bull.

Whither?

 Rich.

Whither you will, ſo I were from your ſights.

 Bull.

Goe ſome of you, conuey him to the Tower.

 Rich. Oh good: conuey: Conueyers are you all, That riſe thus nimbly by a true Kings fall. Bull. On Wedneſday next, we ſolemnly ſet downe Our Coronation: Lords, prepare your ſelues. Exeunt. Abbot.

A wofull Pageant haue we here beheld.

 Carl. The Woes to come, the Children yet vnborne, Shall feele this day as ſharpe to them as Thorne. Aum. You holy Clergie-men, is there no Plot To rid the Realme of this pernicious Blot. Abbot. Before I freely ſpeake my minde herein, You ſhall not onely take the Sacrament, To bury mine intents, but alſo to effect What euer I ſhall happen to deuiſe. I ſee your Browes are full of Diſcontent, Your Heart of Sorrow, and your Eyes of Teares. Come home with me to Supper, Ile lay a Plot Shall ſhew vs all a merry day. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima. Enter Queene, and Ladies. Qu. This way the King will come: this is the way To Iulius Caeſars ill-erected Tower: To whoſe flint Boſome, my condemned Lord Is doom'd a Priſoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke. Here let vs reſt, if this rebellious Earth Haue any reſting for her true Kings Queene. Enter Richard and Guard. But ſoft, but ſee, or rather doe not ſee, My faire Roſe wither: yet looke vp; behold, That you in pittie may diſſolue to dew, And waſh him freſh againe with true-loue Teares. Ah thou, the Modell where old Troy did ſtand, Thou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Yombe, And not King Richard: thou moſt beauteous Inne, Why ſhould hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee, When Triumph is become an Ale-houſe Gueſt. Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not ſo, To make my end too ſudden: learne good Soule, To thinke our former State a happie Dreame, From which awak'd, the truth of what we are, Shewes vs but this. I am ſworne Brother (Sweet) To grim Neceſſitie; and hee and I Will keepe a League till Death. High thee to France, And Cloyſter thee in ſome Religious Houſe: Our holy liues muſt winne a new Worlds Crowne, Which our prophane houres here haue ſtricken downe. Qu. What, is my Richard both in ſhape and minde Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke Depos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart? The Lyon dying, thruſteth forth his Paw, And wounds the Earth, if nothing elſe, with rage To be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like, Take thy Correction mildly, kiſſe the Rodde, And fawne on Rage with baſe Humilitie, Which art a Lyon, and a King of Beaſts? Rich. A King of Beaſts indeed: if aught but Beaſts, I had beene ſtill a happy King of Men. Good (ſometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France: Thinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'ſt, As from my Death-bed, my laſt liuing leaue. In Winters tedious Nights ſit by the fire With good old folkes, and let them tell thee Tales Of wofull Ages, long agoe betide: And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe, Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And ſend the hearers weeping to their Beds: For why? the ſenceleſſe Brands will ſympathize The heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue, And in compaſſion, weepe the fire out: And ſome will mourne in aſhes, ſome coale-black, For the depoſing of a rightfull King. Enter Northumberland. North. My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd. You muſt to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower. And Madame, there is order ta'ne for you: With all ſwift ſpeed, you muſt away to France. Rich. Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithall The mounting Bullingbrooke aſcends my Throne, The time ſhall not be many houres of age, More then it is, ere foule ſinne, gathering head, Shall breake into corruption: thou ſhalt thinke, Though he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe, It is too little, helping him to all: He ſhall thinke, that thou which know'ſt the way To plant vnrightfull Kings, wilt know againe, Being ne're ſo little vrg'd another way, To pluck him headlong from the vſurped Throne. The Loue of wicked friends conuerts to Feare; That Feare, to Hate; and Hate turnes one, or both, To worthie Danger, and deſerued Death. North. My guilt be on my Head, and there an end: Take leaue, and part, for you muſt part forthwith. Rich. Doubly diuorc'd? (bad men) ye violate A two-fold Marriage; 'twixt my Crowne, and me, And then betwixt me, and my marryed Wife. Let me vn-kiſſe the Oath 'twixt thee, and me; And yet not ſo, for with a Kiſſe 'twas made. Part vs, Northumberland: I, towards the North, Where ſhiuering Cold and Sickneſſe pines the Clyme: My Queene to France: from whence, ſet forth in pompe, She came adorned hither like ſweet May; Sent back like Hollowmas▪ or ſhort'ſt of day. Qu.

And muſt we be diuided? muſt we part?

 Rich.

I, hand from hand (my Loue) and heart frō heart.

 Qu.

Baniſh vs both, and ſend the King with me.

 North.

That were ſome Loue, but little Pollicy.

 Qu.

Then whither he goes, thither let me goe.

 Rich. So two together weeping, make one Woe. Weepe thou for me in France; I, for thee heere: Better farre off, then neere, be ne're the neere. Goe, count thy Way with Sighes; I, mine with Groanes. Qu.

So longeſt Way ſhall haue the longeſt Moanes.

 Rich. Twice for one ſtep Ile groane, ye Way being ſhort, And peece the Way out with a heauie heart. Come, come, in wooing Sorrow let's be briefe, Since wedding it, there is ſuch length in Griefe: One Kiſſe ſhall ſtop our mouthes, and dumbely part; Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart. Qu. Giue me mine owne againe: 'twere no good part, To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart. So, now I haue mine owne againe, be gone, That I may ſtriue to kill it with a groane. Rich. We make Woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more adieu; the reſt, let Sorrow ſay. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Yorke, and his Ducheſſe. Duch. My Lord, you told me you would tell the reſt, When weeping made you breake the ſtory off, Of our two Couſins comming into London. Yorke.

Where did I leaue?

 Duch. At that ſad ſtoppe, my Lord, Where rude miſ-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops, Threw duſt and rubbiſh on King Richards head. Yorke. Then, as I ſaid, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke, Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed, Which his aſpiring Rider ſeem'd to know, With ſlow, but ſtately pace, kept on his courſe: While all tongues cride, God ſaue thee Bullingbrooke. You would haue thought the very windowes ſpake, So many greedy lookes of yong and old, Through Caſements darted their deſiring eyes Vpon his viſage: and that all the walles, With painted Imagery had ſaid at once, Ieſu preſerue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke. Whil'ſt he, from one ſide to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke, Beſpake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen: And thus ſtill doing, thus he paſt along. Dutch.

Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilſt?

 Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of men After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage, Are idlely bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Euen ſo, or with much more contempt, mens eyes Did ſcowle on Richard: no man cride, God ſaue him: No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home, But duſt was throwne vpon his Sacred head, Which with ſuch gentle ſorrow he ſhooke off, His face ſtill combating with teares and ſmiles (The badges of his greefe and patience) That had not God (for ſome ſtrong purpoſe) ſteel'd The hearts of men, they muſt perforce haue melted, And Barbariſme it ſelfe haue pittied him. But heauen hath a hand in theſe euents, To whoſe high will we bound our calme contents. To Bullingbrooke, are we ſworne Subiects now, Whoſe State, and Honor, I for aye allow. Enter Aumerle. Dut.

Heere comes my ſonne Aumerle.

Yor. Aumerle that was, But that is loſt, for being Richards Friend. And Madam, you muſt call him Rutland now: I am in Parliament pledge for his truth, And laſting fealtie to the new-made King. Dut. Welcome my ſonne: who are the Violets now, That ſtrew the greene lap of the new-come Spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not, God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one. Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-ſpring of time Leaſt you be cropt before you come to prime. What newes from Oxford? Hold thoſe Iuſts & Triumphs? Aum.

For ought I know my Lord, they do.

 Yorke.

You will be there I know.

 Aum.

If God preuent not, I purpoſe ſo.

 Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy boſom? Yea, look'ſt thou pale? Let me ſee the Writing. Aum.

My Lord, 'tis nothing.

 Yorke. No matter then who ſees it, I will be ſatisfied, let me ſee the Writing. Aum. I do beſeech your Grace to pardon me, It is a matter of ſmall conſequence, Which for ſome reaſons I would not haue ſeene. Yorke. Which for ſome reaſons ſir, I meane to ſee: I feare, I feare. Dut. What ſhould you feare? 'Tis nothing but ſome bond, that he is enter'd into For gay apparrell, againſt the Triumph. Yorke. Bound to himſelfe? What doth he with a Bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole. Boy, let me ſee the Writing. Aum.

I do beſeech you pardon me, I may not ſhew it.

 Yor. I will be ſatisfied: let me ſee it I ſay. Snatches it Treaſon, foule Treaſon, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue. Dut.

What's the matter, my Lord?

 Yorke. Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horſe. Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere? Dut.

Why, what is't my Lord?

 Yorke. Giue me my boots, I ſay: Saddle my horſe: Now by my Honor, my life, my troth, I will appeach the Villaine. Dut.

What is the matter?

 Yorke.

Peace fooliſh Woman.

 Dut.

I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?

 Aum. Good Mother be content, it is no more Then my poore life muſt anſwer. Dut.

Thy life anſwer?

 Enter Seruant with Boots. Yor.

Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King.

 Dut. Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, yu art amaz'd, Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my ſight. Yor.

Giue me my Boots, I ſay.

 Dut. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the Treſpaſſe of thine owne? Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue? Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time? And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age, And rob me of a happy Mothers name? Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne? Yor. Thou fond mad woman: Wilt thou conceale this darke Conſpiracy? A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament, And interchangeably ſet downe their hands To kill the King at Oxford. Dut. He ſhall be none: Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him? Yor.

Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my Son, I would appeach him.

 Dut. Hadſt thou groan'd for him as I haue done, Thou wouldeſt be more pittifull: But now I know thy minde; thou do'ſt ſuſpect That I haue bene diſloyall to thy bed, And that he is a Baſtard, not thy Sonne: Sweet Yorke, ſweet husband, be not of that minde: He is as like thee, as a man may bee, Not like to me, nor any of my Kin, And yet I loue him. Yorke.

Make way, vnruly Woman.

Exit Dut. After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horſe, Spurre poſt, and get before him to the King, And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuſe thee, Ile not be long behind: though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as faſt as Yorke: And neuer will I riſe vp from the ground, Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone. Exit
Scoena Tertia. Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords. Bul. Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne? 'Tis full three monthes ſince I did ſee him laſt. If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he, I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found: Enquire at London, 'mongſt the Tauernes there: For there (they ſay) he dayly doth frequent, With vnreſtrained looſe Companions, Euen ſuch (they ſay) as ſtand in narrow Lanes, And rob our Watch, and beate our paſſengers, Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate Boy Takes on the point of Honor, to ſupport So diſſolute a crew. Per. My Lord, ſome two dayes ſince I ſaw the Prince, And told him of theſe Triumphes held at Oxford. Bul.

And what ſaid the Gallant?

 Per. His anſwer was: he would vnto the Stewes, And from the common'ſt creature plucke a Gloue And weare it as a fauour, and with that He would vnhorſe the luſtieſt Challenger. Bul. As diſſolute as deſp'rate, yet through both, I ſee ſome ſparkes of better hope: which elder dayes May happily bring forth. But who comes heere? Enter Aumerle. Aum.

Where is the King?

 Bul. What meanes our Coſin, that hee ſtares And lookes ſo wildely? Aum. God ſaue your Grace. I do beſeech your Maieſty To haue ſome conference with your Grace alone. Bul. Withdraw your ſelues, and leaue vs here alone: What is the matter with our Coſin now? Aum. For euer may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth, Vnleſſe a Pardon, ere I riſe, or ſpeake. Bul. Intended, or committed was this fault? If on the firſt, how heynous ere it bee, To win thy after loue, I pardon thee. Aum. Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key, That no man enter, till my tale me done. Bul.

Haue thy deſire.

Yorke within. Yor. My Liege beware, looke to thy ſelfe, Thou haſt a Traitor in thy preſence there. Bul.

Villaine, Ile make thee ſafe.

 Aum.

Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou haſt no cauſe to feare.

 Yorke. Open the doore, ſecure foole-hardy King: Shall I for loue ſpeake treaſon to thy face? Open the doore, or I will breake it open. Enter Yorke. Bul. What is the matter (Vnkle) ſpeak, recouer breath, Tell vs how neere is danger, That we may arme vs to encounter it. Yor. Peruſe this writing heere, and thou ſhalt know The reaſon that my haſte forbids me ſhow. Aum. Remember as thou read'ſt, thy promiſe paſt: I do repent me, reade not my name there, My heart is not confederate with my hand. Yor. It was (villaine) ere thy hand did ſet it downe. I tore it from the Traitors boſome, King. Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence; Forget to pitty him, leaſt thy pitty proue A Serpent, that will ſting thee to the heart. Bul. Oh heinous, ſtrong, and bold Conſpiracie, O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne: Thou ſheere, immaculate, and ſiluer fountaine, From whence this ſtreame, through muddy paſſages Hath had his current, and defil'd himſelfe. Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad, And thy abundant goodneſſe ſhall excuſe This deadly blot, in thy digreſſing ſonne. Yorke. So ſhall my Vertue be his Vices bawd, And he ſhall ſpend mine Honour, with his Shame; As thriftleſſe Sonnes, their ſcraping Fathers Gold. Mine honor liues, when his diſhonor dies, Or my ſham'd life, in his diſhonor lies: Thou kill'ſt me in his life, giuing him breath, The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death. Dutcheſſe within. Dut.

What hoa (my Liege) for heauens ſake let me in.

 Bul.

What ſhrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?

 Dut. A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I. Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore, A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before. Bul. Our Scene is alter'd from a ſerious thing, And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King. My dangerous Coſin, let your Mother in, I know ſhe's come, to pray for your foule ſin. Yorke. If thou do pardon, whoſoeuer pray, More ſinnes for this forgiueneſſe, proſper may. This feſter'd ioynt cut off, the reſt reſts ſound, This let alone, will all the reſt confound. Enter Dutcheſſe. Dut. O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man, Loue, louing not it ſelfe, none other can. Yor. Thou franticke woman, what doſt yu make here, Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare? Dut.

Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege.

 Bul.

Riſe vp good Aunt.

 Dut. Not yet, I thee beſeech. For euer will I kneele vpon my knees, And neuer ſee day, that the happy ſees, Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy. By pardoning Rutland, my tranſgreſſing Boy. Aum.

Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee.

 Yorke.

Againſt them both, my true ioynts bended be.

 Dut. Pleades he in earneſt? Looke vpon his Face, His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in ieſt: His words come from his mouth, ours from our breſt. He prayes but faintly, and would be denide, We pray with heart, and ſoule, and all beſide: His weary ioynts would gladly riſe, I know, Our knees ſhall kneele, till to the ground they grow: His prayers are full of falſe hypocriſie, Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie: Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haue That mercy, which true prayers ought to haue. Bul.

Good Aunt ſtand vp.

 Dut. Nay, do not ſay ſtand vp. But Pardon firſt, and afterwards ſtand vp. And if I were thy Nurſe, thy tongue to teach, Pardon ſhould be the firſt word of thy ſpeach. I neuer long'd to heare a word till now: Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how. The word is ſhort: but not ſo ſhort as ſweet, No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's ſo meet. Yorke.

Speake it in French (King) ſay Pardon'ne moy.

Dut. Doſt thou teach pardon, Pardon to deſtroy? Ah my ſowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord, That ſet's the word it ſelfe, againſt the word. Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land, The chopping French we do not vnderſtand. Thine eye begins to ſpeake, ſet thy tongue there, Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare, That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce, Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearſe. Bul.

Good Aunt, ſtand vp.

 Dut. I do not ſue to ſtand, Pardon is all the ſuite I haue in hand. Bul.

I pardon him, as heauen ſhall pardon mee.

 Dut. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee: Yet am I ſicke 〈◊〉 feare: Speake it againe, Twice ſaying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine, But makes one pardon ſtrong. Bul.

I pardon him with all my hart.

 Dut.

A God on earth thou art.

 Bul. But for our truſty brother-in-Law, the Abbot, With all the reſt of that conſorted crew, Deſtruction ſtraight ſhall dogge them at the heeles: Good Vnckle helpe to order ſeuerall powres To Oxford, or where ere theſe Traitors are: They ſhall not liue within this world I ſweare, But I will haue them, if I once know where. Vnckle farewell, and Coſin adieu: Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true. Dut.

Come my old ſon, I pray heauen make thee new.

Exeunt. Enter Exton and Seruants. Ext. Didſt thou not marke the King what words hee ſpake? Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare: Was it not ſo? Ser.

Thoſe were his very words.

 Ex. Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he ſpake it twice, And vrg'd it twice together, did he not? Ser.

He did.

 Ex. And ſpeaking it, he wiſtly look'd on me, As who ſhould ſay, I would thou wer't the man That would diuorce this terror from my heart, Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe; I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe. Exit.
Scaena Quarta. Enter Richard. Rich. I haue bin ſtudying, how to compare This Priſon where I liue, vnto the World: And for becauſe the world is populous, And heere is not a Creature, but my ſelfe, I cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out. My Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule, My Soule, the Father: and theſe two beget A generation of ſtill breeding Thoughts; And theſe ſame Thoughts, people this Little World In humors, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better ſort, As thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt With ſcruples, and do ſet the Faith it ſelfe Againſt the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again, It is as hard to come, as for a Camell To thred the poſterne of a Needles eye. Thoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot Vnlikely wonders; how theſe vaine weake nailes May teare a paſſage through the Flinty ribbes Of this hard world, my ragged priſon walles: And for they cannot, dye in their owne pride. Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themſelues, That they are not the firſt of Fortunes ſlaues, Nor ſhall not be the laſt. Like ſilly Beggars, Who ſitting in the Stockes, refuge their ſhame That many haue, and others muſt ſit there; And in this Thought, they finde a kind of eaſe, Bearing their owne misfortune on the backe Of ſuch as haue before indur'd the like. Thus play I in one Priſon, many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I King; Then Treaſon makes me wiſh my ſelfe a Beggar, And ſo I am. Then cruſhing penurie, Perſwades me, I was better when a King: Then am I king'd againe: and by and by, Thinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke, And ſtraight am nothing. But what ere I am, Muſick Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing ſhall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd With being nothing, Muſicke do I heare? Ha, ha? keepe time: How ſowre ſweet Muſicke is, When Time is broke, and no Proportion kept? So is it in the Muſicke of mens liues: And heere haue I the daintineſſe of eare, To heare time broke in a diſorder'd ſtring: But for the Concord of my State and Time, Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke. I waſted Time, and now doth Time waſte me: For now hath Time made me his numbring clocke; My Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre, Their watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch, Whereto my finger, like a Dialls point, Is pointing ſtill, in cleanſing them from teares. Now ſir, the ſound that tels what houre it is, Are clamorous groanes, that ſtrike vpon my heart, Which is the bell: ſo Sighes, and Teares, and Grones, Shew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time R • ns poaſting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy, While I ſtand fooling heere, his iacke o' th' Clocke. This Muſicke mads me, let it ſound no more, For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits, In me it ſeemes, it will make wiſe-men mad: Yet bleſſing on his heart that giues it me; For 'tis a ſigne of loue, and loue to Richard, Is a ſtrange Brooch▪ in this all-hating world. Enter Groome. Groo.

Haile Royall Prince.

 Rich. Thankes Noble Peere, The cheapeſt of vs, is ten groates too deere. What art thou? And how com'ſt thou hither? Where no man euer comes, but that ſad dogge That brings me food, to make misfortune liue? Groo. I was a poore Groome of thy Stable (King) When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke, With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaue To looke vpon my (ſometimes Royall) maſters face. O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld In London ſtreets, that Coronation day, When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbary, That horſe, that thou ſo often haſt beſtrid, That horſe, that I ſo carefully haue dreſt. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle Friend, How went he vnder him? Groo.

So proudly, as if he had diſdain'd the ground.

 Rich. So proud, that Bullingbrooke was on his backe; That Iade hath eate bread from my Royall hand. This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not ſtumble? Would he not fall downe (Since Pride muſt haue a fall) and breake the necke Of that proud man, that did vſurpe his backe? Forgiueneſſe horſe: Why do I raile on thee, Since thou created to be aw'd by man Was't borne to beare? I was not made a horſe, And yet I beare a burthen like an Aſſe, Spur-gall'd, and tyrd by la • nti • g Bullingbrooke. Enter Keeper with a Diſh. Keep.

Fellow, giue place heere is 〈◊〉 • nger • y.

 Rich.

If • hou loue me, 〈◊〉 thou with away.

 Groo.

What thy tongue da • s not, that my heart ſhall ſay.

Exit. Keep.

My Lord, will pleaſe you to fall too?

 Rich.

Taſte of it firſt, as thou wer't wont to doo.

 Keep. My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary. Rich. The diuell take Henrie of Lancaſter, and thee; Patience is ſtale, and I am weary of it. Keep.

Helpe, helpe, helpe.

 Enter Exton and Seruants. Ri. How now? what meanes Death in this rude aſſalt? Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths inſtrument, Go thou and fill another roome in hell. Exton ſtrikes him downe. That hand ſhall burne in neuer-quenching fire, That ſtaggers thus my perſon. Exton, thy fierce hand, Hath with the Kings blood, ſtain'd the Kings own land. Mount, mount my ſoule, thy ſeate is vp on high, Whil'ſt my groſſe fleſh ſinkes downward, heere to dye. Exton. As full of Valor, as of Royall blood, Both haue I ſpilt: Oh would the deed were good. For now the diuell, that told me I did well, Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare, Take hence the reſt, and giue them buriall heere. Exit.
Scoena Quinta. Flouriſh. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, with other Lords & attendants. Bul. Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the lateſt newes we heare, Is that the Rebels haue conſum'd with fire Our Towne of Ciceter in Glouceſterſhire, But whether they be tane or ſlaine, we heare not. Enter Northumberland. Welcome my Lord: What is the newes? Nor. Firſt to thy Sacred State, wiſh I all happineſſe: The next newes is, I haue to London ſent The heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appeare At large diſcourſed in this paper heere. Bul. We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines, And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines. Enter Fitzwaters. Fitz. My Lord, I haue from Oxford ſent to London, The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous conſorted Traitors, That ſought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow. Bul. Thy paines Fitzwaters ſhall not be forgot, Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Percy and Carlile. Per. The grand Conſpirator, Abbot of Weſtminſter, With clog of Conſcience, and ſowre Melancholly, Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue: But heere is Carlile, liuing to abide Thy Kingly doome, and ſentence of his pride. Bul. Carlile, this is your doome: Chooſe out ſome ſecret place, ſome reuerend roome More then thou haſt, and with it ioy thy life: So as thou liu'ſt in peace, dye free from ſtrife: For though mine enemy▪ thou haſt euer beene, High ſparkes of Honor in thee haue I ſeene. Enter Exton with a Coffin. Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I preſent Thy buried feare. Heerein all breathleſſe lies The mightieſt of thy greateſt enemies Richard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought. Bul. Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou haſt wrought A deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand, Vpon my head, and all this famous Land. Ex.

From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed.

 Bul. They loue not poyſon, that do poyſon neede, Nor do I thee: though I did wiſh him dead, I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered. The guilt of conſcience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour. With Caine go wander through the ſhade of night, And neuer ſhew thy head by day, nor light. Lords, I proteſt my ſoule is full of woe, That blood ſhould ſprinkle me, to make me grow. Come mourne with me, for that I do lament, And put on ſullen Blacke incontinent: Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land, To waſh this blood off from my guilty hand. March ſadly after, grace my mourning heere, In weeping after this vntimely Beere. Exeunt
FINIS.
The Firſt Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and Death of HENRY Sirnamed HOT-SPVRRE.
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima. Enter the King, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, Earle of Weſtmerland, with others. King. SO ſhaken as we are, ſo wan with care, Finde we a time for frighted Peace to pant, And breath ſhortwinded accents of new broils To be commenc'd in Stronds a-farre remote: No more the thirſty entrance of this Soile, Shall daube her lippes with her owne childrens blood: No more ſhall trenching Warre channell her fields, Nor bruiſe her Flowrets with the Armed hoofes Of hoſtile paces. Thoſe oppoſed eyes, Which like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen, All of one Nature, of one Subſtance bred, Did lately meete in the inteſtine ſhocke, And furious cloze of ciuill Butchery, Shall now in mutuall well-beſeeming rankes March all one way, and be no more oppos'd Againſt Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies. The edge of Warre, like an ill-ſheathed knife, No more ſhall cut his Maſter. Therefore Friends, As farre as to the Sepulcher of Chriſt, Whoſe Souldier now vnder whoſe bleſſed Croſſe We are impreſſed and ingag'd to fight, Forthwith a power of Engliſh ſhall we leuie, Whoſe armes were moulded in their Mothers wombe, To chace theſe Pagans in thoſe holy Fields, Ouer whoſe Acres walk'd thoſe bleſſed feete Which fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail'd For our aduantage on the bitter Croſſe. But this our purpoſe is a twelue month old, And bootleſſe 'tis to tell you we will go: Therefore we meete not now. Then let me heare Of you my gentle Couſin Weſtmerland, What veſternight our Councell did decree, In forwarding this deere expedience. Weſt. My Liege: This haſte was hot in queſtion, And many limits of the Charge ſet downe But yeſternight: when all athwart there came A Poſt from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes; Whoſe worſt was, That the Noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordſhire to fight Againſt the irregular and wilde Glendower, Was by the rude hands of that Welſhman taken, And a thouſand of his people butchered: Vpon whoſe dead corpes there was ſuch miſuſe, Such beaſtly, ſhameleſſe transformation, By thoſe Welſhwomen done, as may not be (Without much ſhame) re-told or ſpoken of. King. It ſeemes then, that the tidings of this broile, Brake off our buſineſſe for the Holy land. Weſt. This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord, Farre more vneuen and vnwelcome Newes Came from the North, and thus it did report: On Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotſpurre there, Young Harry Percy, and braue Archibald, That euer-valiant and approoued Scot, At Holmeden met, where they did ſpend A fad and bloody houre: As by diſcharge of their Artillerie, And ſhape of likely-hood the newes was told: For he that brought them, in the very heate And pride of their contention, did take horſe, Vncertaine of the iſſue any way. King. Heere is a deere and true induſtrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horſe, Strain'd with the variation of each ſoyle, Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours: And he hath brought vs ſmooth and welcomes newes. The Earle of Dowglas is diſcomfited, Ten thouſand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights Balk'd in their owne blood did Sir Walter ſee On Holmedons Plaines. Of Priſoners, Hotſpurre tooke Mordake Earle of Fife, and eldeſt ſonne To beaten Dowglas, and the Earle of Atholl, Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable ſpoyle? A gallant prize? Ha Coſin, is it not? Infaith it is. Weſt.

A Conqueſt for a Prince to boaſt of.

 King. Yea, there thou mak'ſt me ſad, & mak'ſt me ſin, In enuy, that my Lord Northumberland Should be the Father of ſo bleſt a Sonne: A Sonne, who is the Theame of Honors tongue; Among'ſt a Groue, the very ſtraighteſt Plant, Who is ſweet Fortunes Minion, and her Pride: Whil'ſt I by looking on the praiſe of him, See Ryot and Diſhonor ſtaine the brow Of my yong Harry. O that it could be prou'd, That ſome Night-tripping-Faiery, had exchang'd In Cradle-clothes, our Children where they lay, And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet: Then would I haue his Harry, and he mine: But let him from my thoughts. What thinke you Coze Of this young Percies pride? The Priſoners Which he in this aduenture hath ſurpriz'd, To his owne vſe he keepes, and ſends me word I ſhall haue none but Mordake Earle of Fife. Weſt. This is his Vnckles teaching. This is Worceſter Maleuolent to you in all Aſpects: Which makes him prune himſelfe, and briſtle vp The creſt of Youth againſt your Dignity. King. But I haue ſent for him to anſwer this: And for this cauſe a-while we muſt neglect Our holy purpoſe to Ieruſalem. Coſin, on Wedneſday next, our Councell we will hold At Windſor, and ſo informe the Lords: But come your ſelfe with ſpeed to vs againe, For more is to be ſaid, and to be done, Then out of anger can be vttered. Weſt.

I will my Liege.

Exeunt
Scaena Secunda. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, and Pointz. Fal.

Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad?

 Prince.

Thou art ſo fat-witted with drinking of olde Sacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and ſleeping vpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou haſt forgotten to demand that truely, which thou wouldeſt truly know. What a diuell haſt thou to do with the time of the day? vnleſſe houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons, and clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the ſignes of Leaping-houſes, and the bleſſed Sunne himſelfe a faire hot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I ſee no reaſon, why thou ſhouldeſt bee ſo ſuperfluous, to demaund the time of the day.

 Fal.

Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we that take Purſes, go by the Moone and ſeuen Starres, and not by Phoebus hee, that wand'ring Knight ſo faire. And I prythee ſweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God ſaue thy Grace, Maieſty I ſhould ſay, for Grace thou wilte haue none.

 Prin.

What, none?

 Fal.

No, not ſo much as will ſerue to be Prologue to an Egge and Butter.

 Prin.

Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly.

 Fal.

Marry then, ſweet Wagge, when thou art King, let not vs that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call'd Theeues of the Dayes beautie. Let vs be Dianaes Forreſters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moone; and let men ſay, we be men of good Gouernment, being gouerned as the Sea is, by our noble and chaſt miſtris the Moone, vnder whoſe countenance we ſteale.

 Prin.

Thou ſay'ſt well, and it holds well too: for the fortune of vs that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe and flow like the Sea, beeing gouerned as the Sea is, by the Moone: as for proofe. Now a Purſe of Gold moſt reſolutely ſnatch'd on Monday night, and moſt diſſolutely ſpent on Tueſday Morning; got with ſwearing, Lay by: and ſpent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbe as the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the Gallowes.

 Fal.

Thou ſay'ſt true Lad: and is not my Hoſteſſe of the Tauerne a moſt ſweet Wench?

 Prin.

As is the hony, my old Lad of the Caſtle: and is not a Buffe Ierkin a moſt ſweet robe of durance?

 Fal.

How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague haue I to doe with a Buffe-Ierkin?

 Prin.

Why, what a poxe haue I to doe with my Hoſteſſe of the Tauerne?

 Fal.

Well, thou haſt call'd her to a reck'ning many a time and oft.

 Prin.

Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part?

 Fal.

No, Ile giue thee thy due, thou haſt paid al there.

 Prin.

Yea and elſewhere, ſo farre as my Coine would ſtretch, and where it would not, I haue vs'd my credit.

 Fal.

Yea, and ſo vs'd it, that were it heere apparant, that thou art Heire apparant. But I prythee ſweet Wag, ſhall there be Gallowes ſtanding in England when thou art King? and reſolution thus fobb'd as it is, with the ruſtie curbe of old Father Anticke the Law? Doe not thou when thou art a King, hang a Theefe.

 Prin.

No, thou ſhalt.

 Fal.

Shall I? O rare! Ile be a braue Iudge.

 Prin.

Thou iudgeſt falſe already. I meane, thou ſhalt haue the hanging of the Theeues, and ſo become a rare Hangman.

 Fal.

Well Hal, well: and in ſome ſort it iumpes with my humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I can tell you.

 Prin.

For obtaining of ſuites?

 Fal.

Yea, for obtaining of ſuites, whereof the Hangman hath no leane Wardrobe. I am as Melancholly as a Gyb-Cat, or a lugg'd Beate.

 Prin.

Or an old Lyon, or a Louers Lute.

 Fal.

Yea, or the Drone of a Lincolnſhire Bagpipe.

 Prin.

What ſay'ſt thou to a Hare, or the Melancholly of Moore Ditch?

 Fal.

Thou haſt the moſt vnſauoury ſmiles, and art indeed the moſt comparatiue raſcalleſt ſweet yong Prince. But Hal, I prythee trouble me no more with vanity, I wold thou and I knew, where a Commodity of good names were to be bought: an olde Lord of the Councell rated me the other day in the ſtreet about you ſir; but I mark'd him not, and yet hee talk'd very wiſely, but I regarded him not, and yet he talkt wiſely, and in the ſtreet too.

 Prin.

Thou didſt well: for no man regards it.

 Fal.

O, thou haſt damnable iteration, and art indeede able to corrupt a Saint. Thou haſt done much harme vnto me Hall, God forgiue thee for it. Before I knew thee Hal, I knew nothing: and now I am (if a man ſhold ſpeake truly) little better then one of the wicked. I muſt giue ouer this life, and I will giue it ouer: and I do not, I am a Villaine. Ile be damn'd for neuer a Kings ſonne in Chriſtendome.

 Prin.

Where ſhall we take a purſe to morrow, Iacke?

 Fal.

Where thou wilt Lad, Ile make one: and I doe not, call me Villaine, and bafflle me.

 Prin.

I ſee a good amendment of life in thee: From Praying, to Purſe-taking.

 Fal.

Why, Hal, 'tis my Vocation Hal: 'Tis no ſin for a man to labour in his Vocation.

 Pointz.

Now ſhall wee know if Gads hill haue ſet a Watch. O, if men were to be ſaued by merit, what hole in Hell were hot enough for him? This is the moſt omnipotent Villaine, that euer cryed, Stand, to a true man.

 Prin.

Good morrow Ned.

Poine • .

Good morrow ſweet Hal. What ſaies Monſieur Remorſe? What ſayes Sir Iohn Sacke and Sugar: Iacke? How agrees the Diuell and thee about thy Soule, that thou ſoldeſt him on Good-Friday laſt, for a Cup of Madera, and a cold Capons legge?

 Prin.

Sir Iohn ſtands to his word, the diuel ſhall haue his bargaine, for he was neuer yet a Breaker of Prouerbs: He will giue the diuell his due.

Poin.

Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the diuell.

 Prin.

Elſe he had damn'd for cozening the diuell.

 Poy.

But my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, by foure a clocke early at Gads hill, there are Pilgrimes going to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders riding to London with fat Purſes. I haue vizards for you all; you haue horſes for your ſelues: Gads-hill lyes to night in Rocheſter, I haue beſpoke Supper to morrow in Eaſtcheape; we may doe it as ſecure as ſleepe: if you will go, I will ſtuffe your Purſes full of Crownes: if you will not, tarry at home and be hang'd.

 Fal.

Heare ye Yed ward, if I tarry at home and go not, Ile hang you for going.

 Poy.

You will chops.

 Fal.

Hal, wilt thou make one?

 Prin.

Who, I rob? I a Theefe? Not I.

 Fal.

There's neither honeſty, manhood, nor good fellowſhip in thee, nor thou cam'ſt not of the blood-royall, if thou dar'ſt not ſtand for ten ſhillings.

 Prin.

Well then, once in my dayes Ile be a mad-cap.

 Fal.

Why, that's well ſaid.

 Prin.

Well, come what will, Ile tarry at home.

 Fal.

Ile be a Traitor then, when thou art King.

 Prin.

I care not.

 Poyn.

Sir Iohn, I prythee leaue the Prince & me alone, I will lay him downe ſuch reaſons for this aduenture, that he ſhall go.

 Fal.

Well, maiſt thou haue the Spirit of perſwaſion; and he the eares of profiting, that what thou ſpeakeſt, may moue; and what he heares may be beleeued, that the true Prince, may (for recreation ſake) proue a falſe theefe; for the poore abuſes of the time, want countenance. Farwell, you ſhall finde me in Eaſtcheape.

 Prin.

Farwell the latter Spring. Farewell Alhollown Summer.

 Poy.

Now, my good ſweet Hony Lord, ride with vs to morrow. I haue a ieſt to execute, that I cannot mannage alone. Falſtaffe, Haruey, Roſſill, and Gads-hill, ſhall robbe thoſe men that wee haue already way-layde, your ſelfe and I, wil not be there: and when they haue the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my ſhoulders.

 Prin.

But how ſhal we part with them in ſetting forth?

 Po • n.

Why we wil ſet forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherin it is at our pleaſure to faile; and then will they aduenture vppon the exploit themſelues, which they ſhall haue no ſooner atchieued, but wee'l ſet vpon them.

 Prin.

I, but tis like that they will know vs by our horſes, by our habits, and by euery other appointment to be our ſelues.

 Poy.

Tut our horſes they ſhall not ſee, Ile tye them in the wood, our vizards wee will change after wee leaue them: and ſirrah, I haue Caſes of Buckram for the nonce, to immaske our noted outward garments.

 Prin.

But I doubt they will be too hard for vs.

 Poin.

Well, for two of them, I know them to bee as true bred Cowards as euer turn'd backe: and for the third if he fight longer then he ſees reaſon, Ile forſwear Armes. The vertue of this Ieſt will be, the incomprehenſible lyes that this fat Rogue will tell vs, when we meete at Supper: how thirty at leaſt he fought with, what Wardes, what blowes, what extremities he endured; and in the reproofe of this, lyes the ieſt.

 Prin.

Well, Ile goe with thee, prouide vs all things neceſſary, and meete me to morrow night in Eaſtcheape, there Ile ſup. Farewell.

 Poyn.

Farewell, my Lord.

Exit Pointz Prin. I know you all, and will a-while vphold The vnyoak'd humor of your idleneſſe: Yet heerein will I imitate the Sunne, Who doth permit the baſe contagious cloudes To ſmother vp his Beauty from the world, That when he pleaſe againe to be himſelfe, Being wanted, he may be more wondred at, By breaking through the foule and vgly miſts Of vapours, that did ſeeme to ſtrangle him. If all the yeare were playing holidaies, To ſport, would be as tedious as to worke; But when they ſeldome come, they wiſht-for come, And nothing pleaſeth but rare accidents. So when this looſe behauiour I throw off, And pay the debt I neuer promiſed; By how much better then my word I am, By ſo much ſhall I falſifie mens hopes, And like bright Mettall on a ſullen ground: My reformation glittering o're my fault, Shall ſhew more goodly, and attract more eyes, Then that which hath no ſoyle to ſet it off. Ile ſo offend, to make offence a skill, Redeeming time, when men thinke leaſt I will.
Scoena Tertia. Enter the King, Northumberland, Worceſter, Hotſpurre, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. King. My blood hath beene too cold and temperate, Vnapt to ſtirre at theſe indignities, And you haue found me; for accordingly, You tread vpon my patience: But be ſure, I will from henceforth rather be my Selfe, Mighty, and to be fear'd, then my condition Which hath beene ſmooth as Oyle, ſoft as yong Downe, And therefore loſt that Title of reſpect, Which the proud ſoule ne're payes, but to the proud. Wor. Our houſe (my Soueraigne Liege) little deſerues The ſcourge of greatneſſe to be vſed on it, And that ſame greatneſſe too, which our owne hands Haue holpe to make ſo portly. Nor.

My Lord.

 King. Worceſter get thee gone: for I do ſee Danger and diſobedience in thine eye. O ſir, your preſence is too bold and peremptory, And Maieſtie might neuer yet endure The moody Frontier of a ſeruant brow, You haue good leaue to leaue vs. When we need Your vſe and counſell, we ſhall ſend for you. You were about to ſpeake. North. Yea, my good Lord. Thoſe Priſoners in your Highneſſe demanded, Which Harry Percy heere at Holmedon tooke, Were (as he ſayes) not with ſuch ſtrength denied As was deliuered to your Maieſty: Who either through enuy, or miſpriſion, Was guilty of this fault; and not my Sonne. Hot. My Liege, I did deny no Priſoners. But, I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with Rage, and extreame Toyle, Breathleſſe, and Faint, leaning vpon my Sword, Came there a certaine Lord, neat and trimly dreſt; Freſh as a Bride-groome, and his Chin new reapt, Shew'd like a ſtubble Land at Harueſt home. He was perfumed like a Milliner, And 'twixt his Finger and his Thumbe, he held A Pouncet-box: which euer and anon He gaue his Noſe, and took't away againe: Who therewith angry, when it next came there, Tooke it in Snuffe: And ſtill he ſmil'd and talk'd: And as the Souldiers bare dead bodies by, He call'd them vntaught Knaues, Vnmannerly, To bring a ſlouenly vnhandſome Coarſe Betwixt the Winde, and his Nobility. With many Holiday and Lady tearme He queſtion'd me: Among the reſt, demanded My Priſoners, in your Maieſties behalfe. I then, all-ſmarting, with my wounds being cold, (To be ſo peſtered with a Popingay) Out of my Greefe, and my Impatience, Anſwer'd (neglectingly) I know not what, He ſhould, or ſhould not: For he made me mad, To ſee him ſhine ſo briske, and ſmell ſo ſweet; And talke ſo like a Waiting-Gentlewoman, Of Guns, & Drums, and Wounds: God ſaue the marke; And telling me, the Soueraign'ſt thing on earth Was Parmacity, for an inward bruiſe: And that it was great pitty, ſo it was, That villanous Salt-peter ſhould be digg'd Out of the Bowels of the harmleſſe Earth, Which many a good Tall Fellow had deſtroy'd So Cowardly. And but for theſe vile Gunnes▪ He would himſelfe haue beene a Souldier. This bald, vnioynted Chat of his (my Lord) Made me to anſwer indirectly (as I ſaid.) And I beſeech you, let not this report Come currant for an Accuſation, Betwixt my Loue, and your high Maieſty▪ Blunt. The circumſtance conſidered, good my Lord, What euer Harry Percie then had ſaid, To ſuch a perſon, and in ſuch a place, At ſuch a time, with all the reſt retold, May reaſonably dye, and neuer riſe To do him wrong or any way impeach What then he ſaid, ſo he vnſay it now. King. Why yet doth deny his Priſoners, But with Prouiſo and Exception, That we at our owne charge, ſhall ranſome ſtraight His Brother-in-Law, the fooliſh Mortimer, Who (in my ſoule) hath wilfully betraid The liues of thoſe, that he did leade to Fight, Againſt the great Magitian, damn'd Glendower: Whoſe daughter (as we heare) the Earle of March Hath lately married. Shall our Coffers then, Be emptied, to redeeme a Traitor home? Shall we buy Treaſon? and indent with Feares, When they haue loſt and forfeyted themſelues. No: on the barren Mountaine let him ſterue: For I ſhall neuer hold that man my Friend, Whoſe tongue ſhall aske me for one peny coſt To ranſome home reuolted Mortimer. Hot. Reuolted Mortimer? He neuer did fall off, my Soueraigne Liege, But by the chance of Warre: to proue that true, Needs no more but one tongue. For all thoſe Wounds, Thoſe mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he tooke, When on the gentle Seuernes ſiedgie banke, In ſingle Oppoſition hand to hand, He did confound the beſt part of an houre In changing hardiment with great Glendower: Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink Vpon agreement, of ſwift Seuernes flood; Who then affrighted with their bloody lookes, Ran fearefully among the trembling Reeds, And hid his criſpe-head in the hollow banke, Blood-ſtained with theſe Valiant Combatants. Neuer did baſe and rotten Policy Colour her working with ſuch deadly wounds; Nor neuer could the Noble Mortimer Receiue ſo many, and all willingly: Then let him not be ſland'red with Reuolt. King. Thou do'ſt bely him Percy, thou doſt bely him; He neuer did encounter with Glendower: I tell thee, he durſt as well haue met the diuell alone, As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Art thou not aſham'd? But Sirrah, henceforth Let me not heare you ſpeake of Mortimer. Send me your Priſoners with the ſpeedieſt meanes, Or you ſhall heare in ſuch a kinde from me As will diſpleaſe ye. My Lord Northumberland, We Licenſe your departure with your ſonne, Send vs your Priſoners, or you'l heare of it. Exit King. Hot. And if the diuell come and roare for them I will not ſend them. I will after ſtraight And tell him ſo: for I will eaſe my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. Nor. What? drunke with choller? ſtay & pauſe awhile. Heere comes your Vnckle. Enter Worceſter. Hot. Speake of Mortimer? Yes, I will ſpeake of him, and let my ſoule Want mercy, if I do not ioyne with him. In his behalfe, Ile empty all theſe Veines, And ſhed my deere blood drop by drop i' th duſt, But I will lift the downfall Mortimer As high i' th Ayre, as this Vnthankfull King, As this Ingrate and Cankred Bullingbrooke. Nor.

Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad

 Wor.

Who ſtrooke this heate vp after I was gone?

 Hot. He will (forſooth) haue all my Priſoners: And when I vrg'd the ranſom once againe Of my Wiues Brother, then his cheeke look'd pale, And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, Trembling euen at the name of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'd By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? Nor. He was: I heard the Proclamation, And then it was, when the vnhappy King (Whoſe wrongs in vs God pardon) did ſet forth Vpon his Iriſh Expedition: From whence he intercepted, did returne To be depos'd, and ſhortly murthered. Wor. And for whoſe death, we in the worlds wide mouth Liue ſcandaliz'd, and fouly ſpoken of. Hot. But ſoft I pray you; did King Richard then Proclaime my brother Mortimer, Heyre to the Crowne? Nor.

He did, my ſelfe did heare it.

 Hot. Nay then I cannot blame his Couſin King, That wiſh'd him on the barren Mountaines ſtaru'd. But ſhall it be, that you that ſet the Crowne Vpon the head of this forgetfull man, And for his ſake, wore the deteſted blot Of murtherous ſubornation? Shall it be, That you a world of curſes vndergoe, Being the Agents, or baſe ſecond meanes, The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather? O pardon, if that I deſcend ſo low, To ſhew the Line, and the Predicament Wherein you range vnder this ſubtill King. Shall it for ſhame, be ſpoken in theſe dayes, Or fill vp Chronicles in time to come, That men of your Nobility and Power, Did gage them both in an vniuſt behalfe (As Both of you, God pardon it, haue done) To put downe Richard, that ſweet louely Roſe, And plant this Thorne, this Canker Bullingbrooke? And ſhall it in more ſhame be further ſpoken, That you are fool'd, diſcarded, and ſhooke off By him, for whom theſe ſhames ye vnderwent? No: yet time ſerues, wherein you may redeeme Your baniſh'd Honors, and reſtore your ſelues Into the good Thoughts of the world againe. Reuenge the geering and diſdain'd contempt Of this proud King, who ſtudies day and night To anſwer all the Debt he owes vnto you, Euen with the bloody Payment of your deaths: Therefore I ſay— Wor. Peace Couſin, ſay no more. And now I will vnclaspe a Secret booke, And to your quicke conceyuing Diſcontents, Ile reade you Matter, deepe and dangerous, As full of perill and aduenturous Spirit, As to o're-walke a Current, roaring loud On the vnſtedfaſt footing of a Speare. Hot. If he fall in, good night, or ſinke or ſwimme: Send danger from the Eaſt vnto the Weſt, So Honor croſſe it from the North to South, And let them grapple: The blood more ſtirres To rowze a Lyon, then to ſtart a Hare. Nor. Imagination of ſome great exploit, Driues him beyond the bounds of Patience. Hot. By heauen, me thinkes it were an eaſie leap, To plucke bright Honor from the pale-fac'd Moone, Or diue into the bottome of the deepe, Where Fadome-line could neuer touch the ground, And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes: So he that doth redeeme her thence, might weare Without Co-riuall, all her Dignities: But out vpon this halfe-fac'd Fellowſhip. Wor. He apprehends a World of Figures here, But not the forme of what he ſhould attend: Good Couſin giue me audience for a-while, And liſt to me. Hot.

I cry you mercy.

 Wor. Thoſe ſame Noble Scottes That are your Priſoners. Hot. Ile keepe them all. By heauen, he ſhall not haue a Scot of them: No, if a Scot would ſaue his Soule, he ſhall not. Ile keepe them, by this Hand. Wor. You ſtart away, And lend no eare vnto my purpoſes. Thoſe Priſoners you ſhall keepe. Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat: He ſaid, he would not ranſome Mortimer: Forbad my tongue to ſpeake of Mortimer. But I will finde him when he lyes aſleepe, And in his eare, Ile holla Mortimer. Nay, Ile haue a Starling ſhall be taught to ſpeake Nothing but Mortimer, and giue it him, To keepe his anger ſtill in motion. Wor.

Heare you Couſin: a word.

 Hot. All ſtudies heere I ſolemnly defie, Saue how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrooke, And that ſame Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales. But that I thinke his Father loues him not, And would be glad he met with ſome miſchance, I would haue poyſon'd him with a pot of Ale. Wor. Farewell Kinſman: Ile talke to you When you are better temper'd to attend. Nor. Why what a Waſpe-tongu'd & impatient foole Art thou, to breake into this Womans mood, Tying thine eare to no tongue but thine owne? Hot. Why look you, I am whipt & ſcourg'd with rods, Netled, and ſtung with Piſmires, when I heare Of this vile Politician Bullingbrooke. In Richards time: What de'ye call the place? A plague vpon't, it is in Glouſterſhire: 'Twas, where the madcap Duke his Vncle kept, His Vncle Yorke, where I firſt bow'd my knee Vnto this King of Smiles, this Bullingbrooke: When you and he came backe from Rauenſpurgh. Nor.

At Barkley Caſtle.

 Hot. You ſay true: Why what a caudie deale of curteſie, This fawning Grey-hound then did proffer me. Looke when his infant Fortune came to age, And gentle Harry Percy, and kinde Couſin: O, the Diuell take ſuch Couzeners, God forgiue me, Good Vncle tell your tale, for I haue done. Wor. Nay, if you haue not, too't againe, Wee'l ſtay your leyſure. Hot.

I haue done inſooth.

 Wor. Then once more to your Scottiſh Priſoners. Deliuer them vp without their ranſome ſtraight, And make the Dowglas ſonne your onely meane For powres in Scotland: which for diuers reaſons Which I ſhall ſend you written, be aſſur'd Will eaſily be granted you, my Lord. Your Sonne in Scotland being thus imply'd, Shall ſecretly into the boſome creepe Of that ſame noble Prelate, well belou'd, The Archbiſhop. Hot.

Of Yorke, is't not?

 Wor. True, who beares hard His Brothers death at Briſtow, the Lord Scroope. I ſpeake not this in eſtimation, As what I thinke might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and ſet downe, And onely ſtayes but to behold the face Of that occaſion that ſhall bring it on. Hot. I ſmell it: Vpon my life, it will do wond'rous well. Nor.

Before the game's a-foot, thou ſtill let'ſt ſlip.

 Hot. Why, it cannot chooſe but be a Noble plot, And then the power of Scotland, and of Yorke To ioyne with Mortimer, Ha. Wor.

And ſo they ſhall.

 Hot.

Infaith it is exceedingly well aym'd.

 Wor. And 'tis no little reaſon bids vs ſpeed, To ſaue our heads, by raiſing of a Head: For, beare our ſelues as euen as we can, The King will alwayes thinke him in our debt, And thinke, we thinke our ſelues vnſatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay vs home. And ſee already, how he doth beginne To make vs ſtrangers to his lookes of loue. Hot.

He does, he does; wee'l be reueng'd on him.

 Wor. Couſin, farewell. No further go in this, Then I by Letters ſhall direct your courſe When time is ripe, which will be ſodainly: Ile ſteale to Glendower, and loe, Mortimer, Where you, and Dowglas, and our powres at once, As I will faſhion it, ſhall happily meete, To beare our fortunes in our owne ſtrong armes, Which now we hold at much vncertainty. Nor.

Farewell good Brother, we ſhall thriue, I truſt.

 Hot. Vncle, adieu: O let the houres be ſhort, Till fields, and blowes, and grones, applaud our ſport. exit
Actus Secundus.
Scena Prima. Enter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand. 1. Car.

Heigh-ho, an't be not foure by the day, Ile be hang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yet our horſe not packt. What Oſtler?

 Oſt.

Anon, anon.

 1. Car.

I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a few Flockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the withers, out of all ceſſe.

 Enter another Carrier. 2. Car.

Peaſe and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog, and this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes: This houſe is turned vpſide downe ſince Robin the Oſtler dyed.

 1. Car.

Poore fellow neuer ioy'd ſince the price of oats roſe, it was the death of him.

 2. Car.

I thinke this is the moſt villanous houſe in al London rode for Fleas: I am ſtung like a Tench.

 1. Car.

Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Chriſtendome, could be better bit, then I haue beene ſince the firſt Cocke.

 2. Car.

Why, you will allow vs ne're a Iourden, and then we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lye breeds Fleas like a Loach.

 1. Car.

What Oſtler, come away, and be hangd: come away.

 2. Car.

I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of Ginger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-croſſe.

 1. Car.

The Turkies in my Pannier are quite ſtarued. What Oſtler? A plague on thee, haſt thou neuer an eye in thy head? Can'ſt not heare? And t'were not as good a deed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Villaine. Come and be hang'd, haſt no faith in thee?

 Enter Gads-hill. Gad.

Good-morrow Carriers. What's a clocke?

 Car.

I thinke it be two a clocke.

 Gad.

I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to ſee my Gelding in the ſtable.

 1. Car.

Nay ſoft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two of that.

 Gad.

I prethee lend me thine.

 2. Car.

I, when, canſt tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne (quoth-a) marry Ile ſee thee hang'd firſt.

 Gad.

Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to come to London?

 2. Car.

Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, I warrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee'll call vp the Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they haue great charge.

Exeunt Enter Chamberlaine. Gad.

What ho, Chamberlaine?

 Cham.

At hand quoth Pick-purſe.

 Gad.

That's euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Chamberlaine: For thou varieſt no more from picking of Purſes, then giuing direction, doth from labouring. Thou lay'ſt the plot, how.

 Cham.

Good morrow Maſter Gads-Hill, it holds currant that I told you yeſternight. There's a Franklin in the wilde of Kent, hath brought three hundred Markes with him in Gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company laſt night at Supper; a kinde of Auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too (God knowes what) they are vp already, and call for Egges and Butter. They will away preſently.

 Gad. Sirra, if they meete not with S. Nicholas Clarks, Ile giue thee this necke. Cham.

No, Ile none of it: I prythee keep that for the Hangman, for I know thou worſhipſt S. Nicholas as truly as a man of falſhood may.

 Gad.

What talkeſt thou to me of the Hangman? If I hang, Ile make a fat payre of Gallowes. For, if I hang, old Sir Iohn hangs with mee, and thou know'ſt hee's no Starueling. Tut, there are other Troians that yu dream'ſt not of, the which (for ſport ſake) are content to doe the Profeſſion ſome grace; that would (if matters ſhould bee look'd into) for their owne Credit ſake, make all Whole. I am ioyned with no Foot-land-Rakers, no Long-ſtaffe ſix-penny ſtrikers, none of theſe mad Muſtachio-purplehu'd-Maltwormes, but with Nobility and Tranquilitie; Bourgomaſters, and great Oneyers, ſuch as can holde in, ſuch as will ſtrike ſooner then ſpeake; and ſpeake ſooner then drinke, and drinke ſooner then pray: and yet I lye, for they pray continually vnto their Saint the Commonwealth; or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her: for they tide vp & downe on her, and make hir their Boots.

 Cham.

What, the Commonwealth their Bootes? Will ſhe hold out water in foule way?

 Gad.

She will, ſhe will; Iuſtice hath liquor'd her. We ſteale as in a Caſtle, cockſure: we haue the receit of Fernſeede, we walke inuiſible.

 Cham.

Nay, I thinke rather, you are more beholding to the Night, then to the Fernſeed, for your walking inuiſible.

 Gad. Giue me thy hand. Thou ſhalt haue a ſhare in our purpoſe, As I am a true man. Cham.

Nay, rather let mee haue it, as you are a falſe Theefe.

 Gad.

Goe too: Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the Oſtler bring the Gelding out of the ſtable. Farewell ye muddy Knaue.

Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Prince, Poynes, and Peto. Poines.

Come ſhelter, ſhelter, I haue remoued Falſtafs Horſe, and he frets like a gum'd Veluet.

 Prin.

Stand cloſe.

 Enter Falſtaffe. Fal.

Poines, Poines, and be hang'd Poines.

Prin.

Peace ye fat-kidney'd Raſcall, what a brawling doſt thou keepe.

 Fal.

What Poines. Hal?

 Prin.

He is walk'd vp to the top of the hill, Ile go ſeek him.

 Fal.

I am accurſt to rob in that Theefe company: that Raſcall hath remoued my Horſe, and tied him I know not where. If I trauell but foure foot by the ſquire further a foote, I ſhall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but to dye a faire death for all this, if I ſcape hanging for killing that Rogue, I haue forſworne his company hourely any time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitcht with the Rogues company. If the Raſcall haue not giuen me medicines to make me loue him, Ile behang'd; it could not be elſe: I haue drunke Medicines. Poines, Hal, a Plague vpon you both. Bardolph, Peto: Ile ſtarue ere I rob a foote further. And 'twere not as good a deede as to drinke, to turne True-man, and to leaue theſe Rogues, I am the verieſt Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth. Eight yards of vneuen ground, is threeſcore & ten miles afoot with me: and the ſtony-hearted Villaines knowe it well enough. A plague vpon't, when Theeues cannot be true one to another.

They Whiſtle. Whew:

a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horſe you

 Rogues:

giue me my Horſe, and be hang'd.

 Prin.

Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eare cloſe to the ground, and liſt if thou can heare the tread of Trauellers.

 Fal.

Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again being downe? Ile not beare mine owne fleſh ſo far afoot again, for all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague meane ye to colt me thus?

 Prin.

Thou ly'ſt, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted.

 Fal.

I prethee good Prince Hal, help me to my horſe, good Kings ſonne.

 Prin.

Out you Rogue, ſhall I be your Oſtler?

 Fal.

Go hang thy ſelfe in thine owne heire-apparant-Garters: If I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue not Ballads made on all, and ſung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of Sacke be my poyſon: when a ieſt is ſo forward, & a foote too, I hate it.

 Enter Gads-hill. Gad.

Stand.

 Fal.

So I do againſt my will.

 Poin. O 'tis our Setter, I know his voyce: Bardolfe, what newes? Bar.

Caſe ye, caſe ye; on with your Vizards, there's mony of the Kings comming downe the hill, 'tis going to the Kings Exchequer.

 Fal.

You lie you rogue, 'tis going to the Kings Tauern.

 Gad.

There's enough to make vs all.

 Fal.

To he hang'd.

 Prin.

You foure ſhall front them in the narrow Lane: Ned and I, will walke lower; if they ſcape from your encounter, then they light on vs.

 Peto.

But how many be of them?

 Gad.

Some eight or ten.

 Fal.

Will they not rob vs?

 Prin.

What, a Coward Sir Iohn Paunch?

 Fal.

Indeed I am not Iohn of Gaunt your Grandfather; but yet no Coward, Hal.

Prin.

Wee'l leaue that to the proofe.

 Poin.

Sirra Iacke, thy horſe ſtands behinde the hedg, when thou need'ſt him, there thou ſhalt finde him. Farewell, and ſtand faſt.

 Fal.

Now cannot I ſtrike him, if I ſhould be hang'd.

 Prin.

Ned, where are our diſguiſes?

 Poin.

Heere hard by: Stand cloſe.

 Fal.

Now my Maſters, happy man be his dole, ſay I: euery man to his buſineſſe.

 Enter Trauellers. Tra.

Come Neighbor: the boy ſhall leade our Horſes downe the hill: Wee'l walke a-foot a while, and eaſe our Legges.

 Theeues.

Stay.

 Tra.

Ieſu bleſſe vs.

 Fal.

Strike▪ down with them, cut the villains throats; a whorſon Caterpillars: Bacon-fed Knaues, they hate vs youth; downe with them, fleece them.

 Tra.

O, we are vndone, both we and ours for euer.

 Fal.

Hang ye gorbellied knaues, are you vndone? No ye Fat Chuffes, I would your ſtore were heere. On Bacons on▪ what ye knaues? Yong men muſt liue, you are Grand Iurers, are ye? Wee'l iure ye ifaith.

 Heere they rob them, and binde them. Enter the Prince and Poines. Prin.

The Theeues haue bound the True-men: Now could thou and I rob the Theeues, and go merily to London, it would be argument for a Weeke, Laughter for a Moneth, and a good ieſt for euer.

 Poynes.

Stand cloſe, I heare them comming.

 Enter Theeues againe. Fal.

Come my Maſters, let vs ſhare, and then to horſſe before day: and the Prince and Poynes bee not two arrand Cowards, there's no equity ſtirring. There's no moe valour in that Poynes, than in a wilde Ducke.

 Prin.

Your money.

 Poin.

Villaines.

 As they are ſharing, the Prince and Poynes ſat vpon them. They all run away, leauing the booty behind them. Prince.

Got with much eaſe. Now merrily to Horſe: The Theeues are ſcattred, and poſſeſt with fear ſo ſtrongly, that they dare not meet each other: each takes his fellow for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falſtaffe ſweates to death, and Lards the leane earth as he walkes along wer't not for laughing, I ſhould pitty him.

 Poin.

How the Rogue roar'd.

Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Hotſpurre ſolus, reading a Letter.

But for mine owne part, my Lord, I could bee well contented to be there, in reſpect of the loue I beare your houſe.

He could be contented: Why is he not then? in reſpect of the loue he beares our houſe. He ſhewes in this, he loues his owne Barne better then he loues our houſe. Let me ſee ſome more. The purpoſe you vndertake is dangerous. Why that's certaine: 'Tis dangerous to take a Colde, to ſleepe, to drinke: but I tell you (my Lord foole) out of this Nettle, Danger; we plucke this Flower, Safety. The purpoſe you vndertake is dangerous, the Friends you haue named vncertaine, the Time it ſelfe vnſorted, and your whole Plot too light, for the counterpoize of ſo great an Oppoſition. Say you ſo, ſay you ſo: I ſay vnto you againe, you are a ſhallow cowardly Hinde, and you Lye. What a lacke-braine is this? I proteſt, our plot is as good a plot as euer was laid; our Friend true and conſtant: A good Plotte, good Friends, and full of expectation: An excellent plot, very good Friends. What a Froſty-ſpirited rogue is this? Why, my Lord of Yorke commends the plot, and the generall courſe of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this Raſcall, I could braine him with his Ladies Fan. Is there not my Father, my Vnckle, and my Selfe, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of Yorke, and Owen Glendour? Is there not beſides, the Dowglas? Haue I not all their letters, to meete me in Armes by the ninth of the next Moneth? and are they not ſome of them ſet forward already? What a Pagan Raſcall is this? An Infidell. Ha, you ſhall ſee now in very ſincerity of Feare and Cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could diuide my ſelfe, and go to buffets, for mouing ſuch a diſh of skim'd Milk with ſo honourable an Action. Hang him, let him tell the King we are prepared. I will ſet forwards to night.

Enter his Lady.

How now Kate, I muſt leaue you within theſe two hours.

 La. O my good Lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence haue I this fortnight bin A baniſh'd woman from my Harries bed? Tell me (ſweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee Thy ſtomacke, pleaſure, and thy golden ſleepe? Why doſt thou bend thine eyes vpon the earth? And ſtart ſo often when thou ſitt'ſt alone? Why haſt thou loſt the freſh blood in thy cheekes? And giuen my Treaſures and my rights of thee, To thicke-ey'd muſing, and curſt melancholly? In my faint-ſlumbers, I by thee haue watcht, And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres: Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed, Cry courage to the field. And thou haſt talk'd Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents, Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets, Of Baſiliskes, of Canon, Culuerin, Of Priſoners ranſome, and of Souldiers ſlaine, And all the current of a headdy fight. Thy ſpirit within thee hath beene ſo at Warre, And thus hath ſo beſtirr'd thee in thy ſleepe, That beds of ſweate hath ſtood vpon thy Brow, Like bubbles in a late-diſturbed Streame; And in thy face ſtrange motions haue appear'd, Such as we ſee when men reſtraine their breath On ſome great ſodaine haſt. O what portents are theſe? Some heauie buſineſſe hath my Lord in hand, And I muſt know it: elſe he loues me not. Hot.

What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone?

 Ser.

He is my Lord, an houre agone.

 Hot.

Hath Butler brought thoſe horſes frō the Sheriffe?

 Ser.

One horſe, my Lord, he brought euen now.

 Hot.

What Horſe? A Roane, a crop eare, is it not.

 Ser.

It is my Lord.

 Hot.

That Roane ſhall be my Throne. Well, I will backe him ſtraight. Eſperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Parke.

 La.

But heare you, my Lord.

 Hot.

What ſay'ſt thou my Lady?

 La.

What is it carries you away?

 Hot.

Why, my horſe (my Loue) my horſe.

 La.

Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazell hath not ſuch a deale of Spleene, as you are toſt with. In ſooth Ile know your buſineſſe Harry, that I will. I feare my Brother Mortimer doth ſtirre about his Title, and hath ſent for you to line his enterprize. But if you go—

 Hot.

So farre a foot, I ſhall be weary, Loue.

 La.

Come, come, you Paraquito, anſwer me directly vnto this queſtion, that I ſhall aske. Indeede Ile breake thy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tel me true.

 Hot. Away, away you trifler: Loue, I loue thee not, I care not for thee Kate: this is no world To play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips. We muſt haue bloodie Noſes, and crack'd Crownes, And paſſe them currant too. Gods me, my horſe. What ſay'ſt thou Kate? what wold'ſt thou haue with me? La. Do ye not loue me? Do ye not indeed? Well, do not then. For ſince you loue me not, I will not loue my ſelfe. Do you not loue me? Nay, tell me if thou ſpeak'ſt in ieſt, or no. Hot. Come, wilt thou ſee me ride? And when I am a horſebacke, I will ſweare I loue thee infinitely. But hearke you Kate, I muſt not haue you henceforth, queſtion me, Whether I go: nor reaſon whereabout. Whether I muſt, I muſt: and to conclude, This Euening muſt I leaue thee, gentle Kate. I know you wiſe, but yet no further wiſe Then Harry Percies wife. Conſtant you are, But yet a woman: and for ſecrecie, No Lady cloſer. For I will beleeue Thou wilt not vtter what thou do'ſt not know, And ſo farre wilt I truſt thee, gentle Kate. La.

How ſo farre?

 Hot. Not an inch further. But harke you Kate, Whither I go, thither ſhall you go too: To day will I ſet forth, to morrow you. Will this content you Kate? La.

It muſt of force.

Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Prince and Poines. Prin.

Ned, prethee come out of that fat roome, & lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

 Poines.

Where haſt bene Hall?

 Prin.

With three or foure Logger-heads, amongſt 3. or foureſcore Hogſheads. I haue ſounded the verie baſe ſtring of humility. Sirra, I am ſworn brother to a leaſh of Drawers, and can call them by their names, as Tom, Dicke, and Francis. They take it already vpon their confidence, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of Curteſie: telling me flatly I am no proud lack like Falſtaffe, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, and when I am King of England, I ſhall command al the good Laddes in Eaſt-cheape. They call drinking deepe, dying Scarlet; and when you breath in your watering, then they try hem, and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am ſo good a proficient in one quarter of an houre, that I can drinke with any Tinker in his owne Language during my life. I tell thee Ned, thou haſt loſt much honor, that thou wer't not with me in this action: but ſweet Ned, to ſweeten which name of Ned, I giue thee this peniworth of Sugar, clapt euen now into my hand by an vnder Skinker, one that neuer ſpake other Engliſh in his life, then Eight ſhillings and ſix pence, and, You are welcome: with this ſhril addition, Anon, Anon ſir, Score a Pint of Baſtard in the Halfe Moone, or ſo. But Ned, to driue away time till Falſtaffe come, I prythee doe thou ſtand in ſome by-roome, while I queſtion my puny Drawer, to what end hee gaue me the Sugar, and do neuer leaue calling Francis, that his Tale to me may be nothing but, Anon: ſtep aſide, and Ile ſhew thee a Preſident.

 Poines.

Francis.

Prin.

Thou art perfect.

 Poin.

Francis.

Enter Drawer. Fran.

Anon, anon ſir; looke downe into the Pomgarnet, Ralfe.

Prince.

Come hither Francis.

Fran.

My Lord.

 Prin.

How long haſt thou to ſerue, Francis?

 Fran.

Forſooth fiue yeares, and as much as to—

 Poin.

Francis.

 Fran.

Anon, anon ſir.

 Prin.

Fiue yeares: Betlady a long Leaſe for the clinking of Pewter. But Francis, dareſt thou be ſo valiant, as to play the coward with thy Indenture, & ſhew it a faire paire of heeles, and run from it?

 Fran.

O Lord ſir, Ile be ſworne vpon all the Books in England, I could finde in my heart.

 Poin.

Francis.

 Fran.

Anon, anon ſir.

 Prin.

How old art thou, Francis?

 Fran.

Let me ſee, about Michaelmas next I ſhalbe—

 Poin.

Francis.

 Fran.

Anon ſir, pray you ſtay a little, my Lord.

 Prin.

Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thou gaueſt me, 'twas a penyworth, was't not?

 Fran.

O Lord ſir, I would it had bene two.

 Prin.

I will giue thee for it a thouſand pound: Aske me when thou wilt, and thou ſhalt haue it.

 Poin.

Francis.

 Fran.

Anon, anon.

 Prin.

Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Francis, on thurſday: or indeed Francis when thou wilt. But Francis.

 Fran.

My Lord.

 Prin.

Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Chriſtall button, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke ſtocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spaniſh pouch.

 Fran.

O Lord ſir, who do you meane?

 Prin.

Why then your browne Baſtard is your onely drinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canuas doublet will ſulley. In Barbary ſir, it cannot come to ſo much.

 Fran.

What ſir?

 Poin.

Francis.

 Prin. Away you Rogue, doſt thou heare them call? Heere they both call him, the Drawer ſtands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter Ʋintner. Vint.

What, ſtand'ſt thou ſtill, and hear'ſt ſuch a calling? Looke to the Gueſts within. My Lord, olde Sir Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore: ſhall I let them in?

 Prin.

Let them alone awhile, and then open the doore. Poines.

Enter Poines. Poin.

Anon, anon ſir.

 Prin.

Sirra, Falſtaffe and the reſt of the Theeues, are at the doore, ſhall we be merry?

 Poin.

As merrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee, What cunning match haue you made with this ieſt of the Drawer? Come, what's the iſſue?

 Prin.

I am now of all humors, that haue ſhewed themſelues humors, ſince the old dayes of goodman Adam, to the pupill age of this preſent twelue a clock at midnight. What's a clocke Francis?

 Fran.

Anon, anon ſir.

 Prin.

That euer this Fellow ſhould haue fewer words then a Parret, and yet the ſonne of a Woman. His induſtry is vp-ſtaires and down-ſtaires, his eloquence the parcell of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hotſpurre of the North, he that killes me ſome ſixe or ſeauen dozen of Scots at a Breakfaſt, waſhes his hands, and ſaies to his wife; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my ſweet Harry ſayes ſhe, how many haſt thou kill'd to day? Giue my Roane horſe a drench (ſayes hee) and anſweres, ſome fourteene, an houre after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee call in Falſtaffe, Ile play Percy, and that damn'd Brawne ſhall play Dame Mortimer his wife. Rino, ſayes the drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.

 Enter Falſtaffe. Poin.

Welcome Iacke, where haſt thou beene?

 Fal.

A plague of all Cowards I ſay, and a Vengeance too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Ere I leade this life long, Ile ſowe nether ſtockes, and mend them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a Cup of Sacke, Rogue. Is there no Vertue extant?

 Prin.

Didſt thou neuer ſee Titan kiſſe a diſh of Butter, pittifull hearted Titan that melted at the ſweete Tale of the Sunne? If thou didſt, then behold that compound.

 Fal.

You Rogue, heere's Lime in this Sacke too: there is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yet a Coward is worſe then a Cup of Sack with lime. A villanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon the face of the earth, then am I a ſhotten Herring: there lines not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of them is fat, and growes old, God helpe the while, a bad world I ſay. I would I were a Weauer, I could ſing all manner of ſongs. A plague of all Cowards, I ſay ſtill.

 Prin.

How now Woolſacke, what mutter you?

 Fal.

A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thy Kingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Subiects afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geeſe, Ile neuer weare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales?

 Prin.

Why you horſon round man? what's the matter?

 Fal.

Are you not a Coward? Anſwer me to that, and Poines there?

 Prin.

Ye fatch paunch, and yee call mee Coward, Ile ſtab thee.

 Fal.

I call thee Coward? Ile ſee thee damn'd ere I call the Coward: but I would giue a thouſand pound I could run as faſt as thou canſt. You are ſtraight enough in the ſhoulders, you care not who ſees your backe: Call you that backing of your friends? a plague vpon ſuch backing: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a Cup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day.

 Prince.

O Villaine, thy Lippes are ſcarce wip'd, ſince thou drunk'ſt laſt.

 Falſt. All's one for that. He drinkes. A plague of all Cowards ſtill, ſay I. Prince.

What's the matter?

 Falſt.

What's the matter? here be foure of vs, haue ta'ne a thouſand pound this Morning.

 Prince.

Where is it, Iack? where is it?

 Falſt.

Where is it? taken from vs, it is: a hundred vpon poore foure of vs.

 Prince.

What, a hundred, man?

 Falst.

I am a Rogue, if I were not at halfe Sword with a dozen of them two houres together. I haue ſcaped by miracle. I am eight times thruſt through the Doublet, foure through the Hoſe, my Buckler cut through and through, my Sword hackt like a Hand-ſaw, ecce ſignum. I neuer dealt better ſince I was a man: all would not doe. A plague of all Cowards: let them ſpeake; if they ſpeake more or leſſe then truth, they are villaines, and the ſonnes of darkneſſe.

 Prince.

Speake ſirs, how was it?

 Gad.

We foure ſet vpon ſome dozen.

 Falſt.

Sixteene, at leaſt, my Lord.

 Gad.

And bound them.

 Peto.

No, no, they were not bound.

 Falſt.

You Rogue, they were bound, euery man of them, or I am a Iew elſe, an Ebrew Iew.

 Gad.

As we were ſharing, ſome ſixe or ſeuen freſh men ſet vpon vs.

 Falſt.

And vnbound the reſt, and then come in the other.

 Prince.

What, fought yee with them all?

 Falſt.

All? I know not what yee call all: but if I fought not with fiftie of them, I am a bunch of Radiſh: if there were not two or three and fiftie vpon poore olde Iack, then am I no two-legg'd Creature.

 Poin.

Pray Heauen, you haue not murthered ſome of them.

 Falſt.

Nay, that's paſt praying for, I haue pepper'd two of them: Two I am ſure I haue payed, two Rogues in Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a Lye, ſpit in my face, call me Horſe: thou knoweſt my olde word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; foure Rogues in Buckrom let driue at me.

 Prince.

What, foure? thou ſayd'ſt but two, euen now.

 Falſt.

Foure Hal, I told thee foure.

 Poin.

I, I, he ſaid foure.

 Falſt.

Theſe foure came all a-front, and mainely thruſt at me; I made no more adoe, but tooke all their ſeuen points in my Targuet, thus.

 Prince.

Seuen? why there were but foure, euen now.

 Falſt.

In Buckrom.

 Poin.

I, foure, in Buckrom Sutes.

 Falſt.

Seuen, by theſe Hilts, or I am a Villaine elſe.

 Prin.

Prethee let him alone, we ſhall haue more anon.

 Falſt.

Doeſt thou heare me, Hal?

Prin.

I, and marke thee too, Iack.

Falſt.

Doe ſo, for it is worth the liſtning too: theſe nine in Buckrom, that I told thee of.

 Prin.

So, two more alreadie.

 Falſt.

Their Points being broken.

 Poin.

Downe fell his Hoſe.

 Falſt.

Began to giue me ground: but I followed me cloſe, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, ſeuen of the eleuen I pay'd.

 Prin.

O monſtrous! eleuen Buckrom men growne out of two?

 Falſt.

But as the Deuill would haue it, three miſ-begotten Knaues, in Kendall Greene, came at my Back, and let driue at me; for it was ſo darke, Hal, that thou could'ſt not ſee thy Hand.

 Prin.

Theſe Lyes are like the Father that begets them, groſſe as a Mountaine, open, palpable. Why thou Clay-brayn'd Guts, thou Knotty-pated Foole, thou Horſon obſcene greaſie Tallow Catch.

 Falſt.

What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?

 Prin.

Why, how could'ſt thou know theſe men in Kendall Greene, when it was ſo darke, thou could'ſt not ſee thy Hand? Come, tell vs your reaſon: what ſay'ſt thou to this?

 Poin.

Come, your reaſon Iack, your reaſon.

 Falſt.

What, vpon compulſion? No: were I at the Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would not tell you on compulſion. Giue you a reaſon on compulſion? If Reaſons were as plentie as Black-berries, I would giue no man a Reaſon vpon compulſion, I.

 Prin.

Ile be no longer guiltie of this ſinne. This ſanguine Coward, this Bed-preſſer, this Horſ-back-breaker, this huge Hill of Fleſh.

 Falſt.

Away you Starueling, you Elfe-skin, you dried Neats tongue, Bulles-piſſell, you ſtocke-fiſh: O for breth to vtter. What is like thee? You Tailors yard, you ſheath you Bow-caſe, you vile ſtanding tucke.

 Prin.

Well, breath a-while, and then to't againe: and when thou haſt tyr'd thy ſelfe in baſe compariſons, heare me ſpeake but thus.

 Poin.

Marke Iacke.

 Prin.

We two, ſaw you foure ſet on foure and bound them, and were Maſters of their Wealth: mark now how a plaine Tale ſhall put you downe. Then did we two, ſet on you foure, and with a word, outfac'd you from your prize, and haue it: yea, and can ſhew it you in the Houſe. And Falſtaffe, you caried your Guts away as nimbly, with as quicke dexteritie, and roared for mercy, and ſtill ranne and roar'd, as euer I heard Bull-Calfe. What a Slaue art thou, to hacke thy ſword as thou haſt done, and then ſay it was in fight. What trick? what deuices? what ſtarting hole canſt thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparant ſhame?

 Poines.

Come, let's heare Iacke: What tricke haſt thou now?

 Fal.

I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why heare ye my Maſters, was it for me to kill the Heire apparant? Should I turne vpon the true Prince? Why, thou knoweſt I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware Inſtinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: Inſtinct is a great matter. I was a Coward on Inſtinct: I ſhall thinke the better of my ſelfe, and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you haue the Mony. Hoſteſſe, clap to the doores: watch to night, pray to morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boyes, Harts of Gold, all the good Titles of Fellowſhip come to you. What, ſhall we be merry? ſhall we haue a Play extempory.

 Prin.

Content, and the argument ſhall be, thy runing away.

 Fal.

A, no more of that Hall, and thou loueſt me.

 Enter Hoſteſſe. Hoſt.

My Lord, the Prince?

 Prin.

How now my Lady the Hoſteſſe, what ſay'ſt thou to me?

 Hoſteſſe.

Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble man of the Court at doore would ſpeake with you: hee ſayes, hee comes from your Father.

 Prin.

Giue him as much as will make him a Royall man▪ and ſend him backe againe to my Mother.

 Falſt.

What manner of man is hee?

 Hoſteſſe.

An old man.

 Falst. What doth Grauitie out of his Bed at Midnight? Shall I giue him his anſwere? Prin.

Prethee doe Iacke.

Falſt.

'Faith, and Ile ſend him packing.

Exit. Prince.

Now Sirs: you fought faire; ſo did you Peto, ſo did you Bardol: you are Lyons too, you ranne away vpon inſtinct: you will not touch the true Prince; no, fie.

 Bard.

'Faith, I ranne when I ſaw others runne.

 Prin.

Tell mee now in earneſt, how came Falſtaffes Sword ſo hackt?

 Peto.

Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and ſaid, hee would ſweare truth out of England, but hee would make you beleeue it was done in fight, and perſwaded vs to doe the like.

 Bard.

Yea, and to tickle our Noſes with Spear-graſſe, to make them bleed, and then to beſlubber our garments with it, and ſweare it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this ſeuen yeeres before, I bluſht to heare his monſtrous deuices.

 Prin.

O Villaine, thou ſtoleſt a Cup of Sacke eighteene yeeres agoe, and wert taken with the manner, and euer ſince thou haſt bluſht extempore: thou hadſt fire and ſword on thy ſide, and yet thou ranſt away; what inſtinct hadſt thou for it?

 Bard.

My Lord, doe you ſee theſe Meteors? doe you behold theſe Exhalations?

 Prin.

I doe.

 Bard.

What thinke you they portend?

 Prin.

Hot Liuers, and cold Purſes.

 Bard.

Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.

 Prin.

No, if rightly taken, Halter.

Enter Falſtaffe.

Heere comes leane Iacke, heere comes bare-bone. How now my ſweet Creature of Bombaſt, how long is't agoe, Iacke, ſince thou ſaw'ſt thine owne Knee?

 Falſt.

My owne Knee? When I was about thy yeeres (Hal) I was not an Eagles Talent in the Waſte, I could haue crept into any Aldermans Thumbe-Ring: a plague of ſighing and griefe, it blowes a man vp like a Bladder. There's villanous Newes abroad: heere was Sir Iohn Braby from your Father; you muſt goe to the Court in the Morning. The ſame mad fellow of the North, Percy; and hee of Wales, that gaue Amamon the Baſtinado, and made Lucifer Cuckold, and ſwore the Deuill his true Liege-man vpon the Croſſe of a Welch-hooke; what a plague call you him?

 Poin.

O, Glendower.

Falſt.

Owen, Owen; the ſame, and his Sonne in Law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the ſprightly Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runnes a Horſe-backe vp a Hill perpendicular.

 Prin.

Hee that rides at high ſpeede, and with a Piſtoll kills a Sparrow flying.

 Falſt.

You haue hit it.

 Prin.

So did he neuer the Sparrow.

 Falſt.

Well, that Raſcall hath good mettall in him, hee will not runne.

 Prin.

Why, what a Raſcall art thou then, to prayſe him ſo for running?

 Falſt.

A Horſe-backe (ye Cuckoe) but a foot hee will not budge a foot.

 Prin.

Yes Iacke, vpon inſtinct.

 Falſt.

I grant ye, vpon inſtinct: Well, hee is there too, and one Mordake, and a thouſand blew-Cappes more. Worceſter is ſtolne away by Night: thy Fathers Beard is turn'd white with the Newes; you may buy Land now as cheape as ſtinking Mackrell.

 Prin.

Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sunne, and this ciuill buffetting hold, wee ſhall buy Maiden-heads as they buy Hob-nayles, by the Hundreds.

 Falſt.

By the Maſſe Lad, thou ſay'ſt true, it is like wee ſhall haue good trading that way. But tell me Hal, art not thou horrible afear'd? thou being Heire apparant, could the World picke thee out three ſuch Enemyes againe, as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that Deuill Glendower? Art not thou horrible afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it?

 Prin.

Not a whit: I lacke ſome of thy inſtinct.

 Falſt.

Well, thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow, when thou commeſt to thy Father: if thou doe loue me, practiſe an anſwere.

 Prin.

Doe thou ſtand for my Father, and examine mee vpon the particulars of my Life.

 Falſt.

Shall I? content: This Chayre ſhall bee my State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cuſhion my Crowne.

 Prin.

Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd-Stoole, thy Golden Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne.

 Falst.

Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee now ſhalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought I haue wept, for I muſt ſpeake in paſſion, and I will doe it in King Cambyſes vaine.

 Prin.

Well, heere is my Legge.

 Falst.

And heere is my ſpeech: ſtand aſide Nobilitie.

 Foſteſſe.

This is excellent ſport, yfaith.

 Falſt.

Weepe not, ſweet Queene, for trickling teares are vaine.

 Hoſteſſe.

O the Father, how hee holdes his countenance?

 Falſt. For Gods ſake Lords, conuey my truſtfull Queen, For teares doe ſtop the floud-gates of her eyes. Hoſteſſe.

O rare, he doth it as like one of theſe harlotry Players, as euer I ſee.

 Falſt.

Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine. Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou ſpendeſt thy time; but alſo, how thou art accompanied: For though the Camomile, the more it is troden, the faſter it growes; yet Youth, the more it is waſted, the ſooner it weares. Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word, partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke of thine Eye, and a fooliſh hanging of thy nether Lippe, that doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heere lyeth the point: why, being Sonne to me, art thou ſo poynted at? Shall the bleſſed Sonne of Heauen proue a Micher, and eate Black-berryes? a queſtion not to bee askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, and take Purſes? a queſtion to be askt. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haſt often heard of, and it is knowne to many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (as ancient Writers doe report) doth defile; ſo doth the companie thou keepeſt: for Harry, now I doe not ſpeake to thee in Drinke, but in Teares; not in Pleaſure, but in Paſſion; not in Words onely, but in Woes alſo: and yet there is a vertuous man, whom I haue often noted in thy companie, but I know not his Name.

 Prin.

What manner of man, and it like your Maieſtie?

 Falſt.

A goodly portly man yfaith, and a corpulent, of a chearefull Looke, a pleaſing Eye, and a moſt noble Carriage, and as I thinke, his age ſome fiftie, or (byrlady) inclining to threeſcore; and now I remember mee, his Name is Falſtaffe: if that man ſhould be lewdly giuen, hee deceiues mee; for Harry, I ſee Vertue in his Lookes. If then the Tree may be knowne by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I ſpeake it, there is Vertue in that Falſtaffe: him keepe with, the reſt baniſh. And tell mee now, thou naughtie Varlet, tell mee, where haſt thou beene this moneth?

 Prin.

Do'ſt thou ſpeake like a King? doe thou ſtand for mee, and Ile play my Father.

 Falst.

Depoſe me: if thou do'ſt it halfe ſo grauely, ſo maieſtically, both in word and matter, hang me vp by the heeles for a Rabbet-ſucker, or a Poulters Hare.

 Prin.

Well, heere I am ſet.

 Falſt.

And heere I ſtand: iudge my Maſters.

 Prin.

Now Harry, whence come you?

 Falſt.

My Noble Lord, from Eaſt-cheape.

 Prin.

The complaints I heare of thee, are grieuous.

 Falst.

Yfaith, my Lord, they are falſe: Nay, Ile tickle ye for a young Prince.

 Prin.

Sweareſt thou, vngracious Boy? henceforth ne're looke on me: thou art violently carryed away from Grace: there is a Deuill haunts thee, in the likeneſſe of a fat old Man; a Tunne of Man is thy Companion: Why do'ſt thou conuerſe with that Trunke of Humors, that Boulting-Hutch of Beaſtlineſſe, that ſwolne Parcell of Dropſies, that huge Bombard of Sacke, that ſtuft Cloake-bagge of Guts, that roſted Manning Tree Oxe with the Pudding in his Belly, that reuerend Vice, that grey Iniquitie, that Father Ruffian, that Vanitie in yeeres? wherein is he good, but to taſte Sacke, and drinke it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carue a Capon, and eat it? wherein Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Craftie, but in Villanie? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

 Falst.

I would your Grace would take me with you: whom meanes your Grace?

 Prince.

That villanous abhominable mis-leader of Youth, Falstaffe, that old white-bearded Sathan.

 Falst.

My Lord, the man I know.

 Prince.

I know thou do'ſt.

 Falst.

But to ſay, I know more harme in him then in my ſelfe, were to ſay more then I know. That hee is olde (the more the pittie) his white hayres doe witneſſe it: but that hee is (ſauing your reuerence) a Whore-maſter, that I vtterly deny. If Sacke and Sugar bee a fault, Heauen helpe the Wicked: if to be olde and merry, be a ſinne, then many an olde Hoſte that I know, is damn'd: if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaohs leane Kine are to be loued. No, my good Lord, baniſh Peto, baniſh Bardolph, baniſh Poines: but for ſweete Iacke Falstaffe, kinde Iacke Falstaffe, true Iacke Falstaffe, valiant Iacke Falſtaffe, and therefore more valiant, being as hee is olde Iack Falstaffe, baniſh not him thy Harryes companie, baniſh not him thy Harryes companie; baniſh plumpe Iacke, and baniſh all the World.

 Prince.

I doe, I will.

 Enter Bardolph running. Bard.

O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sherife, with a moſt moſt monſtrous Watch, is at the doore.

 Falſt.

Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I haue much to ſay in the behalfe of that Falſtaffe.

Enter the Hoſteſſe. Hosteſſe.

O, my Lord, my Lord.

 Falſt.

Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddle-ſticke: what's the matter?

 Hoſteſſe.

The Sherife and all the Watch are at the doore: they are come to ſearch the Houſe, ſhall I let them in?

 Falſt.

Do'ſt thou heare Hal, neuer call a true peece of Gold a Counterfeit: thou art eſſentially made, without ſeeming ſo.

 Prince.

And thou a naturall Coward, without inſtinct.

 Falſt.

I deny your Maior: if you will deny the Sherife, ſo: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing vp: I hope I ſhall as ſoone be ſtrangled with a Halter, as another.

 Prince.

Goe hide thee behinde the Arras, the reſt walke vp aboue. Now my Maſters, for a true Face and good Conſcience.

 Falſt.

Both which I haue had: but their date is out, and therefore Ile hide me.

Exit. Prince.

Call in the Sherife.

 Enter Sherife and the Carrier. Prince.

Now Maſter Sherife, what is your will with mee?

 She.

Firſt pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath followed certaine men vnto this houſe.

 Prince.

What men?

 She.

One of them is well knowne, my gracious Lord, a groſſe fat man.

 Car.

As fat as Butter.

 Prince. The man, I doe aſſure you, is not heere, For I my ſelfe at this time haue imploy'd him: And Sherife, I will engage my word to thee, That I will by to morrow Dinner time, Send him to anſwere thee, or any man, For any thing he ſhall be charg'd withall: And ſo let me entreat you, leaue the houſe. She. I will, my Lord: there are two Gentlemen Haue in this Robberie loſt three hundred Markes. Prince. It may be ſo: if he haue robb'd theſe men, He ſhall be anſwerable: and ſo farewell. She.

Good Night, my Noble Lord.

 Prince.

I thinke it is good Morrow, is it not?

 She.

Indeede, my Lord, I thinke it be two a Clocke.

Exit. Prince.

This oyly Raſcall is knowne as well as Poules: goe call him forth.

 Peto.

Falſtaffe? faſt aſleepe behinde the Arras, and ſnorting like a Horſe.

 Prince.

Harke, how hard he fetches breath: ſearch his Pockets.

 He ſearcheth his Pockets, and findeth certaine Papers. Prince.

What haſt thou found?

 Peto.

Nothing but Papers, my Lord.

 Prince.

Let's ſee, what be they? reade them.

 Peto. Item, a Capon. ii.s.ii.d. Item, Sawce. iiii.d. Item, Sacke, two Gallons. v.s.viii.d. Item, Anchoues and Sacke after Supper. ii.s.vi.d. Item, Bread. ob. Prince.

O monſtrous, but one halfe penny-worth of Bread to this intollerable deale of Sacke? What there is elſe, keepe cloſe, wee'le reade it at more aduantage: there let him ſleepe till day. Ile to the Court in the Morning: Wee muſt all to the Warres, and thy place ſhall be honorable. Ile procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot, and I know his death will be a Match of Twelue-ſcore. The Money ſhall be pay'd backe againe with aduantage. Be with me betimes in the Morning: and ſo good morrow Peto.

Peto.

Good morrow, good my Lord.

Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter Hotſpurre, Worceſter, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower. Mort. Theſe promiſes are faire, the parties ſure, And our induction full of proſperous hope. Hotſp. Lord Mortimer, and Couſin Glendower, Will you ſit downe? And Vnckle Worceſter; a plague vpon it, I haue forgot the Mappe. Glend. No, here it is: Sit Couſin Percy, ſit good Couſin Hotſpurre: For by that Name, as oft as Lancaſter doth ſpeake of you, His Cheekes looke pale, and with a riſing ſigh, He wiſheth you in Heauen. Hotſp.

And you in Hell, as oft as he heares Owen Glendower ſpoke of.

 Glend. I cannot blame him: At my Natiuitie, The front of Heauen was full of fierie ſhapes, Of burning Creſſets: and at my Birth, The frame and foundation of the Earth Shak'd like a Coward. Hotſp.

Why ſo it would haue done at the ſame ſeaſon, if your Mothers Cat had but kitten'd, though your ſelfe had neuer beene borne.

 Glend.

I ſay the Earth did ſhake when I was borne.

 Hotſp. And I ſay the Earth was not of my minde, If you ſuppoſe, as fearing you, it ſhooke. Glend.

The Heauens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble.

 Hotſp. Oh, then the Earth ſhooke To ſee the Heauens on fire, And not in feare of your Natiuitie. Diſeaſed Nature oftentimes breakes forth In ſtrange eruptions; and the teeming Earth Is with a kinde of Collick pincht and vext, By the impriſoning of vnruly Winde Within her Wombe: which for enlargement ſtriuing, Shakes the old Beldame Earth, and tombles downe Steeples, and moſſe-growne Towers. At your Birth, Our Grandam Earth, hauing this diſtemperature, In paſſion ſhooke. Glend. Couſin: of many men I doe not beare theſe Croſſings: Giue me leaue To tell you once againe, that at my Birth The front of Heauen was full of fierie ſhapes, The Goates ranne from the Mountaines, and the Heards Were ſtrangely clamorous to the frighted fields: Theſe ſignes haue markt me extraordinarie, And all the courſes of my Life doe ſhew, I am not in the Roll of common men. Where is the Liuing, clipt in with the Sea, That chides the Bankes of England, Scotland, and Wales, Which calls me Pupill, or hath read to me? And bring him out, that is but Womans Sonne, Can trace me in the tedious wayes of Art, And hold me pace in deepe experiments. Hotſp. I thinke there's no man ſpeakes better Welſh: Ile to Dinner. Mort.

Peace Couſin Percy, you will make him mad.

 Glend.

I can call Spirits from the vaſtie Deepe.

 Hotſp. Why ſo can I, or ſo can any man: But will they come, when you doe call for them? Glend.

Why, I can teach thee, Couſin, to command the Deuill.

 Hotſp. And I can teach thee, Couſin, to ſhame the Deuil, By telling truth. Tell truth, and ſhame the Deuill. If thou haue power to rayſe him, bring him hither, And Ile be ſworne, I haue power to ſhame him hence. Oh, while you liue, tell truth, and ſhame the Deuill. Mort.

Come, come, no more of this vnprofitable Chat.

 Glend. Three times hath Henry Bullingbrooke made head Againſt my Power: thrice from the Banks of Wye, And ſandy-bottom'd Seuerne, haue I hent him Bootleſſe home, and Weather-beaten backe. Hotſp. Home without Bootes, And in foule Weather too, How ſcapes he Agues in the Deuils name? Glend. Come, heere's the Mappe: Shall wee diuide our Right, According to our three-fold order-ta'ne? Mort. The Arch-Deacon hath diuided it Into three Limits, very equally: England, from Trent, and Seuerne hitherto, By South and Eaſt, is to my part aſſign'd: All Weſtward, Wales, beyond the Seuerne ſhore, And all the fertile Land within that bound, To Owen Glendower: And deare Couze, to you The remnant Northward, lying off from Trent. And our Indentures Tripartite are drawne: Which being ſealed enterchangeably, (A Buſineſſe that this Night may execute) To morrow, Couſin Percy, you and I, And my good Lord of Worceſter, will ſet forth, To meete your Father, and the Scottiſh Power, As is appointed vs at Shrewsbury. My Father Glendower is not readie yet, Nor ſhall wee neede his helpe theſe foureteene dayes: Within that ſpace, you may haue drawne together Your Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen. Glend. A ſhorter time ſhall ſend me to you, Lords: And in my Conduct ſhall your Ladies come, From whom you now muſt ſteale, and take no leaue, For there will be a World of Water ſhed, Vpon the parting of your Wiues and you. Hotſp. Me thinks my Moity, North from Burton here, In quantitie equals not one of yours: See, how this Riuer comes me cranking in, And cuts me from the beſt of all my Land, A huge halfe Moone, a monſtrous Cantle out. Ile haue the Currant in this place damn'd vp, And here the ſmug and Siluer Trent ſhall runne, In a new Channell, faire and euenly: It ſhall not winde with ſuch a deepe indent, To rob me of ſo rich a Bottome here. Glend.

Not winde? it ſhall, it muſt, you ſee it doth.

 Mort. Yea, but marke how he beares his courſe, And runnes me vp, with like aduantage on the other ſide, Gelding the oppoſed Continent as much, As on the other ſide it takes from you. Worc. Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here, And on this North ſide winne this Cape of Land, And then he runnes ſtraight and euen. Hotſp.

Ile haue it ſo, a little Charge will doe it.

 Glend.

Ile not haue it alter'd.

 Hotſp.

Will not you?

 Glend.

No, nor you ſhall not.

 Hotſp.

Who ſhall ſay me nay?

 Glend.

Why, that will I.

 Hotſp.

Let me not vnderſtand you then, ſpeake it in Welſh.

 Glend. I can ſpeake Engliſh, Lord, as well as you: For I was trayn'd vp in the Engliſh Court; Where, being but young, I framed to the Harpe Many an Engliſh Dittie, louely well, And gaue the Tongue a helpefull Ornament; A Vertue that was neuer ſeene in you. Hotſp. Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart, I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Then one of theſe ſame Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candleſtick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would ſet my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing ſo much, as mincing Poetrie; 'Tis like the forc't gate of a ſhuffling Nagge. Glend.

Come, you ſhall haue Trent turn'd.

 Hotſp. I doe not care: Ile giue thrice ſo much Land To any well-deſeruing friend; But in the way of Bargaine, marke ye me, Ile cauill on the ninth part of a hayre. Are the Indentures drawne? ſhall we be gone? Glend. The Moone ſhines faire, You may away by Night: Ile haſte the Writer; and withall, Breake with your Wiues, of your departure hence: I am afraid my Daughter will runne madde, So much ſhe doteth on her Mortimer. Exit. Mort.

Fie, Couſin Percy, how you croſſe my Father.

 Hotſp. I cannot chuſe: ſometime he angers me, With telling me of the Moldwarpe and the Ant, Of the Dreamer Merlin, and his Prophecies; And of a Dragon, and a finne-leſſe Fiſh, A clip-wing'd Griffin, and a moulten Rauen, A couching Lyon, and a ramping Cat, And ſuch a deale of skimble-skamble Stuffe, As puts me from my Faith. I tell you what, He held me laſt Night, at leaſt, nine howres, In reckning vp the ſeuerall Deuils Names, That were his Lacqueyes: I cry'd hum, and well, goe too, But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious As a tyred Horſe, a rayling Wife, Worſe then a ſmoakie Houſe. I had rather liue With Cheeſe and Garlick in a Windmill farre, Then feede on Cates, and haue him talke to me, In any Summer-Houſe in Chriſtendome. Mort. In faith he was a worthy Gentleman, Exceeding well read, and profited, In ſtrange Concealements: Valiant as a Lyon, and wondrous affable, And as bountifull, as Mynes of India. Shall I tell you, Couſin, He holds your temper in a high reſpect, And curbes himſelfe, euen of his naturall ſcope, When you doe croſſe his humor: 'faith he does. I warrant you, that man is not aliue, Might ſo haue tempted him, as you haue done, Without the taſte of danger, and reproofe: But doe not vſe it oft, let me entreat you. Worc. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame, And ſince your comming hither, haue done enough, To put him quite beſides his patience. You muſt needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault: Though ſometimes it ſhew Greatneſſe, Courage, Blood, And that's the deareſt grace it renders you; Yet oftentimes it doth preſent harſh Rage, Defect of Manners, want of Gouernment, Pride, Haughtineſſe, Opinion, and Diſdaine: The leaſt of which, haunting a Nobleman, Loſeth mens hearts, and leaues behinde a ſtayne Vpon the beautie of all parts beſides, Beguiling them of commendation. Hotſp. Well, I am ſchool'd: Good-manners be your ſpeede; Heere come your Wiues, and let vs take our leaue. Enter Glendower, with the Ladies. Mort. This is the deadly ſpight, that angers me, My Wife can ſpeake no Engliſh, I no Welſh. Glend. My Daughter weepes, ſhee'le not part with you, Shee'le be a Souldier too, ſhee'le to the Warres. Mort. Good Father tell her, that ſhe and my Aunt Percy Shall follow in your Conduct ſpeedily. Glendower ſpeakes to her in Welſh, and ſhe anſweres him in the ſame. Glend. Shee is deſperate heere: A peeuiſh ſelfe-will'd Harlotry, One that no perſwaſion can doe good vpon. The Lady ſpeakes in Welſh. Mort. I vnderſtand thy Lookes: that pretty Welſh Which thou powr'ſt down from theſe ſwelling Heauens, I am too perfect in: and but for ſhame, In ſuch a parley ſhould I anſwere thee. The Lady againe in Welſh. Mort. I vnderſtand thy Kiſſes, and thou mine, And that's a feeling diſputation: But I will neuer be a Truant, Loue, Till I haue learn'd thy Language: for thy tongue Makes Welſh as ſweet as Ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a faire Queene in a Summers Bowre, With rauiſhing Diuiſion to her Lute. Glend.

Nay, if thou melt, then will ſhe runne madde.

 The Lady ſpeakes againe in Welſh. Mort.

O, I am Ignorance it ſelfe in this.

 Glend. She bids you, On the wanton Ruſhes lay you downe, And reſt your gentle Head vpon her Lappe, And ſhe will ſing the Song that pleaſeth you, And on your Eye-lids Crowne the God of Sleepe, Charming your blood with pleaſing heauineſſe; Making ſuch difference betwixt Wake and Sleepe, As is the difference betwixt Day and Night, The houre before the Heauenly Harneis'd Teeme Begins his Golden Progreſſe in the Eaſt. Mort. With all my heart Ile ſit, and heare her ſing: By that time will our Booke, I thinke, be drawne. Glend. Doe ſo: And thoſe Muſitians that ſhall play to you, Hang in the Ayre a thouſand Leagues from thence; And ſtraight they ſhall be here: ſit, and attend. Hotſp. Come Kate, thou art perfect in lying downe: Come, quicke, quicke, that I may lay my Head in thy Lappe. Lady.

Goe, ye giddy-Gooſe.

 The Muſicke playes. Hotſp. Now I perceiue the Deuill vnderſtands Welſh, And 'tis no maruell he is ſo humorous: Byrlady hee's a good Muſitian. Lady. Then would you be nothing but Muſicall, For you are altogether gouerned by humors: Lye ſtill ye Theefe, and heare the Lady ſing in Welſh. Hotſp.

I had rather heare (Lady) my Brach howle in Iriſh.

 Lady.

Would'ſt haue thy Head broken?

 Hotſp.

No.

 Lady.

Then be ſtill.

 Hotſp.

Neyther, 'tis a Womans fault.

 Lady.

Now God helpe thee.

 Hotſp.

To the Welſh Ladies Bed.

 Lady.

What's that?

 Hotſp.

Peace, ſhee ſings.

 Heere the Lady ſings a Welſh Song. Hotſp.

Come, Ile haue your Song too.

 Lady.

Not mine, in good ſooth.

 Hotſp. Not yours, in good ſooth? You ſweare like a Comfit-makers Wife: Not you, in good ſooth; and, as true as I liue; And, as God ſhall mend me; and, as ſure as day: And giueſt ſuch Sarcenet ſuretie for thy Oathes, As if thou neuer walk'ſt further then Finsbury. Sweare me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art, A good mouth-filling Oath: and leaue in ſooth, And ſuch proteſt of Pepper Ginger-bread, To Veluet-Guards, and Sunday-Citizens. Come, ſing. Lady.

I will not ſing.

 Hotſp.

'Tis the next way to turne Taylor, or be Redbreſt teacher: and the Indentures be drawne, Ile away within theſe two howres: and ſo come in, when yee will.

Exit. Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as ſlow, As hot Lord Percy is on fire to goe. By this our Booke is drawne: wee'le but ſeale, And then to Horſe immediately. Mort.

With all my heart.

Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others. King. Lords, giue vs leaue: The Prince of Wales, and I, Muſt haue ſome priuate conference: But be neere at hand, For wee ſhall preſently haue neede of you. Exeunt Lords. I know not whether Heauen will haue it ſo, For ſome diſpleaſing ſeruice I haue done; That in his ſecret Doome, out of my Blood, Hee'le breede Reuengement, and a Scourge for me: But thou do'ſt in thy paſſages of Life, Make me beleeue, that thou art onely mark'd For the hot vengeance, and the Rod of heauen To puniſh my Miſtreadings. Tell me elſe. Could ſuch inordinate and low deſires, Such poore, ſuch bare, ſuch lewd, ſuch meane attempts, Such barren pleaſures, rude ſocietie, As thou art matcht withall, and grafted too, Accompanie the greatneſſe of thy blood, And hold their leuell with thy Princely heart? Prince. So pleaſe your Maieſty, I would I could Quit all offences with as cleare excuſe, As well as I am doubtleſſe I can purge My ſelfe of many I am charg'd withall: Yet ſuch extenuation let me begge, As in reproofe of many Tales deuis'd, Which oft the Eare of Greatneſſe needes muſt heare, By ſmiling Pick-thankes, and baſe Newes-mongers; I may for ſome things true, wherein my youth Hath faultie wandred, and irregular, Finde pardon on my true ſubmiſſion. King. Heauen pardon thee: Yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which doe hold a Wing Quite from the flight of all thy anceſtors. Thy place in Councell thou haſt rudely loſt, Which by thy younger Brother is ſupply'de; And art almoſt an alien to the hearts Of all the Court and Princes of my blood. The hope and expectation of thy time Is ruin'd, and the Soule of euery man Prophetically doe fore-thinke thy fall. Had I ſo lauiſh of my preſence beene, So common hackney'd in the eyes of men, So ſtale and cheape to vulgar Company; Opinion, that did helpe me to the Crowne, Had ſtill kept loyall to poſſeſſion, And left me in reputeleſſe baniſhment, A fellow of no marke, nor likelyhood. By being ſeldome ſeene, I could not ſtirre, But like a Comet, I was wondred at, That men would tell their Children, This is hee: Others would ſay; Where, Which is Bullingbrooke. And then I ſtole all Courteſie from Heauen, And dreſt my ſelfe in ſuch Humilitie, That I did plucke Allegeance from mens hearts, Lowd Showts and Salutations from their mouthes, Euen in the preſence of the Crowned King. Thus I did keepe my Perſon freſh and new, My Preſence like a Robe Pontificall, Ne're ſeene, but wondred at: and ſo my State, Seldome but ſumptuous, ſhewed like a Feaſt, And wonne by rareneſſe ſuch Solemnitie. The skipping King hee ambled vp and downe, With ſhallow Ieſters, and raſh Bauin Wits, Soone kindled, and ſoone burnt, carded his State, Mingled his Royaltie with Carping Fooles, Had his great Name prophaned with their Scornes, And gaue his Countenance, againſt his Name, To laugh at gybing Boyes, and ſtand the puſh Of euery Beardleſſe vaine Comparatiue; Grew a Companion to the common Streetes, Enfeoff'd himſelfe to Popularitie: That being dayly ſwallowed by mens Eyes, They ſurfeted with Honey, and began to loathe The taſte of Sweetneſſe, whereof a little More then a little, is by much too much. So when he had occaſion to be ſeene, He was but as the Cuckow is in Iune, Heard, not regarded: ſeene but with ſuch Eyes, As ſicke and blunted with Communitie, Affoord no extraordinarie Gaze, Such as is bent on Sunne-like Maieſtie, When it ſhines ſeldome in admiring Eyes: But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids downe, Slept in his Face, and rendred ſuch aſpect As Cloudie men vſe to doe to their aduerſaries, Being with his preſence glutted, gorg'd, and full. And in that very Line, Harry, ſtandeſt thou: For thou haſt loſt thy Princely Priuiledge, With vile participation. Not an Eye But is a wearie of thy common ſight, Saue mine, which hath deſir'd to ſee thee more: Which now doth that I would not haue it doe, Make blinde it ſelfe with fooliſh tenderneſſe. Prince. I ſhall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord, Be more my ſelfe. King. For all the World, As thou art to this houre, was Richard then, When I from France ſet foot at Rauenſpurgh; And euen as I was then, is Percy now: Now by my Scepter, and my Soule to boot, He hath more worthy intereſt to the State Then thou, the ſhadow of Succeſſion; For of no Right, nor colour like to Right. He doth fill fields with Harneis in the Realme, Turnes head againſt the Lyons armed Iawes; And being no more in debt to yeeres, then thou, Leades ancient Lords, and reuerent Biſhops on To bloody Battailes, and to bruſing Armes. What neuer-dying Honor hath he got, Againſt renowned Dowglas? whoſe high Deedes, Whoſe hot Incurſions, and great Name in Armes, Holds from all Souldiers chiefe Maioritie, And Militarie Title Capitall. Through all the Kingdomes that acknowledge Chriſt, Thrice hath the Hotſpur Mars, in ſwathing Clothes, This Infant Warrior, in his Enterpriſes, Diſcomfited great Dowglas, ta'ne him once, Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, To fill the mouth of deepe Defiance vp, And ſhake the peace and ſafetie of our Throne. And what ſay you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The Arch-biſhops Grace of Yorke, Dowglas, Mortimer, Capitulate againſt vs, and are vp. But wherefore doe I tell theſe Newes to thee? Why, Harry, doe I tell thee of my Foes, Which art my neer'ſt and deareſt Enemie? Thou, that art like enough, through vaſſall Feare, Baſe Inclination, and the ſtart of Spleene, To fight againſt me vnder Percies pay, To dogge his heeles, and curtſie at his frownes, To ſhew how much thou art degenerate. Prince. Doe not thinke ſo, you ſhall not finde it ſo: And Heauen forgiue them, that ſo much haue ſway'd Your Maieſties good thoughts away from me: I will redeeme all this on Percies head, And in the cloſing of ſome glorious day, Be bold to tell you▪that I am your Sonne, When I will weare a Garment all of Blood, And ſtaine my fauours in a bloody Maske: Which waſht away, ſhall ſcowre my ſhame with it. And that ſhall be the day, when ere it lights, That this ſame Child of Honor and Renowne. This gallant Hotſpur, this all-prayſed Knight, And your vnthought-of Harry chance to meet: For euery Honor fitting on his Helme, Would they were multitudes, and on my head My ſhames redoubled. For the time will come, That I ſhall make this Northerne Youth exchange His glorious Deedes for my Indignities: Percy is but my Factor, good my Lord, To engroſſe vp glorious Deedes on my behalfe: And I will call him to ſo ſtrict account, That he ſhall render euery Glory vp, Yea, euen the ſleighteſt worſhip of his time, Or I will teare the Reckoning from his Heart. This, in the Name of Heauen, I promiſe here: The which, if I performe, and doe ſuruiue, I doe beſeech your Maieſtie, may ſalue The long-growne Wounds of my intemperature: If not, the end of Life cancells all Bands, And I will dye a hundred thouſand Deaths, Ere breake the ſmalleſt parcell of this Vow. King. A hundred thouſand Rebels dye in this: Thou ſhalt haue Charge, and ſoueraigne truſt herein. Enter Blunt. How now good Blunt? thy Lookes are full of ſpeed. Blunt. So hath the Buſineſſe that I come to ſpeake of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath ſent word, That Dowglas and the Engliſh Rebels met The eleuenth of this moneth, at Shrewsbury: A mightie and a fearefull Head they are, (If Promiſes be kept on euery hand) As euer offered foule play in a State. King. The Earle of Weſtmerland ſet forth to day: With him my ſonne, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, For this aduertiſement is fiue dayes old. On Wedneſday next, Harry thou ſhalt ſet forward: On Thurſday, wee our ſelues will march. Our meeting is Bridgenorth: and Harry, you ſhall march Through Gloceſterſhire: by which account, Our Buſineſſe valued ſome twelue dayes hence, Our generall Forces at Bridgenorth ſhall meete. Our Hands are full of Buſineſſe: let's away, Aduantage feedes him fat, while men delay. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph. Falst.

Bardolph, am I not falne away vilely, ſince this laſt action? doe I not bate? doe I not dwindle? Why my skinne hangs about me like an olde Ladies looſe Gowne: I am withered like an olde Apple Iohn. Well, Ile repent, and that ſuddenly, while I am in ſome li • ing: I ſhall be out of heart ſhortly, and then I ſhall haue no ſtrength to repent. And I haue not forgotten what the in-ſide of a Church is made of I am a Pepper Corne, a Brewers Horſe, the in-ſide of a Church. Company, villanous Company hath beene the ſpoyle of me.

 Bard.

Sir Iohn, you are ſo fretfull, you cannot liue long.

 Falſt.

Why there is it: Come, ſing me a bawdy Song, make me merry: I was as vertuouſly giuen, as a Gentleman need to be; vertuous enough, ſwore little, dic'd not aboue ſeuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy-houſe not aboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that I borrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in good compaſſe: and now I liue out of all order, out of compaſſe.

 Bard.

Why, you are ſo fat, Sir Iohn, that you muſt • edes bee out of all compaſſe; out of all reaſonable compaſſe Sir Iohn.

Falſt.

Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thy Life: Thou art our Admirall, thou beareſt the Lanterne in the Poope, but 'tis in the Noſe of thee; thou art the Knight of the burning Lampe.

 Bard.

Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harme.

 Falſt.

No, Ile be ſworne: I make as good vſe of it, as many a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I neuer ſee thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and Diues that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning, burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I would ſweare by thy Face; my Oath ſhould bee, By this Fire: But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede, but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darkeneſſe. When thou ra • 'ſt vp Gads-Hill in the Night, to catch my Horſe▪ if I did not thinke that thou hadſt beene an Ignis fatnus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there's no Purchaſe in Money. O, thou art a perpetuall Triumph, an euerlaſting Bone-fire-Light: thou haſt ſaued me a thouſand Markes in Linkes and Torches▪ walking with thee in the Night betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack that thou haſt drunke me, would haue bought me Lights as good cheape, as the deareſt Chandlers in Europe. I haue maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it.

 Bard.

I would my Face were in your Belly.

 Falst.

So ſhould I be ſure to be heart-burn'd.

Enter Hoſteſſe.

How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir'd yet who pick'd my Pocket?

 Hoſteſſe.

Why Sir Iohn, what doe you thinke, Sir Iohn? doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my Houſe? I haue ſearch'd, I haue enquired, ſo haz my Husband, Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of a hayre was neuer loſt in my houſe before.

 Falſt.

Ye lye Hoſteſſe: Bardolph was ſhau'd, and loſt many a hayre; and Ile be ſworne my Pocket was pick'd: goe to, you are a Woman, goe.

 Hosteſſe.

Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call'd ſo in mine owne houſe before.

 Falſt.

Goe to, I know you well enough.

 Hosteſſe.

No, Sir Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir Iohn: I know you, Sir Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir Iohn, and now you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of Shirts to your Backe.

 Falſt.

Doulas▪ filthy Doulas: I haue giuen them away to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters of them.

 Hosteſſe.

Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight ſhillings an Ell: You owe Money here beſides, Sir Iohn, for your Dyet, and by-Drinkings, and Money lent you, foure and twentie pounds.

 Falſt.

Hee had his part of it, let him pay.

 Hoſteſſe.

Hee? alas hee is poore, hee hath nothing.

 Falſt.

How? Poore? Looke vpon his Face: What call you Rich? Let them coyne his Noſe, let them coyne his Cheekes, Ile not pay a Denier. What, will you make a Yo • ker of me? Shall I not take mine eaſe in mine Inne, but I ſhall haue my Pocket pick'd? I haue loſt a Seale-Ring of my Grand-fathers, worth fortie Marke.

 Hoſteſſe.

I haue heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft that that Ring was Copper.

 Falſt.

How? the Prince is a Iacke, a Sneake-Cuppe: and if hee were heere, I would cudgell him like a Dogge, if hee would ſay ſo.

 Enter the Prince marching, and Falſtaffe meets him, playing on his Trunchion like a Fife. Falſt. How now Lad? is the Winde in that Doore? Muſt we all march? Bard.

Yea, two and two, Newgate faſhion.

 Hosteſſe.

My Lord, I pray you heare me.

 Prince.

What ſay'ſt thou, Miſtreſſe Quickly? How does thy Husband? I loue him well, hee is an honeſt man.

 Hoſteſſe.

Good, my Lord, heare mee.

 Falſt.

Prethee let her alone, and lift to mee.

 Prince.

What ſay'ſt thou, Iacke?

Falſt.

The other Night I fell aſleepe heere behind the Arras, and had my Pocket pickt: this Houſe is turn'd Bawdy-houſe, they picke Pockets.

 Prince.

What didſt thou loſe, Iacke?

 Falſt.

Wilt thou beleeue me, Hal? Three or foure Bonds of fortie pound apeece, and a Seale-Ring of my Grandfathers.

 Prince.

A Trifle, ſome eight-penny matter.

 Hoſt.

So I told him, my Lord; and I ſaid, I heard your Grace ſay ſo: and (my Lord) hee ſpeakes moſt vilely of you, like a foule-mouth'd man as hee is, and ſaid, hee would cudgell you.

 Prince.

What hee did not?

 Hoſt.

There's neyther Faith, Truth, nor Woman-hood in me elſe.

 Falſt.

There's no more faith in thee then a ſtu'de Prune; nor no more truth in thee, then in a drawne Fox: and for Wooman-hood, Maid-marian may be the Deputies wife of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing: go.

 Hoſt.

Say, what thing? what thing?

 Falſt.

What thing? why a thing to thanke heauen on.

 Hoſt.

I am no thing to thanke heauen on, I wold thou ſhouldſt know it: I am an honeſt mans wife: and ſetting thy Knighthood aſide, thou art a knaue to call me ſo.

 Falſt.

Setting thy woman-hood aſide, thou art a beaſt to ſay otherwiſe.

 Hoſt.

Say, what beaſt, thou knaue thou?

 Fal.

What beaſt? Why an Otter.

 Prin.

An Otter, ſir Iohn? Why an Otter?

 Fal.

Why? She's neither fiſh nor fleſh; a man knowes not where to haue her.

 Hoſt.

Thou art vniuſt man in ſaying ſo; thou, or anie man knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou.

 Prince.

Thou ſay'ſt true Hoſteſſe, and he ſlanders thee moſt groſſely.

 Hoſt.

So he doth you, my Lord, and ſayde this other day, You ought him a thouſand pound.

 Prince.

Sirrah, do I owe you a thouſand pound?

 Falſt.

A thouſand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue is worth a Million: thou ow'ſt me thy loue.

 Hoſt.

Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and ſaid hee would cudgell you.

 Fal.

Did I, Bardolph?

 Bar.

Indeed Sir Iohn, you ſaid ſo.

 Fal.

Yea, if he ſaid my Ring was Copper.

 Prince.

I ſay 'tis Copper. Dar'ſt thou bee as good as thy word now?

 Fal.

Why Hal? thou know'ſt, as thou art but a man, I dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the roaring of the Lyons Whelpe.

 Prince.

And why not as the Lyon?

 Fal.

The King himſelfe is to bee feared as the Lyon: Do'ſt thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nay if I do, let my Girdle breake.

 Prin.

O, if it ſhould▪ how would thy guttes fall about thy knees. But ſirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth, nor Honeſty, in this boſome of thine: it is all fill'd vppe with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honeſt Woman with picking thy pocket? Why thou horſon impudent imboſt Raſcall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but Tauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houſes, and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make thee long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie other iniuries but theſe, I am a Villaine: And yet you will ſtand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou not aſham'd?

 Fal.

Do'ſt thou heare Hal? Thou know'ſt in the ſtate of Innocency, Adam fell: and what ſhould poore Iacke Falſtaffe do, in the dayes of Villany? Thou ſeeſt, I haue more fleſh then another man, and therefore more frailty. You confeſſe then you pickt my Pocket?

 Prin.

It appeares ſo by the Story.

 Fal. Hoſteſſe, I forgiue thee: Go make ready Breakfaſt, loue thy Husband, Looke to thy Seruants, and cheriſh thy Gueſts: Thou ſhalt find me tractable to any honeſt reaſon: Thou ſeeſt, I am pacified ſtill. Nay, I prethee be gone. Exit Hoſteſſe. Now Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad? How is that anſwered? Prin. O my ſweet Beefe: I muſt ſtill be good Angell to thee. The Monie is paid backe againe. Fal.

O, I do not like that paying backe, 'tis a double Labour.

 Prin.

I am good Friends with my Father, and may do anything.

 Fal.

Rob me the Exchequer the firſt thing thou do'ſt, and do it with vnwaſh'd hands too.

 Bard.

Do my Lord.

 Prin.

I haue procured thee Iacke, a Charge of Foot.

 Fal.

I would it had beene of Horſe. Where ſhal I finde one that can ſteale well? O, for a fine theefe of two and twentie, or thereabout: I am heynouſly vnprouided. Wel God be thanked for theſe Rebels, they offend none but the Vertuous. I laud them, I praiſe them.

 Prin.

Bardolph.

Bar.

My Lord.

 Prin. Go beare this Letter to Lord Iohn of Lancaſter To my Brother Iohn. This to my Lord of Weſtmerland, Go Peto, to horſe: for thou, and I, Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time. Iacke, meet me to morrow in the Temple Hall At two a clocke in the afternoone, There ſhalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiue Money and Order for their Furniture. The Land is burning, Percie ſtands on hye, And either they, or we muſt lower lye. Fal. Rare words! braue world. Hoſteſſe, my breakfaſt, come: Oh, I could wiſh this Tauerne were my drumme. Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quartus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Harrie Hotſpurre, Worceſter, and Dowglas. Hot. Well ſaid, my Noble Scot, if ſpeaking truth In this fine Age, were not thought flatterie, Such attribution ſhould the Dowglas haue, As not a Souldiour of this ſeaſons ſtampe, Should go ſo generall currant through the world. By heauen I cannot flatter: I defie The Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer place In my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe. Nay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord. Dow. Thou art the King of Honor: No man ſo potent breathes vpon the ground, But I will Beard him. Enter a Meſſenger. Hot. Do ſo, and 'tis well. What Letters haſt there? I can but thanke you. Meſſ.

Theſe Letters come from your Father.

 Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himſelfe? Meſ. He cannot come, my Lord, He is greeuous ſicke. Hot. How? haz he the leyſure to be ſicke now, In ſuch a iuſtling time? Who leades his power? Vnder whoſe Gouernment come they along? Meſſ.

His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde.

 Wor.

I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed?

 Meſſ. He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I ſet forth: And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his Phyſician. Wor. I would the ſtate of time had firſt beene whole, Ere he by ſickneſſe had beene viſited: His health was neuer better worth then now. Hotſp. Sicke now? droope now? this ſicknes doth infect The very Life-blood of our Enterpriſe, 'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe. He writes me here, that inward ſickneſſe, And that his friends by deputation Could not ſo ſoone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet, To lay ſo dangerous and deare a truſt On any Soule remou'd, but on his owne. Yet doth he giue vs bold aduertiſement, That with our ſmall coniunction we ſhould on, To ſee how Fortune is diſpos'd to vs: For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, Becauſe the King is certainely poſſeſt Of all our purpoſes. What ſay you to it? Wor.

Your Fathers ſickneſſe is a mayme to vs.

 Hotſp. A perillous Gaſh, a very Limme lopt off: And yet, in faith, it is not his preſent want Seemes more then we ſhall finde it. Were it good▪ to ſet the exact wealth of all our ſtates All at one Caſt? To ſet ſo rich a mayne On the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre, It were not good: for therein ſhould we reade The very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope, The very Liſt, the very vtmoſt Bound Of all our fortunes. Dowg. Faith, and ſo wee ſhould, Where now remaines a ſweet reuerſion. We may boldly ſpend, vpon the hope Of what is to come in: A comfort of retyrement liues in this. Hotſp. A Randeuous, a Home to flye vnto, If that the Deuill and Miſchance looke bigg • Vpon the Maydenhead of our Affaires. Wor. But yet I would your Father had beene here: The Qualitie and Heire of our Attempt Brookes no diuiſion: It will be thought By ſome, that know not why he is away, That wiſedome, loyaltie, and meere diſlike Of our proceedings, kept the Earle from hence. And thinke, how ſuch an apprehenſion May turne the tyde of fearefull Faction, And breede a kinde of queſtion in our cauſe: For well you know, wee of the offring ſide, Muſt keepe aloofe from ſtrict arbitrement, And ſtop all ſight-holes, euery loope, from whence The eye of reaſon may prie in vpon vs: This abſence of your Father drawes a Curtaine, That ſhewes the ignorant a kinde of feare, Before not dreamt of. Hotſp. You ſtrayne too farre. I rather of his abſence make this vſe: It lends a Luſtre, and more great Opinion, A larger Dare to your great Enterprize, Then if the Earle were here: for men muſt thinke, If we without his helpe, can make a Head To puſh againſt the Kingdome; with his helpe, We ſhall o're-turne it topſie-turuy downe: Yet all goes well, yet all out ioynts are whole. Dowg. As heart can thinke: There is not ſuch a word ſpoke of in Scotland, At this Dreame of Feare. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hotſp.

My Couſin Vernon, welcome by my Soule.

 Vern. Pray God my newes be worth a welcome, Lord. The Earle of Weſtmerland, ſeuen thouſand ſtrong, Is marching hither-wards, with Prince Iohn. Hotſp.

No harme: what more?

 Vern. And further, I haue learn'd, The King himſelfe in perſon hath ſet forth, Or hither-wards intended ſpeedily, With ſtrong and mightie preparation. Hotſp. He ſhall be welcome too. Where is his Sonne, The nimble-footed Mad-Cap, Prince of Wales, And his Cumrades, that daft the World aſide, And bid it paſſe? Vern. All furniſht, all in Armes, All plum'd like Eſtridges, that with the Winde Bayted like Eagles, hauing lately bath'd, Glittering in Golden Coates, like Images, As full of ſpirit as the Moneth of May, And gorgeous as the Sunne at Mid-ſummer, Wanton as youthfull Goates, wilde as young Bulls. I ſaw young Harry with his Beuer on, His Cuſhes on his thighes, gallantly arm'd, Riſe from the ground like feathered Mercury. And vaulted with ſuch eaſe into his Seat, As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds, To turne and winde a fierie Pegaſus, And witch the World with Noble Horſemanſhip. Hotſp. No more, no more, Worſe men the Sunne in March: This prayſe doth nouriſh Agues: let them come. They come like Sacrifices in their trimme, And to the fire-ey'd Maid of ſmoakie Warre, All hot, and bleeding, will wee offer them: The mayled Mars ſhall on his Altar ſit Vp to the eares i • blood. I am on fire, To heare this rich reprizall is ſo nigh, And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horſe, Who is to beare me like a Thunder-bolt, Againſt the boſome of the Prince of Wales. Harry to Harry, ſhall not Horſe to Horſe Meete, and ne're part, till one drop downe a Coarſe? Oh, that Glendower were come. Ver. There is more newes: I learned in Worceſter, as I rode along, He cannot draw his Power this foureteene dayes. Dowg.

That's the worſt Tidings that I heare of yet.

 Wor.

I by my faith, that beares a froſty ſound.

 Hotſp.

What may the Kings whole Battaile reach vnto?

 Ver.

To thirty thouſand.

 Hot. Forty let it be, My Father and Glendower being both away, The powres of vs, may ſerue ſo great a day. Come, let vs take a muſter ſpeedily: Doomeſday is neere; dye all, dye merrily. Dow. Talke not of dying. I am out of feare Of death, or deaths hand, for this one halfe yeare. Exeunt Omnes.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Falſtaffe and Bardolph. Falſt.

Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers ſhall march through: wee'le to Sutton-cop-hill to Night.

 Bard.

Will you giue me Money, Captaine?

 Falst.

Lay out, lay out.

 Bard.

This Bottle makes an Angell.

 Falſt.

And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it make twentie, take them all, He anſwere the Coynage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end.

 Bard.

I will Captaine: farewell.

Exit. Falſt.

If I be not aſham'd of my Souldiers, I am a ſowc't-Gurnet: I haue miſ-vs'd the Kings Preſſe damnably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie Souldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I preſſe me none but good Houſe-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire me out contracted Batchelers, ſuch as had beene ask'd twice on the Banes: ſuch a Commoditie of warme ſlaues, as had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; ſuch as feare the report of a Caliuer, worſe then a ſtruck-Foole, or a hurt wilde-Ducke, I preſt me none but ſuch Toſtes and Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then Pinnes heads, and they haue bought out their ſeruices: And now, my whole Charge conſiſts of Ancients, Corporals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as ragged as Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogges licked his Sores; and ſuch, as indeed were neuer Souldiers, but diſ-carded vniuſt Seruingmen, younger Sonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapſters and Oſtlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and long Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged, then an old-fac'd Ancient; and ſuch haue I to fill vp the roomes of them that haue bought out their ſeruices: that you would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd Prodigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and preſt the dead bodyes. No eye hath ſeene ſuch skar-Crowes: Ile not march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if they had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the moſt of them out of Priſon. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my Company: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt together, and throwne ouer the ſhoulders like a Heralds Coat, without ſleeues: and the Shirt, to ſay the truth, ſtolne from my Hoſt of S. Albones, or the Red-Noſe Inne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde Linnen enough on euery Hedge.

 Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Weſtmerland. Prince.

How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt?

 Falſt.

What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill do'ſt thou in Warwickſhire? My good Lord of Weſtmerland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already beene at Shrewsbury.

 Weſt.

'Faith, Sir Iohn, 'tis more then time that I were there, and you too: but my Powers are there alreadie. The King, I can tell you, lookes for vs all: we muſt away all to Night.

 Falſt.

Tut, neuer feare me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, to ſteale Creame.

 Prince.

I thinke to ſteale Creame indeed, for thy theft hath alreadie made thee Butter: but tell me, Iack, whoſe fellowes are theſe that come after?

 Falſt.

Mine, Hal, mine.

 Prince.

I did neuer ſee ſuch pittifull Raſcals.

 Falſt.

Tut, tut, good enough to toſſe: foode for Powder, foode for Powder: they'le fill a Pit, as well as better: tuſh man, mortall men, mortall men.

 Weſtm.

I, but Sir Iohn, me thinkes they are exceeding poore and bare, too beggarly.

 Falſt.

Faith, for their pouertie, I know not where they had that; and for their bareneſſe, I am ſure they neuer learn'd that of me.

 Prince.

No, Ile be ſworne, vnleſſe you call three fingers on the Ribbes bare. But ſirra, make haſte, Percy is already in the field.

 Falſt.

What, is the King encamp'd?

 Weſtm.

Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee ſhall ſtay too long.

 Falſt.

Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginning of a Feaſt, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Gueſt.

 Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Hotſpur, Worceſter, Dowglas, and Vernon. Hotſp.

Wee'le fight with him to Night.

 Worc.

It may not be.

 Dowg.

You giue him then aduantage.

 Ʋern.

Not a whit.

 Hotſp.

Why ſay you ſo? lookes he not for ſupply?

 Ʋern.

So doe wee.

 Hotſp.

His is certaine, ours is doubtfull.

 Worc.

Good Couſin be aduis'd, ſtirre not to night.

 Ʋern.

Doe not, my Lord.

 Dowg. You doe not counſaile well: You ſpeake it out of feare, and cold heart. Ʋern. Doe me no ſlander, Dowglas: by my Life, And I dare well maintaine it with my Life, If well-reſpected Honor bid me on, I hold as little counſaile with weake feare, As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues. Let it be ſeene to morrow in the Battell, Which of vs feares. Dowg.

Yea, or to night.

 Ʋern.

Content.

 Hotſp.

To night, ſay I.

 Ʋern. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, being mē of ſuch great leading as you are That you fore-ſee not what impediments Drag backe our expedition: certaine Horſe Of my Couſin Vernons are not yet come vp, Your Vnckle Worceſters Horſe came but to day, And now their pride and mettall is aſleepe, Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, That not a Horſe is halfe the halfe of himſelfe. Hotſp. So are the Horſes of the Enemie In generall iourney bated, and brought low: The better part of ours are full of reſt. Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours: For Gods ſake, Couſin, ſtay till all come in. The Trumpet ſounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt. Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King, If you vouchſafe me hearing, and reſpect. Hotſp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt: And would to God you were of our determination. Some of vs loue you well: and euen thoſe ſome Enuie your great deſeruings, and good name, Becauſe you are not of our qualitie, But ſtand againſt vs like an Enemie. Blunt. And Heauen defend, but ſtill I ſhould ſtand ſo, So long as out of Limit, and true Rule, You ſtand againſt anoynted Maieſtie. But to my Charge. The King hath ſent to know The nature of your Griefes, and whereupon You coniure from the Breſt of Ciuill Peace, Such bold Hoſtilitie, teaching his dutious Land Audacious Crueltie. If that the King Haue any way your good Deſerts forgot, Which he confeſſeth to be manifold, He bids you name your Griefes, and with all ſpeed You ſhall haue your deſires, with intereſt; And Pardon abſolute for your ſelfe, and theſe, Herein mis-led, by your ſuggeſtion. Hotſp. The King is kinde: And well wee know, the King Knowes at what time to promiſe, when to pay. My Father, my Vnckle, and my ſelfe, Did giue him that ſame Royaltie he weares: And when he was not ſixe and twentie ſtrong, Sicke in the Worlds regard, wretched, and low, A poore vnminded Out-law, ſneaking home, My Father gaue him welcome to the ſhore: And when he heard him ſweare, and vow to God, He came but to be Duke of Lancaſter, To ſue his Liuerie, and begge his Peace, With teares of Innocencie, and tearmes of Zeale; My Father, in kinde heart and pitty mou'd, Swore him aſſiſtance, and perform'd it too. Now, when the Lords and Barons of the Realme Perceiu'd Northumberland did leane to him, The more and leſſe came in with Cap and Knee, Met him in Boroughs, Cities, Villages, Attended him on Bridges, ſtood in Lanes, Layd Gifts before him, proffer'd him their Oathes, Gaue him their Heires, as Pages followed him, Euen at the heeles, in golden multitudes, He preſently, as Greatneſſe knowes it ſelfe, Steps me a little higher then his Vow Made to my Father, while his blood was poore, Vpon the naked ſhore at Rauenſpurgh: And now (forſooth) takes on him to reforme Some certaine Edicts, and ſome ſtrait Decrees, That lay too heauie on the Common-wealth; Cryes out vpon abuſes, ſeemes to weepe Ouer his Countries Wrongs: and by this Face, This ſeeming Brow of Iuſtice, did he winne The hearts of all that hee did angle for. Proceeded further, cut me off the Heads Of all the Fauorites, that the abſent King In deputation left behinde him heere, When hee was perſonall in the Iriſh Warre. Blunt.

Tut, I came not to heare this.

 Hotſp. Then to the point. In ſhort time after, hee depos'd the King. Soone after that, depriu'd him of his Life: And in the neck of that, task't the whole State. To make that worſe, ſuffer'd his Kinſman March, Who is, if euery Owner were plac'd, Indeede his King, to be engag'd in Wales, There, without Ranſome, to lye forfeited: Diſgrac'd me in my happie Victories, Sought to intrap me by intelligence, Rated my Vnckle from the Councell-Boord, In rage diſmiſs'd my Father from the Court, Broke Oath on Oath, committed Wrong on Wrong, And in concluſion, droue vs to ſeeke out This Head of ſafetie; and withall, to prie Into his Title: the which wee finde Too indirect, for long continuance. Blunt.

Shall I returne this anſwer to the King?

 Hotſp. Not ſo, Sir Walter. Wee'le with-draw a while: Goe to the King, and let there be impawn'd Some ſuretie for a ſafe returne againe, And in the Morning early ſhall my Vnckle Bring him our purpoſe: and ſo farewell. Blunt.

I would you would accept of Grace and Loue.

 Hotſp.

And't may be, ſo wee ſhall.

 Blunt.

Pray Heauen you doe.

Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter the Arch-Biſhop of Yorke, and Sir Michell. Arch. Hie, good Sir Michell, beare this ſealed Briefe With winged haſte to the Lord Marſhall, This to my Couſin Scroope, and all the reſt To whom they are directed. If you knew how much they doe Import. You would make haſte. Sir Mich.

My good Lord, I gueſſe their tenor.

 Arch. Like enough you doe. To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day, Wherein the fortune of ten thouſand men Muſt bide the touch. For Sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly giuen to vnderſtand, The King, with mightie and quick-rayſed Power, Meetes with Lord Harry: and I feare, Sir Michell, What with the ſickneſſe of Northumberland, Whoſe Power was in the firſt proportion; And what with Owen Glendowers abſence thence, Who with them was rated firmely too, And comes not in, ouer-rul'd by Prophecies, I feare the Power of Percy is too weake, To wage an inſtant tryall with the King. Sir Mich. Why, my good Lord, you need not feare, There is Dowglas, and Lord Mortimer. Arch.

No, Mortimer is not there.

 Sir Mich. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, And there is my Lord of Worceſter, And a Head of gallant Warriors, Noble Gentlemen. Arch. And ſo there is, but yet the King hath drawne The ſpeciall head of all the Land together: The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, The Noble Weſtmerland, and warlike Blunt; And many moe Corriuals, and deare men Of eſtimation, and command in Armes. Sir M.

Doubt not my Lord, he ſhall be well oppos'd

 Arch. I hope no leſſe? Yet needfull 'tis to feare, And to preuent the worſt, Sir Michell ſpeed; For if Lord Percy thriue not, ere the King Diſmiſſe his power, he meanes to viſit vs: For he hath heard of our Confederacie, And, 'tis but Wiſedome to make ſtrong againſt him: Therefore make haſt, I muſt go write againe To other Friends: and ſo farewell, Sir Michell. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, Earle of Weſtmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falſtaffe. King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peere Aboue you busky hill: the day lookes pale At his diſtemperature. Prin. The Southerne winde Doth play the Trumpet to his purpoſes, And by his hollow whiſtling in the Leaues, Fortels a Tempeſt, and a bluſt'ring day. King. Then with the loſers let it ſympathize, For nothing can ſeeme foule to thoſe that win. The Trumpet ſounds. Enter Worceſter. King. How now my Lord of Worſter? 'Tis not well That you and I ſhould meet vpon ſuch tearmes, As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our truſt, And made vs doffe our eaſie Robes of Peace, To cruſh our old limbes in vngentle Steele: This is not well, my Lord, this is not well. What ſay you to it? Will you againe vnknit This churliſh knot of all-abhorred Warre? And moue in that obedient Orbe againe, Where you did giue a faire and naturall light, And be no more an exhall'd Meteor, A prodigie of Feare, and a Portent Of broached Miſcheefe, to the vnborne Times? Wor. Heare me, my Liege: For mine owne part, I could be well content To entertaine the Lagge-end of my life With quiet houres: For I do proteſt, I haue not ſought the day of this diſlike. King.

You haue not ſought it: how comes it then?

 Fal.

Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

 Prin.

Peace, Chewet, peace.

 Wor. It pleas'd your Maieſty, to turne your lookes Of Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our Houſe; And yet I muſt remember you my Lord, We were the firſt, and deareſt of your Friends: For you, my ſtaffe of Office did I breake In Richards time, and poaſted day and night To meete you on the way, and kiſſe your hand, When yet you were in place, and in account Nothing ſo ſtrong and fortunate, as I; It was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne, That brought you home, and boldly did out-dare The danger of the time. You ſwore to vs, And you did ſweare that Oath at Doncaſter, That you did nothing of purpoſe 'gainſt the State, Nor claime no further, then your new-falne right, The ſeate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaſter, To this, we ſware our aide: But in ſhort ſpace, It rain'd downe Fortune ſhowring on your head, And ſuch a floud of Greatneſſe fell on you, What with our helpe, what with the abſent King, What with the iniuries of wanton time, The ſeeming ſufferances that you had borne, And the contrarious Windes that held the King So long in the vnlucky Iriſh Warres, That all in England did repute him dead: And from this ſwarme of faire aduantages, You tooke occaſion to be quickly woo'd, To gripe the generall ſway into your hand, Forgot your Oath to vs at Doncaſter, And being fed by vs, you vs'd vs ſo, As that vngentle gull the Cuckowes Bird, Vſeth the Sparrow, did oppreſſe our Neſt, Grew by our Feeding, to ſo great a bulke, That euen our Loue durſt not come neere your ſight For feare of ſwallowing: But with nimble wing We were inforc'd for ſafety ſake, to flye Out of your ſight, and raiſe this preſent Head, Whereby we ſtand oppoſed by ſuch meanes As you your ſelfe, haue forg'd againſt your ſelfe, By vnkinde vſage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworne to vs in yonger enterprize. Kin. Theſe things indeede you haue articulated, Proclaim'd at Market Croſſes, read in Churches, To face the Garment of Rebellion With ſome fine colour, that may pleaſe the eye Of fickle Changelings, and poore Diſcontents, Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the newes Of hurly burly Innouation: And neuer yet did Inſurrection want Such water-colours, to impaint his cauſe: Nor moody Beggars, ſtaruing for a time Of pell-mell hauocke, and confuſion. Prin. In both our Armies, there is many a ſoule Shall pay full dearely for this encounter, If once they ioyne in triall. Tell your Nephew, The Prince of Wales doth ioyne with all the world In praiſe of Henry Percie: By my Hopes, This preſent enterprize ſet off his head, I do not thinke a brauer Gentleman, More actiue, valiant, or more valiant yong, More daring, or more bold, is now aliue, To grace this latter Age with Noble deeds. For my part, I may ſpeake it to my ſhame, I haue a Truant beene to Chiualry, And ſo I heare, he doth account me too: Yet this before my Fathers Maieſty, I am content that he ſhall take the oddes Of his great name and eſtimation, And will, to ſaue the blood on either ſide, Try fortune with him, in a Single Fight. King. And Prince of Wales, ſo dare we venter thee, Albeit, conſiderations infinite Do make againſt it: No good Worſter, no, We loue our people well; euen thoſe we loue That are • ſled vpon your Couſins part: And will they take the offer of our Grace: Both he, and they, and you; yea, euery man Shall be my Friend againe, and Ile be his. So tell your Couſin, and bring me word, What he will do. But if he will not yeeld, Rebuke and dread correction waite on vs, And they ſhall do their Office. So bee gone, We will not now be troubled with reply, We offer faire, take it aduiſedly. Exit Worceſter. Prin. It will not be accepted, on my life, The Dowglas and the Hotſpurre both together, Are confident againſt the world in Armes. King. Hence therefore, euery Leader to his charge, For on their anſwer will we ſet on them; And God befriend vs, as our cauſe is iuſt. Exeunt. Manet Prince and Falſtaffe. Fal. Hal, if thou ſee me downe in the battell, And beſtride me, ſo; 'tis a point of friendſhip. Prin. Nothing but a Coloſſus can do thee that frendſhip Say thy prayers, and farewell. Fal.

I would it were bed time Hal, and all well.

 Prin.

Why, thou ow'ſt heauen a death.

 Falſt.

'Tis not due yet: I would bee loath to pay him before his day. What neede I bee ſo forward with him, that call's not on me? Well, 'tis no matter, Honor prickes me on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I come on? How then? Can Honour ſet too a legge? No: or an arme? No: Or take away the greefe of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in Surgerie, then? No. What is Honour? A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre: A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that dy'de a Wedneſday. Doth he feele it? No. Doth hee heare it? No. Is it inſenſible then? yea, to the dead. But wil it not liue with the liuing? No. Why? Detraction wil not ſuffer it, therfore Ile none of it. Honour is a meere Scutcheon, and ſo ends my Catechiſme.

Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Worceſter, and Sir Richard Ʋernon. Wor. O no, my Nephew muſt not know, Sir Richard, The liberall kinde offer of the King. Ver.

'Twere beſt he did.

 Wor. Then we are all vndone. It is not poſſible, it cannot be, The King would keepe his word in louing vs, He will ſuſpect vs ſtill, and finde a time To puniſh this offence in others faults: Suppoſition, all our liues, ſhall be ſtucke full of eyes; For Treaſon is but truſted like the Foxe, Who ne're ſo tame, ſo cheriſht, and lock'd vp, Will haue a wilde tricke of his Anceſtors: Looke how he can, or ſad or merrily, Interpretation will miſquote our lookes, And we ſhall feede like Oxen at a ſtall, The better cheriſht, ſtill the nearer death. My Nephewes treſpaſſe may be well forgot, It hath the excuſe of youth, and heate of blood, And an adopted name of Priuiledge, A haire-brain'd Hotſpurre, gouern'd by a Spleene: All his offences liue vpon my head, And on his Fathers. We did traine him on, And his corruption being tane from vs, We as the Spring of all, ſhall pay for all: Therefore good Couſin, let not Harry know In any caſe, the offer of the King. Ver. Deliuer what you will, Ile ſay 'tis ſo. Heere comes your Coſin. Enter Hotſpurre. Hot. My Vnkle is return'd, Deliuer vp my Lord of Weſtmerland. Vnkle, what newe-? Wor.

The King will bid you battell preſently.

 Dow.

Defie him by the Lord of Weſtmerland.

 Hot.

Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him ſo.

 Dow.

Marry and ſhall, and verie willingly.

 Exit Dowglas. Wor.

There is no ſeeming mercy in the King.

 Hot.

Did you begge any? God forbid.

 Wor. I told him gently of our greeuances, Of his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus, By now forſwearing that he is forſworne, He cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will ſcourge With haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs. Enter Dowglas. Dow. Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrown A braue defiance in King Henries teeth: And Weſtmerland that was ingag'd did beare it, Which cannot chooſe but bring him quickly on. Wor. The Prince of Wales ſtept forth before the king, And Nephew, challeng'd you to ſingle fight. Hot. O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads, And that no man might draw ſhort breath to day, But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee, How ſhew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt? Ver. No, by my Soule: I neuer in my life Did heare a Challenge vrg'd more modeſtly, Vnleſſe a Brother ſhould a Brother dare To gentle exerciſe, and proofe of Armes. He gaue you all the Duties of a Man, Trimm'd vp your praiſes with a Princely tongue, Spoke your deſeruings like a Chronicle, Making you euer better then his praiſe, By ſtill diſpraiſing praiſe, valew'd with you: And which became him like a Prince indeed, He made a bluſhing citall of himſelfe, And chid his Trewant youth with ſuch a Grace, As if he maſtred there a double ſpirit Of teaching, and of learning inſtantly: There did he pauſe. But let me tell the World, If he out-liue the enuie of this day, England did neuer owe ſo ſweet a hope, So much miſconſtrued in his Wantonneſſe. Hot. Couſin, I thinke thou art enamored On his Follies: neuer did I heare Of any Prince ſo wilde at Liberty. But be he as he will, yet once ere night, I will imbrace him with a Souldiers arme, That he ſhall ſhrinke vnder my curteſie. Arme, arme with ſpeed. And Fellow's, Soldiers, Friends, Better conſider what you haue to do, That I that haue not well the gift of Tongue, Can lift your blood vp with perſwaſion. Enter a Meſſenger. Meſ.

My Lord, heere are Letters for you.

 Hot. I cannot reade them now. O Gentlemen, the time of life is ſhort; To ſpend that ſhortneſſe baſely, were too long. If life did ride vpon a Dials point, Still ending at the arriuall of an houre, And if we liue, we liue to treade on Kings: If dye; braue death, when Princes dye with vs. Now for our Conſciences, the Armes is faire, When the intent for bearing them is iuſt. Enter another Meſſenger. Meſ.

My Lord prepare, the King comes on apace.

 Hot. I thanke him, that he cuts me from my tale: For I profeſſe not talking: Onely this, Let each man do his beſt. And heere I draw a Sword, Whoſe worthy temper I intend to ſtaine With the beſt blood that I can meete withall, In the aduenture of this perillous day. Now Eſperance Percy, and ſet on: Sound all the lofty Inſtruments of Warre, And by that Muſicke, let vs all imbrace: For heauen to earth, ſome of vs neuer ſhall, A ſecond time do ſuch a curteſie. They embrace, the Trumpets ſound, the King entereth with his power, alarum vnto the battell. Then enter Dowglas, and Sir Walter Blunt. Blu. What is thy name, that in battel thus yu croſſeſt me? What honor doſt thou ſeeke vpon my head? Dow. Know then my name is Dowglas, And I do haunt thee in the battell thus, Becauſe ſome tell me, that thou art a King. Blunt.

They tell thee true.

 Dow. The Lord of Stafford deere to day hath bought Thy likeneſſe: for inſted of thee King Harry, This Sword hath ended him, ſo ſhall it thee, Vnleſſe thou yeeld thee as a Priſoner. Blu. I was not borne to yeeld, thou haughty Scot, And thou ſhalt finde a King that will reuenge Lords Staffords death. Fight, Blunt is ſlaine, then enters Hotſpur. Hot.

O Dowglas, hadſt thou fought at Holmedon thus I neuer had triumphed o're a Scot.

 Dow.

All's done, all's won, here breathles lies the king

 Hot.

Where?

 Dow.

Heere.

 Hot. This Dowglas? No, I know this face full well: A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt, Semblably furniſh'd like the King himſelfe. Dow. Ah foole: go with thy ſoule whether it goes, A borrowed Title haſt thou bought too deere. Why didſt thou tell me, that thou wer't a King? Hot.

The King hath many marching in his Coats.

 Dow. Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coates, Ile murder all his Wardrobe peece by peece, Vntill I meet the King. Hot. Vp, and away, Our Souldiers ſtand full fairely for the day. Exeunt Alarum, and enter Falſtaffe ſolus. Fal.

Though I could ſcape ſhot-free at London, I fear the ſhot heere: here's no ſcoring, but vpon the pate. Soft who are you? Sir Walter Blunt, there's Honour for you: here's no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as heauy too; heauen keepe Lead out of mee, I neede no more weight then mine owne Bowelles. I haue led my rag of Muffins where they are pepper'd: there's not three of my 150. left aliue, and they for the Townes end, to beg during life. But who comes heere?

 Enter the Prince. Pri. What, ſtand'ſt thou idle here? Lend me thy ſword, Many a Nobleman likes ſtarke and ſtiffe Vnder the hooues of vaunting enemies, Whoſe deaths are vnreueng • d. Prethy lend me thy ſword Fal.

O Hal, I prethee giue me leaue to breath awhile: Turke Gregory neuer did ſuch deeds in Armes, as I haue done this day. I haue paid Percy, I haue made him ſure.

 Prin. He is indeed, and liuing to kill thee: I prethee lend me thy ſword. Falſt.

Nay Hal, if Percy bee aliue, thou getſt not my Sword; but take my Piſtoll if thou wilt.

 Prin.

Giue it me: What, is it in the Caſe?

 Fal.

I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sacke a City.

 The Prince drawes out a Bottle of Sacke. Prin.

What, is it a time to ieſt and dally now.

Exit. Throwes it at him. Fal.

If Percy be aliue, Ile pierce him: if he do come in my way, ſo: if he do not, if I come in his (willingly) let him make a Carbonado of me: I like not ſuch grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: Giue mee life, which if I can ſaue, ſo: if not, honour comes vnlook'd for, and ther's an end.

Exit
Scena Tertia. Alarum, excurſions, enter the King, the Prince, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, and Earle of Weſtmerland. King.

I prethee Harry withdraw thy ſelfe, thou bleedeſt too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, go you with him.

 P. Ioh.

Not I, my Lord, vnleſſe I did bleed too.

 Prin. I beſeech your Maieſty make vp, Leaſt you retirement do amaze your friends. King. I will do ſo: My Lord of Weſtmerland leade him to his Tent. Weſt.

Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent.

 Prin. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe; And heauen forbid a ſhallow ſcratch ſhould driue The Prince of Wales from ſuch a field as this, Where ſtain'd Nobility lyes troden on, And Rebels Armes triumph in maſſacres. Ioh. We breath too long: Come coſin Weſtmerland, Our duty this way lies, for heauens ſake come. Prin. By heauen thou haſt deceiu'd me Lancaſter, I did not thinke thee Lord of ſuch a ſpirit: Before, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn; But now, I do reſpect thee as my Soule. King. I ſaw him hold Lord Percy at the point, With luſtier maintenance then I did looke for Of ſuch an vngrowne Warriour. Prin.

O this Boy lends mettall to vs all.

Exit. Enter Dowglas. Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads: I am the Dowglas, fatall to all thoſe That weare thoſe colours on them. What art thou That counterfeit'ſt the perſon of a King? King. The King himſelfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart So many of his ſhadowes thou haſt met, And not the very King. I haue two Boyes Seeke Percy and thy ſelfe about the Field: But ſeeing thou fall'ſt on me ſo luckily, I will aſſay thee: ſo defend thy ſelfe. Dow. I feare thou art another counterfeit: And yet infaith thou bear'ſt thee like a King: But mine I am ſure thou art, whoere thou be, And thus I win thee. They fight, the K. being in danger, Enter Prince. Prin. Hold vp they head vile Scot, or thou art like Neuer to hold it vp againe: the Spirits Of valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes; It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee, Who neuer promiſeth, but he meanes to pay. They Fight, Dowglas flyeth. Cheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace? Sir Nicholas Gawſey hath for ſuccour ſent, And ſo hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton ſtraight. King. Stay, and breath awhile. Thou haſt redeem'd thy loſt opinion, And ſhew'd thou mak'ſt ſome tender of my life In this faire reſcue thou haſt brought to mee. Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury, That euer ſaid I hearkned to your death. If it were ſo, I might haue let alone The inſulting hand of Dowglas ouer you, Which would haue bene as ſpeedy in your end, As all the poyſonous Potions in the world, And ſau'd the Treacherous labour of your Sonne. K.

Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gauſey.

Exit Enter Hotſpur. Hot.

If I miſtake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

Prin.

Thou ſpeak'ſt as if I would deny my name.

 Hot.

My name is Harrie Percie.

Prin. Why then I ſee a very valiant rebel of that name. I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy, To ſhare with me in glory any more: Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere, Nor can one England brooke a double reigne, Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales. Hot. Nor ſhall it Harry, for the houre is come To end the one of vs; and would to heauen, Thy name in Armes, were now as great as mine. Prin. Ile make it greater, ere I part from thee, And all the budding Honors on thy Creſt, Ile crop, to make a Garland for my head. Hot.

I can no longer brooke thy Vanities.

Fight. Enter Falſtaffe. Fal.

Well ſaid Hal, to it Hal. Nay you ſhall finde no Boyes play heere, I can tell you.

 Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falſtaffe, who fals down as if he were dead. The Prince killeth Percie. Hot. Oh Harry, thou haſt rob'd me of my youth: I better brooke the loſſe of brittle life, Then thoſe proud Titles thou haſt wonne of me, They wound my thoghts worſe, then the ſword my fleſh: But thought's the ſlaue of Life, and Life, Times foole; And Time, that takes ſuruey of all the world, Muſt haue a ſtop. O, I could Propheſie, But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death, Lyes on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art duſt And food for — Prin. For Worme • , braue Percy. Farewell great heart: Ill-weau'd Ambition, how much art thou ſhrunke? When that this bodie did containe a ſpirit, A Kingdome for it was too ſmall a bound: But now two paces of the vileſt Earth Is roome enough. This Earth that beares the dead, Beares not aliue ſo ſtout a Gentleman. If thou wer't ſenſible of curteſie, I ſhould not make ſo great a ſhew of Zeale. But let my fauours hide thy mangled face, And euen in thy behalfe, Ile thanke my ſelfe For doing theſe fayre Rites of Tenderneſſe. Adieu, and take thy praiſe with thee to heauen, Thy ignomy ſleepe with thee in the graue, But not remembred in thy Epitaph. What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this fleſh Keepe in a little life? Poore Iacke, farewell: I could haue better ſpar'd a better man. O, I ſhould haue a heauy miſſe of thee, If I were much in loue with Vanity. Death hath not ſtrucke ſo fat a Deere to day, Though many dearer in this bloody Fray: Imbowell'd will I ſee thee by and by, Till then, in blood, by Noble Percie lye. Exit. Falſtaffe riſeth vp. Falſt.

Imbowell'd? If thou imbowell mee to day, Ile giue you leaue to powder me, and eat me too to morow. 'Twas time to counterfet, or that hotte Termagant Scot, had paid the ſcot and lot too, Counterfeit? I am no counterfeit; to dye, is to be a counterfeit, for hee is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: But to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liueth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeede. The better part of Valour, is Diſcretion; in the which better part, I haue ſaued my life. I am affraide of this Gun-powder Percy though he be dead. How if hee ſhould counterfeit too, and riſe? I am afraid hee would proue the better counterfeit: therefore Ile make him ſure: yea, and Ile ſweare I kill'd him. Why may not hee riſe as well as I: Nothing confutes me but eyes, and no-bodie ſees me. Therefore ſirra, with a new wound in your thigh come you along me.

Takes Hotſpurre on his backe. Enter Prince and Iohn of Lancaſter. Prin.

Come Brother Iohn, full brauely haſt thou fleſht thy Maiden ſword.

 Iohn. But ſoft, who haue we heere? Did you not tell me this Fat man was dead? Prin. I did, I ſaw him dead, Breathleſſe, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou aliue? Or is it fantaſie that playes vpon our eye-ſight? I prethee ſpeake, we will not truſt our eyes Without our eares. Thou art not what thou ſeem'ſt. Fal.

No, that's certaine: I am not a double man: but if I be not Iacke Falſtaffe, then am I a Iacke: There is Percy, if your Father will do me any Honor, ſo: if not, let him kill the next Percie himſelfe. I looke to be either Earle or Duke, I can aſſure you.

 Prin.

Why, Percy I kill'd my ſelfe, and ſaw thee dead.

 Fal.

Did'ſt thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is giuen to Lying? I graunt you I was downe, and out of Breath, and ſo was he, but we roſe both at an inſtant, and fought a long houre by Shrewsburie clocke. If I may bee beleeued, ſo: if not, let them that ſhould reward Valour, beare the ſinne vpon their owne heads. Ile take't on my death I gaue him this wound in the Thigh: if the man vvere aliue, and would deny it, I would make him eate a peece of my ſword.

 Iohn.

This is the ſtrangeſt Tale that e're I heard.

 Prin. This is the ſtrangeſt Fellow, Brother Iohn. Come bring your luggage Nobly on your backe: For my part, if a lye may do thee grace, Ile gil'd it with the happieſt tearmes I haue. A Retreat is ſounded. The Trumpets ſound Retreat, the day is ours: Come Brother, let's to the higheſt of the field, To ſee what Friends are liuing, who are dead. Exeunt Fal.

Ile follow as they ſay, for Reward. Hee that rewards me, heauen reward him. If I do grow great again, Ile grow leſſe? For Ile purge, and leaue Sacke, and liue cleanly, as a Nobleman ſhould do.

Exit
Scaena Quarta. The Trumpets ſound. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, Earle of Weſtmerland, with Worceſter & Ʋernon Priſoners. King. Thus euer did Rebellion finde Rebuke. Ill-ſpirited Worceſter, did we not ſend Grace, Pardon, and tearmes of Loue to all of you? And would'ſt thou turne our offers contrary? Miſuſe the tenor of thy Kinſmans truſt? Three Knights vpon our party ſlaine to day, A Noble Earle, and many a creature elſe, Had beene aliue this houre, If like a Chriſtian thou had'ſt truly borne Betwixt out Armies, true Intelligence. Wor. What I haue done, my ſafety vrg'd me to, And I embrace this fortune patiently, Since not to be auoyded, it fals on mee. King. Beare Worceſter to death, and Ʋernon too: Other Offenders we will pauſe vpon. Exit Worceſter and Ʋernon. How goes the Field? Prin. The Noble Scot Lord Dowglas, when hee ſaw The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, The Noble Percy ſlaine, and all his men, Vpon the foot of feare, fled with the reſt; And falling from a hill, he was ſo bruiz'd That the purſuers tooke him. At my Tent The Dowglas is, and I beſeech your Grace. I may diſpoſe of him. King.

With all my heart.

 Prin. Then Brother Iohn of Lancaſter, To you this honourable bounty ſhall belong: Go to the Dowglas, and deliuer him Vp to his pleaſure, ranſomleſſe and free: His Valour ſhewne vpon our Creſts to day, Hath taught vs how to cheriſh ſuch high deeds, Euen in the boſome of our Aduerſaries. King. Then this remaines: that we diuide our Power. You Sonne Iohn, and my Couſin Weſtmerland Towards Yorke ſhall bend you, with your deereſt ſpeed To meet Northumberland, and the Prelate Scroope, Who (as we heare) are buſily in Armes. My Selfe, and you Sonne Harry will towards Wales, To fight with Glendower, and the Earle of March. Rebellion in this Land ſhall loſe his way, Meeting the Checke of ſuch another day: And ſince this Buſineſſe ſo faire is done, Let vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne. Exeunt.
FINIS.
The Second Part of Henry the Fourth, Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift.
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima. INDVCTION. Enter Rumour. OPen your Eares: For which of you will ſtop The vent of Hearing, when loud Rumor ſpeakes? I, from the Orient, to the drooping Weſt (Making the winde my Poſt-horſe) ſtill vnfold The Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth. Vpon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride, The which, in euery Language, I pronounce, Stuffing the Eares of them with falſe Reports: I ſpeake of Peace, while couert Enmitie (Vnder the ſmile of Safety) wounds the World: And who but Rumour, who but onely I Make fearfull Maſters, and prepar'd Defence, Whil'ſt the bigge yeare, ſwolne with ſome other griefes, Is thought with childe, by the ſterne Tyrant, Warre, And no ſuch matter? Rumour, is a Pipe Blowne by Surmiſes▪ Ielouſies, Coniectures; And of ſo eaſie, and ſo plaine a ſtop, That the blunt Monſter, with vncounted heads, The ſtill diſcordant, wauering Multitude, Can play vpon it. But what neede I thus My well-knowne Body to Anathomize Among my houſhold? Why is Rumour heere? I run before King Harries victory, Who in a bloodie field by Shrewsburie Hath beaten downe yong Hotſpurre, and his Troopes, Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion, Euen with the Rebels blood. But what meane I To ſpeake ſo true at firſt? My Office is To noyſe abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell Vnder the Wrath of Noble Hotſpurres Sword: And that the King, before the Dowglas Rage Stoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death. This haue I rumour'd through the peaſant-Townes, Betweene the Royall Field of Shrewsburie, And this Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone. Where Hotſpurres Father, old Northumberland, Lyes crafty ſicke. The Poſtes come tyring on, And not a man of them brings other newes Then they haue learn'd of Me. From Rumours Tongues, They bring ſmooth-Comforts-falſe, worſe then True-wrongs. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Lord Bardolfe, and the Porter. L. Bar. Who keepes the Gate heere ho • ? Where is the Earle? Por.

What ſhall I ſay you are?

 Bar. Tell thou the Earle That the Lord Bardolfe doth attend him heere. Por. His Lordſhip is walk'd forth into the Orchard, Pleaſe it your Honor, knocke but at the Gate, And he himſelfe will anſwer. Enter Northumberland. L. Bar.

Heere comes the Earle.

 Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Eu'ry minute now Should be the Father of ſome Stratagem; The Times are wilde: Contention (like a Horſe Full of high Feeding) madly hath broke looſe, And beares downe all before him. L. Bar. Noble Earle, I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury. Nor.

Good, and heauen will.

 L. Bar. As good as heart can wiſh: The King is almoſt wounded to the death: And in the Fortune of my Lord your Sonne, Prince Harrie ſlaine out-right: and both the Blunts. Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas. Yong Prince Iohn, And Weſtmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field. And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir Iohn) Is priſoner to your Sonne. O, ſuch a Day, (So fought, ſo follow'd, and ſo fairely wonne) Came not, till now, to dignifie the Times Since Caeſars Fortunes. Nor. How is this deriu'd? Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury? L. Bar. I ſpake with one (my L.) that came frō thence, A Gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me theſe newes for true. Nor. Heere comes my Seruant Trauers, whom I ſent On Tueſday laſt, to liſten after Newes. Enter Trauers. L. Bar. My Lord, I ouer-rod him on the way, And he is furniſh'd with no certainties, More then he (haply) may retaile from me. Nor. Now Trauers, what good tidings comes frō you? Tra. My Lord, Sir Iohn Ʋmfreuill turn'd me backe With ioyfull tydings; and (being better hors'd) Out-rod me. After him, came ſpurring head A Gentleman (almoſt fore-ſpent with ſpeed) That ſtopp'd by me, to breath his bloodied horſe. He ask'd the way to Cheſter: And of him I did demand what Newes from Shrewsbury: He told me, that Rebellion had ill lucke, And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold. With that he gaue his able Horſe the head, And bending forwards ſtrooke his able heeles Againſt the panting ſides of his poore Iade Vp to the Rowell head, and ſtarting ſo, He ſeem'd in running, to deuoure the way, Staying no longer queſtion. North. Ha? Againe: Said he yong Harrie Percyes Spurre was cold? (Of Hot-Spurre, cold-Spurre?) that Rebellion, Had met ill lucke? L. Bar. My Lord: Ile tell you what, If my yong Lord your Sonne, haue not the day, Vpon mine Honor, for a ſilken point Ile giue my Barony. Neuer talke of it. Nor. Why ſhould the Gentleman that rode by Trauers Giue then ſuch inſtances of Loſſe? L. Bar. Who, he? He was ſome hielding Fellow, that had ſtolne The Horſe he rode-on: and vpon my life Speake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes. Enter Morton. Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a Title-leafe, Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume: So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious Flood Hath left a witneſt Vſurpation. Say Morton, did'ſt thou come from Shrewsbury? Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord) Where hatefull death put on his vglieſt Maske To fright our party. North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother? Thou trembl'ſt; and the whiteneſſe in thy Cheeke Is apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand. Euen ſuch a man, ſo faint, ſo ſpiritleſſe, So dull, ſo dead in looke, ſo woe-be-gone, Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night, And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd. But Priam found the Fire, ere he his Tongue: And I, my Percies death, ere thou report'ſt it. This, thou would'ſt ſay: Your Sonne did thus, and thus: Your Brother, thus. So fought the Noble Dowglas, Stopping my greedy eare, with their bold deeds. But in the end (to ſtop mine Eare indeed) Thou haſt a Sigh, to blow away this Praiſe, Ending with Brother, Sonne, and all are dead. Mor. Dowglas is liuing, and your Brother, yet: But for my Lord, your Sonne. North. Why▪ he is dead. See what a ready tongue Suſpition hath: He that but feares the thing, he would not know, Hath by Inſtinct, knowledge from others Eyes, That what he feard, is chanc'd. Yet ſpeake (Morton) Tell thou thy Earle, his Diuination Lies, And I will take it, as a ſweet Diſgrace, And make thee rich, for doing me ſuch wrong. Mor. You are too great, to be (by me) gainſaid: Your Spirit is too true, your Feares too certaine. North. Yet for all this, ſay not that Percies dead. I ſee a ſtrange Confeſſion in thine Eye: Thou ſhak'ſt thy head, and hold'ſt it Feare, or Sinne, To ſpeake a truth. If he be ſlaine, ſay ſo: The Tongue offends not, that reports his death: And he doth ſinne that doth belye the dead: Not he, which ſayes the dead is not aliue: Yet the firſt bringer of vnwelcome Newes Hath but a looſing Office: and his Tongue, Sounds euer after as a ſullen Bell Remembred, knolling a departing Friend. L. Bar.

I cannot thinke (my Lord) your ſon is dead.

 Mor. I am ſorry, I ſhould force you to beleeue That, which I would to heauen, I had not ſeene. But theſe mine eyes, ſaw him in bloody ſtate, Rend'ring faint quittance (wearied, and out-breath'd) To Henrie Monmouth, whoſe ſwift wrath beate downe The neuer-daunted Percie to the earth, From whence (with life) he neuer more ſprung vp. In few; his death (whoſe ſpirit lent a fire, Euen to the dulleſt Peazant in his Campe) Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate away From the beſt temper'd Courage in his Troopes▪ For from his Mettle, was his Party ſteel'd; Which once, in him abated, all the reſt Turn'd on themſelues, like dull and heauy Lead: And as the Thing, that's heauy in it ſelfe, Vpon enforcement, flyes with greateſt ſpeede, So did our Men, heauy in Hotſpurres loſſe, Lend to this weight, ſuch lightneſſe with their Feare, That Arrowes fled not ſwifter toward their ayme, Then did our Soldiers (ayming at their ſafety) Fly from the field. Then was that Noble Worceſter Too ſoone ta'ne priſoner: and that furious Scot, (The bloody Dowglas) whoſe well-labouring ſword Had three times ſlaine th' appearance of the King, Gan vaile his ſtomacke, and did grace the ſhame Of thoſe that turn'd their backes: and in his flight, Stumbling in Feare, was tooke. The ſumme of all, Is, that the King hath wonne: and hath ſent out A ſpeedy power, to encounter you my Lord, Vnder the Conduct of yong Lancaſter And Weſtmerland. This is the Newes at full. North. For this, I ſhall haue time enough to mourne. In Poyſon, there is Phyſicke: and this newes (Hauing beene well) that would haue made me ſicke, Being ſicke, haue in ſome meaſure, made me well. And as the Wretch, whoſe Feauer-weakned ioynts▪ Like ſtrengthleſſe Hindges, buckle vnder life, Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fire Out of his keepers armes: Euen ſo, my Limbes (Weak'ned with greefe) being now inrag'd with greefe, Are thrice themſelues. Hence therefore thou nice crutch, A ſcalie Gauntlet now, with ioynts of Steele Muſt gloue this hand. And hence thou ſickly Quoife, Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which Princes, fleſh'd with Conqueſt, ayme to hit. Now binde my Browes with Iron, and approach The ragged'ſt houre, that Time and Spight dare bring To frowne vpon th' enrag'd Northumberland. Let Heauen kiſſe Earth: now let not Natures hand Keepe the wilde Flood confin'd: Let Order dye, And let the world no longer be a ſtage To feede Contention in a ling'ring Act: But let one ſpirit of the Firſt-borne Caine Reigne in all boſomes, that each heart being ſet On bloody Courſes, the rude Scene may end, And darkneſſe be the burier of the dead. L. Bar.

Sweet Earle, diuorce not wiſedom from your Honor.

 Mor. The liues of all your louing Complices Leane-on your health, the which if you giue o're To ſtormy Paſſion, muſt perforce decay. You caſt th' euent of Warre (my Noble Lord) And ſumm'd the accompt of Chance, before you ſaid Let vs make head: It was your preſurmize, That in the dole of blowes, your Son might drop. You knew he walk'd o're perils, on an edge More likely to fall in, then to get o're: You were aduis'd his fleſh was capeable Of Wounds, and Scarres; and that his forward Spirit Would lift him, where moſt trade of danger rang'd, Yet did you ſay go forth: and none of this (Though ſtrongly apprehended) could reſtraine The ſtiffe-borne Action: What hath then befalne? Or what hath this bold enterprize bring forth, More then that Being, which was like to be? L. Bar. We all that are engaged to this loſſe, Knew that we ventur'd on ſuch dangerous Seas, That if we wrought out life, was ten to one: And yet we ventur'd for the gaine propos'd, Choak'd the reſpect of likely perill fear'd, And ſince we are o're-ſet, venture againe. Come, we will all put forth; Body, and Goods, Mor. 'Tis more then time: And (my moſt Noble Lord) I heare for certaine, and do ſpeake the truth: The gentle Arch-biſhop of Yorke is vp With well appointed Powres: he is a man Who with a double Surety bindes his Followers. My Lord (your Sonne) had onely but the Corpes, But ſhadowes, and the ſhewes of men to fight. For that ſame word (Rebellion) did diuide The action of their bodies, from their ſoules, And they did fight with queaſineſſe, conſtrain'd As men drinke Potions; that their Weapons only Seem'd on our ſide: but for their Spirits and Soules, This word (Rebellion) it had froze them vp, As Fiſh are in a Pond. But now the Biſhop Turnes Inſurrection to Religion, Suppos'd ſincere, and holy in his Thoughts: He's follow'd both with Body, and with Minde: And doth enlarge his Riſing, with the blood Of faire King Richard, ſcrap'd from Pomfret ſtones, Deriues from heauen, his Quarrell, and his Cauſe: Tels them, he doth beſtride a bleeding Land, Gaſping for life, vnder great Bullingbrooke, And more, and leſſe, do flocke to follow him. North. I knew of this before. But to ſpeake truth, This preſent greefe had wip'd it from my minde. Go in with me, and councell euery man The apteſt way for ſafety, and reuenge: Get Poſts, and Letters, and make Friends with ſpeed, Neuer ſo few, nor neuer yet more need. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falſtaffe, and Page. Fal.

Sirra, you giant, what ſaies the Doct. to my water?

 Pag.

He ſaid ſir, the water it ſelfe was a good healthy water: but for the party that ow'd it, he might haue more diſeaſes then he knew for.

 Fal.

Men of all ſorts take a pride to gird at mee: the braine of this fooliſh compounded Clay-man, is not able to inuent any thing that tends to laughter, more then I inuent, or is inuented on me. I am not onely witty in my ſelfe, but the cauſe that wit is in other men. I doe heere walke before thee, like a Sow, that hath o'rewhelm'd all her Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Seruice for any other reaſon, then to ſet mee off, why then I haue no iudgement. Thou horſon Mandrake, thou art fitter to be worne in my cap, then to wait at my heeles. I was neuer mann'd with an Agot till now: but I will ſette you neyther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in vilde apparell, and ſend you backe againe to your Maſter, for a Iewell. The Iuuenall (the Prince your Maſter) whoſe Chin is not yet fledg'd, I will ſooner haue a beard grow in the Palme of my hand, then he ſhall get one on his cheeke: yet he will not ſticke to ſay, his Face is a Face-Royall. Heauen may finiſh it when he will, it is not a haire amiſſe yet: he may keepe it ſtill at a Face-Royall, for a Barber ſhall neuer earne ſix pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man euer ſince his Father was a Batchellour. He may keepe his owne Grace, but he is almoſt out of mine, I can aſſure him. What ſaid M. Dombledon, about the Satten for my ſhort Cloake, and Slops?

 Pag.

He ſaid ſir, you ſhould procure him better Aſſurance, then Bardolfe: he wold not take his Bond & yours, he lik'd not the Security.

 Fal.

Let him bee damn'd like the Glutton, may his Tongue be hotter, a horſon Achitophel; a Raſcally-yea-forſooth-knaue, to beare a Gentleman in hand, and then ſtand vpon Security? The horſon ſmooth-pates doe now weare nothing but high ſhoes, and bunches of Keyes at their girdles: and if a man is through with them in honeſt Taking-vp, then they muſt ſtand vpon Securitie: I had as liefe they would put Rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to ſtoppe it with Security. I look'd hee ſhould haue ſent me two and twenty yards of Satten (as I am true Knight) and he ſends me Security. Well, he may ſleep in Security, for he hath the horne of Abundance: and the lightneſſe of his Wife ſhines through it, and yet cannot he ſee, though he haue his owne Lanthorne to light him. Where's Bardolfe?

 Pag.

He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worſhip a horſe.

 Fal.

I bought him in Paules, and hee'l buy mee a horſe in Smithfield. If I could get mee a wife in the Stewes, I were Mann'd, Hors'd, and Wiu'd.

 Enter Chiefe Iuſtice, and Seruant. Pag.

Sir, heere comes the Nobleman that committed the Prince for ſtriking him, about Bardolfe.

Fal.

Wait cloſe, I will not ſee him.

 Ch. Iuſt.

What's he that goes there?

 Ser.

Falſtaffe, and't pleaſe your Lordſhip.

 Iuſt.

He that was in queſtion for the Robbery?

 Ser.

He my Lord, but he hath ſince done good ſeruice at Shrewsbury: and (as I heare) is now going with ſome Charge, to the Lord Iohn of Lancaſter.

Iust.

What to Yorke? Call him backe againe.

 Ser.

Sir Iohn Falſtaffe.

Fal.

Boy, tell him, I am deafe.

 Pag.

You muſt ſpeake lowder, my Maſter is deafe.

 Iuſt. I am ſure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go plucke him by the Elbow, I muſt ſpeake with him. Ser.

Sir Iohn.

Fal.

What? a yong knaue and beg? Is there not wars? Is there not imployment? Doth not the K. lack ſubiects? Do not the Rebels want Soldiers? Though it be a ſhame to be on any ſide but one, it is worſe ſhame to begge, then to be on the worſt ſide, were it worſe then the name of Rebellion can tell how to make it.

 Ser.

You miſtake me Sir.

 Fal.

Why ſir? Did I ſay you were an honeſt man? Setting my Knight-hood, and my Souldierſhip aſide, I had lyed in my throat, if I had ſaid ſo.

 Ser.

I pray you (Sir) then ſet your Knighthood and your Souldier-ſhip aſide, and giue mee leaue to tell you, you lye in your throat, if you ſay I am any other then an honeſt man.

 Fal.

I giue thee leaue to tell me ſo? I lay a-ſide that which growes to me? If thou get'ſt any leaue of me, hang me: if thou tak'ſt leaue, thou wer't better be hang'd: you Hunt-counter, hence: Auant.

 Ser.

Sir, my Lord would ſpeake with you.

 Iuſt.

Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, a word with you.

 Fal.

My good Lord: giue your Lordſhip good time of the day. I am glad to ſee your Lordſhip abroad: I heard ſay your Lordſhip was ſicke. I hope your Lordſhip goes abroad by aduiſe. Your Lordſhip (though not clean paſt your youth) hath yet ſome ſmack of age in you: ſome relliſh of the ſaltneſſe of Time, and I moſt humbly beſeech your Lordſhip, to haue a reuerend care of your health.

 Iuſt.

Sir Iohn, I ſent you before your Expedition, to Shrewsburie.

 Fal.

If it pleaſe your Lordſhip, I heare his Maieſtie is return'd with ſome diſcomfort from Wales.

 Iuſt.

I talke not of his Maieſty: you would not come when I ſent for you?

 Fal.

And I heare moreouer, his Highneſſe is falne into this ſame whorſon Apoplexie.

 Iuſt.

Well, heauen mend him. I pray let me ſpeak with you.

 Fal.

This Apoplexie is (as I take it) a kind of Lethargie, a ſleeping of the blood, a horſon Tingling.

 Iuſt.

What tell you me of it? be it as it is.

 Fal.

It hath it originall from much greefe; from ſtudy and perturbation of the braine. I haue read the cauſe of his effects in Galen. It is a kinde of deafeneſſe.

 Iuſt.

I thinke you are falne into the diſeaſe: For you heare not what I ſay to you.

 Fal.

Very well (my Lord) very well: rather an't pleaſe you) it is the diſeaſe of not Liſtning, the malady of not Marking, that I am troubled withall.

 Iuſt.

To puniſh you by the heeles, would amend the attention of your eares, & I care not if I be your Phyſitian

 Fal.

I am as poore as Iob, my Lord; but not ſo Patient: your Lordſhip may miniſter the Potion of impriſonment to me, in reſpect of Pouertie: but how I ſhould bee your Patient, to follow your preſcriptions, the wiſe may make ſome dram of a ſcruple, or indeede, a ſcruple it ſelfe.

 Iuſt.

I ſent for you (when there were matters againſt you for your life) to come ſpeake with me.

 Fal.

As I was then aduiſed by my learned Councel, in the lawes of this Land-ſeruice, I did not come.

 Iuſt.

Wel, the truth is (ſir Iohn) you liue in great infamy

 Fal.

He that buckles him in my belt, cānot liue in leſſe.

 Iuſt.

Your Meanes is very ſlender, and your waſt great.

 Fal.

I would it were otherwiſe: I would my Meanes were greater, and my waſte ſlenderer.

 Iuſt.

You haue miſled the youthfull Prince.

 Fal.

The yong Prince hath miſled mee. I am the Fellow with the great belly, and he my Dogge.

 Iuſt.

Well, I am loth to gall a new-heal'd wound: your daies ſeruice at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded ouer your Nights exploit on Gads-hill. You may thanke the vnquiet time, for your quiet o're-poſting that Action.

 Fal.

My Lord?

 Iuſt.

But ſince all is wel, keep it ſo: wake not a ſleeping Wolfe.

 Fal.

To wake a Wolfe, is as bad as to ſmell a Fox.

 Iu.

What? you are as a candle, the better part burnt out

 Fal.

A Waſſell-Candle, my Lord; all Tallow: if I did ſay of wax, my growth would approue the truth.

 Iuſt.

There is not a white haire on your face, but ſhold haue his effect of grauity.

 Fal.

His effect of grauy, grauy, grauy.

 Iuſt

You follow the yong Prince vp and downe, like his euill Angell.

 Fal.

Not ſo (my Lord) your ill Angell is light: but I hope, he that lookes vpon mee, will take mee without, weighing: and yet, in ſome reſpects I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Vertue is of ſo little regard in theſe Coſtormongers, that true valor is turn'd Beare-heard. Pregnancie is made a Tapſter, and hath his quicke wit waſted in giuing Recknings: all the other gifts appertinent to man (as the malice of this Age ſhapes them) are not woorth a Gooſeberry. You that are old, conſider not the capacities of vs that are yong: you meaſure the heat of our Liuers, with the bitternes of your gals: & we that are in the vaward of our youth, I muſt confeſſe, are wagges too.

 Iuſt.

Do you ſet downe your name in the ſcrowle of youth, that are written downe old, with all the Charracters of age? Haue you not a moiſt eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheeke? a white beard? a decreaſing leg? an increſing belly? Is not your voice broken? your winde ſhort? your wit ſingle? and euery part about you blaſted with Antiquity? and wil you cal your ſelfe yong? Fy, fy, fy, ſir Iohn.

Fal.

My Lord, I was borne with a white head, & ſomthing a round belly. For my voice, I haue loſt it with hallowing and ſinging of Anthemes. To approue my youth farther, I will not: the truth is, I am onely olde in iudgement and vnderſtanding: and he that will caper with mee for a thouſand Markes, let him lend me the mony, & haue at him. For the boxe of th' eare that the Prince gaue you, he gaue it like a rude Prince, and you tooke it like a ſenſible Lord. I haue checkt him for it, and the yong Lion repents: Marry not in aſhes and ſacke-cloath, but in new Silke, and old Sacke.

 Iuſt.

Wel, heauen ſend the Prince a better companion.

 Fal.

Heauen ſend the Companion a better Prince: I cannot rid my hands of him.

 Iuſt.

Well, the King hath ſeuer'd you and Prince Harry, I heare you are going with Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, againſt the Archbiſhop, and the Earle of Northumberland

 Fal.

Yes, I thanke your pretty ſweet wit for it: but looke you pray, (all you that kiſſe my Ladie Peace, at home) that our Armies ioyn not in a hot day: for if I take but two ſhirts out with me, and I meane not to ſweat extraordinarily: if it bee a hot day, if I brandiſh any thing but my Bottle, would I might neuer ſpit white againe: There is not a daungerous Action can peepe out his head, but I am thruſt vpon it. Well, I cannot laſt euer.

 Iuſt.

Well, be honeſt, be honeſt, and heauen bleſſe your Expedition.

 Fal.

Will your Lordſhip lend mee a thouſand pound, to furniſh me forth?

 Iuſt.

Not a peny, not a peny: you are too impatient to beare croſſes. Fare you well. Commend mee to my Coſin Weſtmerland.

 Fal.

If I do, fillop me with a three-man-Beetle. A man can no more ſeparate Age and Couetouſneſſe, then he can part yong limbes and letchery: but the Gowt galles the one, and the pox pinches the other; and ſo both the Degrees preuent my curſes. Boy?

 Page.

Sir.

 Fal.

What money is in my purſe?

 Page.

Seuen groats▪ and two pence.

 Fal.

I can get no remedy againſt this Conſumption of the purſe. Borrowing onely lingers, and lingers it out, but the diſeaſe is incureable. Go beare this letter to my Lord of Lancaſter, this to the Prince, this to the Earle of Weſtmerland, and this to old Miſtris Ʋrſula, whome I haue weekly ſworne to marry, ſince I perceiu'd the firſt white haire on my chin. About it: you know where to finde me. A pox of this Gowt, or a Gowt of this Poxe: for the one or th' other playes the rogue with my great toe: It is no matter, if I do halt, I haue the warres for my colour, and my Penſion ſhall ſeeme the more reaſonable. A good wit will make vſe of any thing: I will turne diſeaſes to commodity.

Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Archbiſhop, Haſtings, Mowbray, and Lord Bardolfe. Ar. Thus haue you heard our cauſes, & kno our Means: And my moſt noble Friends, I pray you all Speake plainly your opinions of our hopes, And firſt (Lord Marſhall) what ſay you to it? Mow. I well allow the occaſion of our Armes, But gladly would be better ſatisfied, How (in our Meanes) we ſhould aduance our ſelues To looke with forhead bold and big enough Vpon the Power and puiſance of the King. Haſt. Our preſent Muſters grow vpon the File To fiue and twenty thouſand men of choice: And our Supplies, liue largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whoſe boſome burnes With an incenſed Fire of Iniuries. L. Bar. The queſtion then (Lord Hastings) ſtandeth thus Whether our preſent fiue and twenty thouſand May hold-vp-head, without Northumberland: Haſt.

With him, we may.

 L. Bar. I marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought to feeble, My iudgement is, we ſhould not ſtep too farre Till we had his Aſsiſtance by the hand. For in a Theame ſo bloody fac'd, as this, Coniecture, Expectation, and Surmiſe Of Aydes incertaine, ſhould not be admitted. Arch. 'Tis very true Lord Bardolfe, for indeed It was yong Hotſpurres caſe, at Shrewsbury. L. Bar. It was (my Lord) who liu'd himſelf with hope, Eating the ayre, on promiſe of Supply, Flatt'ring himſelfe with Proiect of a power, Much ſmaller, then the ſmalleſt of his Thoughts, And ſo with great imagination (Proper to mad men led his Powers to death, And (winking) leap'd into deſtruction. Haſt. But (by your leaue) it neuer yet did hurt, To lay downe likely-hoods, and formes of hope. L. Bar. Yes, if this preſent quality of warre, Indeed the inſtant action: a cauſe on foot, Liues ſo in hope: As in an early Spring, We ſee th' appearing buds, which to proue fruite, Hope giues not ſo much warrant, as Diſpaire That Froſts will bite them. When we meane to build, We firſt ſuruey the Plot, then draw the Modell, And when we ſee the figure of the houſe, Then muſt we rate the coſt of the Erection, Which if we finde out-weighes Ability, What do we then, but draw a-new the Modell In fewer offices? Or at leaſt, deſiſt To builde at all? Much more, in this great worke, (Which is (almoſt) to plucke a Kingdome downe, And ſet another vp) ſhould we ſuruey The plot of Situation, and the Modell; Conſent vpon a ſure Foundation: Queſtion Surueyors, know our owne eſtate, How able ſuch a Worke to vndergo, To weigh againſt his Oppoſite? Or elſe, We fortifie in Paper, and in Figures, Vſing the Names of men, inſtead of men: Like one, that drawes the Modell of a houſe Beyond his power to builde it; who (halfe through) Giues o're, and leaues his part-created Coſt A naked ſubiect to the Weeping Clouds, And waſte, for churliſh Winters tyranny. Haſt. Grant that our hopes (yet likely of faire byrth) Should be ſtill-borne, and that we now poſſeſt The vtmoſt man of expectation: I thinke we are a Body ſtrong enough (Euen as we are) to equall with the King. L. Bar.

What is the King but fiue & twenty thouſand?

 Haſt. To vs no more: nay not ſo much Lord Bardolf. For his diuiſions (as the Times do braul) Are in three Heads: one Power againſt the French, And one againſt Glendower: Perforce a third Muſt take vp vs: So is the vnfirme King In three diuided: and his Coffers ſound With hollow Pouerty, and Emptineſſe. Ar. That he ſhould draw his ſeuerall ſtrengths togither And come againſt vs in full puiſſance Need not be dreaded. Haſt. If he ſhould do ſo, He leaues his backe vnarm'd, the French, and Welch Baying him at the heeles: neuer feare that. L. Bar.

Who is it like ſhould lead his Forces hither?

 Haſt. The Duke of Lancaſter, and Weſtmerland: Againſt the Welſh himſelfe, and Harrie Monmouth. But who is ſubſtituted 'gainſt the French, I haue no certaine notice. Arch. Let vs on: And publiſh the occaſion of our Armes. The Common-wealth is ſicke of their owne Choice, Their ouer-greedy loue hath ſurfetted: An habitation giddy, and vnſure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond Many, with what loud applauſe Did'ſt thou beate heauen with bleſſing Bullingbrooke, Before he was, what thou would'ſt haue him be? And being now trimm'd in thine owne deſires, Thou (beaſtly Feeder) art ſo full of him, That thou prouok'ſt thy ſelfe to caſt him vp. So, ſo, (thou common Dogge) did'ſt thou diſgorge Thy glutton-boſome of the Royall Richard, And now thou would'ſt eate thy dead vomit vp, And howl'ſt to finde it. What truſt is in theſe Times? They, that when Richard liu'd, would haue him dye, Are now become enamour'd on his graue. Thou that threw'ſt duſt vpon goodly head When through proud London he came ſighing on, After th' admired heeles of Bullingbrooke, Cri'ſt now, O Earth, yeeld vs that King agine, And take thou this (O thoughts of men accurs'd) "Paſt, and to Come, ſeemes beſt; things Preſent, worſt. Mow.

Shall we go draw our numbers, and ſet on?

 Hast.

We are Times ſubiects, and Time bids, be gon.
Actus Secundus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Hoſteſſe, with two Officers, Fang, and Snare. Hosteſſe.

Mr. Fang, haue you entred the Action?

 Fang.

It is enter'd.

 Hosteſſe. Wher's your Yeoman? Is it a luſty yeoman? Will he ſtand to it? Fang.

Sirrah, where's Snare?

 Hosteſſe.

I, I, good M. Snare.

Snare.

Heere, heere.

 Fang.

Snare, we muſt Arreſt Sir Iohn Falſtaffe.

Hoſt.

I good M. Snare, I haue enter'd him, and all.

 Sn.

It may chance coſt ſome of vs our liues: he wil ſtab

 Hoſteſſe.

Alas the day: take heed of him: he ſtabd me in mine owne houſe, and that moſt beaſtly: he cares not what miſcheefe he doth, if his weapon be out. Hee will foyne like any diuell, he will ſpare neither man, woman, nor childe.

 Fang.

If I can cloſe with him, I care not for his thruſt.

 Hosteſſe.

No, nor I neither: Ile be at your elbow.

 Fang.

If I but fiſt him once: if he come but within my Vice.

 Hoſt.

I am vndone with his going: I warrant he is an infinitiue thing vpon my ſcore. Good M. Fang hold him ſure: good M. Snare let him not ſcape, he comes continuantly to Py-Corner (ſauing your manhoods) to buy a ſaddle, and hee is indited to dinner to the Lubbars head in Lombardſtreet, to M. Smoothes the Silkman. I pra'ye, ſince my Exion is enter'd, and my Caſe ſo openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his anſwer: A 100. Marke is a long one, for a poore lone woman to beare: & I haue borne, and borne, and borne, and haue bin fub'd off, and fub'd-off, from this day to that day, that it is a ſhame to be thought on. There is no honeſty in ſuch dealing, vnles a woman ſhould be made an Aſſe and a Beaſt, to beare euery Knaues wrong.

Enter Falſtaffe and Bardolfe.

Yonder he comes, and that arrant Malmeſey-Noſe Bardolfe with him. Do your Offices, do your offices: M. Fang, & M. Snare, do me, do me, do me your Offices.

 Fal.

How now? whoſe Mare's dead? what's the matter?

 Fang.

Sir Iohn, I arreſt you, at the ſuit of Miſt. Quickly.

Falſt.

Away Varlets, draw Bardolfe: Cut me off the Villaines head: throw the Queane in the Channel.

 Hoſt.

Throw me in the channell? Ile throw thee there. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou baſtardly rogue. Murder, murder, O thou Hony-ſuckle villaine, wilt thou kill Gods officers, and the Kings? O thou hony-ſeed Rogue, thou art a honyſeed, a Man-queller, and a woman-queller.

 Falſt.

Keep them off, Bardolfe.

Fang

A reſcu, a reſcu.

 Hoſt.

Good people bring a reſcu. Thou wilt not? thou wilt not? Do, do thou Rogue: Do thou Hempſeed.

 Page.

Away you Scullion, you Rampallian, you Fuſtillirian: Ile tucke your Cataſtrophe.

Enter. Ch. Iuſtice. Iuſt.

What's the matter? Keepe the Peace here, hoa.

 Hoſt.

Good my Lord be good to mee. I beſeech you ſtand to me.

 Ch. Iuſt. How now ſir Iohn? What are you brauling here? Doth this become your place, your time, and buſineſſe? You ſhould haue bene well on your way to Yorke. Stand from him Fellow; wherefore hang'ſt vpon him? Hoſt.

Oh my moſt worſhipfull Lord, and't pleaſe your Grace, I am a poore widdow of Eaſtcheap, and he is arreſted at my ſuit.

 Ch. Iuſt.

For what ſumme?

 Hoſt.

It is more then for ſome (my Lord) it is for all: all I haue, he hath eaten me out of houſe and home; hee hath put all my ſubſtance into that fat belly of his: but I will haue ſome of it out againe, or I will ride thee o' Nights, like the Mare.

 Falſt.

I thinke I am as like to ride the Mare, if I haue any vantage of ground, to get vp.

 Ch▪ Iuſt.

How comes this, Sir Iohn? Fy, what a man of good temper would endure this tempeſt of exclamation? Are you not aſham'd to inforce a poore Widdowe to ſo rough a courſe, to come by her owne?

 Falſt.

What is the groſſe ſumme that I owe thee?

 Hoſt.

Marry (if thou wer't an honeſt man) thy ſelfe, & the mony too. Thou didſt ſweare to mee vpon a parcell gilt Goblet, ſitting in my Dolphin-chamber at the round table, by a ſea-cole fire, on Wedneſday in Whitſon week, when the Prince broke thy head for lik'ning him to a ſinging man of Windſor; Thou didſt ſweare to me then (as I was waſhing thy wound) to marry me, and make mee my Lady thy wife. Canſt yu deny it? Did not good wife Keech the Butchers wife come in then, and cal me goſſip Quickly? comming in to borrow a meſſe of Vinegar: telling vs, ſhe had a good diſh of Prawnes: whereby yu didſt deſire to eat ſome: whereby I told thee they were ill for a greene wound? And didſt not thou (when ſhe was gone downe ſtaires) deſire me to be no more familiar with ſuch poore people, ſaying, that ere long they ſhould call me Madam? And did'ſt yu not kiſſe me, and bid mee fetch thee 30.s? I put thee now to thy Book-oath, deny it if thou canſt?

 Fal.

My Lord, this is a poore mad ſoule: and ſhe ſayes vp & downe the town, that her eldeſt ſon is like you. She hath bin in good caſe, & the truth is, pouerty hath diſtracted her: but for theſe fooliſh Officers, I beſeech you, I may haue redreſſe againſt them.

 Iuſt.

Sir Iohn, ſir Iohn, I am well acquainted with your maner of wrenching the true cauſe, the falſe way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of wordes, that come with ſuch (more then impudent) ſawcines from you, can thruſt me from a leuell conſideration, I know you ha' practis'd vpon the eaſie-yeelding ſpirit of this woman.

 Hoſt.

Yes in troth my Lord.

 Iuſt.

Prethee peace: pay her the debt you owe her, and vnpay the villany you haue done her: the one you may do with ſterling mony, & the other with currant repentance.

 Fal.

My Lord, I will not vndergo this ſneape without reply. You call honorable Boldnes, impudent Sawcineſſe: If a man wil curt'ſie, and ſay nothing, he is vertuous: No, my Lord (your humble duty remēbred) I will not be your ſutor. I ſay to you, I deſire deliu'rance from theſe Officers being vpon haſty employment in the Kings Affaires.

 Iuſt.

You ſpeake, as hauing power to do wrong: But anſwer in the effect of your Reputation, and ſatisfie the poore woman.

 Falſt.

Come hither Hoſteſſe.

Enter M. Gower Ch. Iuſt.

Now Maſter Gower; What newes?

 Gow. The King (my Lord) and Henrie Prince of Wales Are neere at hand: The reſt the Paper telles. Falſt.

As I am a Gentleman.

 Hoſt.

Nay, you ſaid ſo before.

 Fal.

As I am a Gentleman. Come, no more words of it

 Hoſt.

By this Heauenly ground I tread on, I muſt be faine to pawne both my Plate, and the Tapiſtry of my dyning Chambers.

 Fal.

Glaſſes, glaſſes, is the onely drinking: and for thy walles a pretty ſlight Drollery, or the Storie of the Prodigall, or the Germane hunting in Waterworke, is worth a thouſand of theſe Bed-hangings, and theſe Fly-bitten Tapiſtries. Let it be tenne pound (if thou canſt.) Come, if it were not for thy humors, there is not a better Wench in England. Go, waſh thy face, and draw thy Action: Come, thou muſt not bee in this humour with me, come, I know thou was't ſet on to this.

 Hoſt.

Prethee (Sir Iohn) let it be but twenty Nobles, I loath to pawne my Plate, in good earneſt la.

 Fal.

Let it alone, Ile make other ſhift: you'l be a fool ſtill.

 Hoſt.

Well, you ſhall haue it although I pawne my Gowne. I hope you'l come to Supper: You'l pay me altogether?

 Fal.

Will I liue? Go with her, with her: hooke-on, hooke-on.

 Hoſt.

Will you haue Doll Teare-ſheet meet you at ſupper?

 Fal.

No more words. Let's haue her.

 Ch. Iust.

I haue heard bitter newes.

 Fal

What's the newes (my good Lord?)

 Ch. Iu.

Where lay the King laſt night?

 Meſ.

At Baſingſtoke my Lord.

 Fal.

I hope (my Lord) all's well. What is the newes my Lord?

 Ch Iuſt.

Come all his Forces backe?

 Meſ. No: Fifteene hundred Foot, fiue hundred Horſe Are march'd vp to my Lord of Lancaſter, Againſt Northumberland, and the Archbiſhop. Fal.

Comes the King backe from Wales, my noble L?

 Ch. Iuſt. You ſhall haue Lette • s of me preſently. Come, go along with me, good M. Gowre. Fal.

My Lord.

 Ch. Iuſt.

What's the matter?

 Fal.

Maſter Gowre, ſhall I entreate you with mee to dinner?

 Gow. I muſt waite vpon my good Lord heere. I thanke you, good Sir Iohn. Ch. Iuſt.

Sir Iohn, you loyter heere too long being you are to take Souldiers vp, in Countries as you go.

 Fal.

Will you ſup with me, Maſter Gowre?

 Ch. Iuſt.

What fooliſh Maſter taught you theſe manners, Sir Iohn?

 Fal.

Maſter Gower, if they become mee not, hee was a Foole that taught them mee. This is the right Fencing grace (my Lord) tap for tap, and ſo part faire.

 Ch. Iuſt.

Now the Lord lighten thee, thou art a great Foole.

Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolfe, and Page. Prin.

Truſt me, I am exceeding weary.

 Poin.

Is it come to that? I had thought wearines durſt not haue attach'd one of ſo high blood.

 Prin.

It doth me: though it diſcolours the complexion of my Greatneſſe to acknowledge it. Doth it not ſhew vildely in me, to deſire ſmall Beere?

 Poin.

Why, a Prince ſhould not be ſo looſely ſtudied, as to remember ſo weake a Compoſition.

 Prince.

Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely got▪ for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Creature, Small Beere. But indeede theſe humble conſiderations make me out of loue with my Greatneſſe. What a diſgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know thy face to morrow? Or to take note how many paire of Silk ſtockings yu haſt? (Viz. theſe, and thoſe that were thy peach-colour'd ones:) Or to beare the Inuentorie of thy ſhirts, as one for ſuperfluity, and one other, for vſe. But that the Tennis-Court-keeper knowes better then I, for it is a low ebbe of Linnen with thee, when thou kept'ſt not Racket there, as thou haſt not done a great while, becauſe the reſt of thy Low Countries, haue made a ſhift to eate vp thy Holland.

 Poin.

How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd ſo hard, you ſhould talke ſo idlely? Tell me how many good yong Princes would do ſo, their Fathers lying ſo ſicke, as yours is?

 Prin.

Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz?

 Poin.

Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing.

 Prin.

It ſhall ſerue among wittes of no higher breeding then thine.

 Poin.

Go to: I ſtand the puſh of your one thing, that you'l tell.

 Prin.

Why, I tell thee, it is not meer, that I ſhould be ſad now my Father is ſicke: albeit I could tell to thee (as to one it pleaſes me, for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be ſad and ſad indeed too.

 Poin

Very hardly vpon ſuch a ſubiect.

 Prin.

Thou think'ſt me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as thou, and Falſtaffe, for obduracie and perſiſtencie. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly, that my Father is ſo ſicke: and keeping ſuch vild company as thou art, hath in reaſon taken from me, all oſtentation of ſorrow.

 Poin.

The reaſon?

 Prin.

What would'ſt thou think of me, if I ſhold weep?

 Poin.

I would thinke thee a moſt Princely hypocrite.

 Prin.

It would be euery mans thought: and thou art a bleſſed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer a mans thought in the world, keepes the Rode-way better then thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite indee • e. And what accites your moſt worſhipful thought to thinke ſo?

 Poin.

Why, becauſe you haue beene ſo lewde, and ſo much ingraffed to Falſtaffe.

Prin.

And to thee.

 Pointz.

Nay, I am well ſpoken of, I can heare it with mine owne eares: the worſt that they can ſay of me is, that I am a ſecond Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe of my hands: and thoſe two things I confeſſe I canot helpe. Looke, looke, here comes Bardolfe.

Prince.

And the Boy that I gaue Falſtaffe, he had him from me Chriſtian, and ſee if the fat villain haue not transform'd him Ape.

 Enter Bardolfe. Bar.

Saue your Grace.

 Prin.

And yours, moſt Noble Bardolfe.

Poin.

Come you pernitious Aſſe, you baſhfull Foole, muſt you be bluſhing? Wherefore bluſh you now? what a Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it ſuch a matter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head?

 Page.

He call'd me euen now (my Lord) through a red Lattice, and I could diſcerne no part of his face from the window: at laſt I ſpy'd his eyes, and me thought he had made two holes in the Ale-wiues new Petticoat, & peeped through.

 Prin.

Hath not the boy profited?

 Bar.

Away, you horſon vpright Rabbet, away.

 Page.

Away, you raſcally Altheas dreame, away.

 Prin.

Inſtruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy?

 Page.

Marry (my Lord) Althea dream'd, ſhe was deliuer'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream.

 Prince.

A Crownes-worth of good Interpretation: There it is, Boy.

 Poin.

O that this good Bloſſome could bee kept from Cankers: Well, there is ſix pence to preſerue thee.

 Bard.

If you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallowes ſhall be wrong'd.

 Prince.

And how doth thy Maſter, Bardolph?

 Bar.

Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Graces comming to Towne. There's a Letter for you.

 Poin.

Deliuer'd with good reſpect: And how doth the Martlemas, your Maſter?

 Bard.

In bodily health Sir.

 Poin.

Marry, the immortall part needes a Phyſitian: but that moues not him: though that bee ſicke, it dyes not.

 Prince.

I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar with me, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke you he writes.

 Poin. Letter.

Iohn Falſtaffe Knight: (Euery man muſt know that, as oft as hee hath occaſion to name himſelfe:) Euen like thoſe that are kinne to the King, for they neuer pricke their finger, but they ſay, there is ſom of the kings blood ſpilt. How comes that (ſayes he) that takes vpon him not to conceiue? the anſwer is as ready as a borrowed cap: I am the Kings poore Coſin, Sir.

 Prince.

Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetch it from Iaphet. But to the Letter: —Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neereſt his Father, Harrie Prince of Wales, greeting.

Poin.

Why this is a Certificate.

 Prin. Peace. I will imitate the honourable Romaines in breuitie. Poin.

Sure he meanes breuity in breath: ſhort-winded. I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leaue thee. Bee not too familiar with Pointz, for hee miſuſes thy Fauours ſo much, that he ſweares thou art to marrie his Siſter Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayſt, and ſo farewell.

Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to ſay, as thou vſeſt him. Iacke Falſtaffe with my Familiars: Iohn with my Brothers and Siſter: & Sir Iohn, with all Europe.

My Lord, I will ſteepe this Letter in Sack, and make him eate it.

 Prin. That's to make him eate twenty of his Words. But do you vſe me thus Ned? Muſt I marry your Siſter? Poin.

May the Wench haue no worſe Fortune. But I neuer ſaid ſo.

 Prin.

Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time & the ſpirits of the wiſe, ſit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Is your Maſter heere in London?

 Bard.

Yes my Lord.

 Prin.

Where ſuppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in the old Franke?

 Bard.

At the old place my Lord, in Eaſt-cheape.

 Prin.

What Company?

 Page.

Epheſians my Lord, of the old Church.

 Prin.

Sup any women with him?

 Page.

None my Lord, but old Miſtris Quickly, and M. Doll Teare-ſheet.

Prin.

What Pagan may that be?

 Page.

A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinſwoman of my Maſters.

 Prin. Euen ſuch Kin, as the Pariſh Heyfors are to the Towne-Bull? Shall we ſteale vpon them (Ned) at Supper? Poin.

I am your ſhadow, my Lord, Ile follow you.

 Prin. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your Maſter that I am yet in Towne. There's for your ſilence. Bar.

I haue no tongue, ſir.

 Page.

And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it.

 Prin. Fare ye well: go. This Doll Teare-ſheet ſhould be ſome Rode. Poin.

I warrant you, as common as the way betweene S. Albans, and London.

 Prin.

How might we ſee Falſtaffe beſtow himſelfe to night, in his true colours, and not our ſelues be ſeene?

 Poin

Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers.

 Prin.

From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declenſion: It was Ioues caſe. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low tranſformation, that ſhall be mine: for in euery thing, the purpoſe muſt weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned.

Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter Northumberland, his Ladie, and Harrie Percies Ladie. North. I prethee louing Wife, and gentle Daughter, Giue an euen way vnto my rough Affaires: Put not you on the viſage of the Times, And be like them to Percie, troubleſome. Wife. I haue giuen ouer, I will ſpeak no more, Do what you will: your Wiſedome, be your guide. North. Alas (ſweet Wife) my Honor is at pawne, And but my going, nothing can redeeme it. La. Oh yet, for heauens ſake, go not to theſe Warrs; The Time was (Father) when you broke your word, When you were more endeer'd to it, then now, When your owne Percy, when my heart-deere Harry, Threw many a Northward looke, to ſee his Father Bring vp his Powres: but he did long in vaine. Who then perſwaded you to ſtay at home? There were two Honors loſt; Yours, and your Sonnes. For Yours, may heauenly glory brighten it: For His, it ſtucke vpon him, as the Sunne In the gray vault of Heauen: and by his Light Did all the Cheualrie of England moue To do braue Acts. He was (indeed) the Glaſſe Wherein the Noble-Youth did dreſſe themſelues. He had no Legges, that practic'd not his Gate: And ſpeaking thicke (which Nature made his blemiſh) Became the Accents of the Valiant. For thoſe that could ſpeake low, and tardily, Would turne their owne Perfection, to Abuſe, To ſeeme like him. So that in Speech, in Gate, In Diet, in Affections of delight, In Militarie Rules, Humors of Blood, He was the Marke, and Glaſſe, Coppy, and Booke, That faſhion'd others. And him, O wondrous! him, O Miracle of Men! Him did you leaue (Second to none) vn-ſeconded by you, To looke vpon the hideous God of Warre, In diſ-aduantage, to abide a field, Where nothing but the ſound of Hotſpurs Name Did ſeeme defenſible: ſo you left him. Neuer, O neuer doe his Ghoſt the wrong, To hold your Honor more preciſe and nice With others, then with him. Let them alone: The Marſhall and the Arch-biſhop are ſtrong. Had my ſweet Harry had but halfe their Numbers, To day might I (hanging on Hotſpurs Necke) Haue talk'd of Monmouth's Graue. North. Beſhrew your heart, (Faire Daughter) you doe draw my Spirits from me, With new lamenting ancient Ouer-ſights. But I muſt goe, and meet with Danger there, Or it will ſeeke me in another place, And finde me worſe prouided. Wife. O flye to Scotland, Till that the Nobles, and the armed Commons, Haue of their Puiſſance made a little taſte. Lady. If they get ground, and vantage of the King, Then ioyne you with them, like a Ribbe of Steele, To make Strength ſtronger. But, for all our loues, Firſt let them trye themſelues. So did your Sonne, He was ſo ſuffer'd; ſo came I a Widow: And neuer ſhall haue length of Life enough, To raine vpon Remembrance with mine Eyes, That it may grow, and ſprowt, as high as Heauen, For Recordation to my Noble Husband. North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my Minde As with the Tyde, ſwell'd vp vnto his height, That makes a ſtill-ſtand, running neyther way. Faine would I goe to meet the Arch-biſhop, But many thouſand Reaſons hold me backe. I will reſolue for Scotland: there am I, Till Time and Vantage craue my company. Exeunt.
Scaena Quarta. Enter two Drawers. 1. Drawer.

What haſt thou brought there? Apple-Iohns? Thou know'ſt Sir Iohn cannot endure an Apple-Iohn.

 2. Draw.

Thou ſay'ſt true: the Prince once ſet a Diſh of Apple-Iohns before him, and told him there were fiue more Sir Iohns: and, putting off his Hat, ſaid, I will now take my leaue of theſe ſixe drie, round, old-wither'd Knights. It anger'd him to the heart: but hee hath forgot that.

 1. Draw.

Why then couer, and ſet them downe: and ſee if thou canſt finde out Sneakes Noyſe; Miſtris Teare-ſheet would faine haue ſome Muſique.

 2. Draw.

Sirrha, heere will be the Prince, and Maſter Points, anon: and they will put on two of our Ierkins, and Aprons, and Sir Iohn muſt not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.

 1. Draw.

Then here will be old Vtis: it will be an excellent ſtratagem.

 2. Draw.

Ile ſee if I can finde out Sneake.

Exit. Enter Hoſteſſe, and Dol. Hoſt.

Sweet-heart, me thinkes now you are in an excellent good temperalitie: your Pulſidge beates as extraordinarily, as heart would deſire; and your Colour (I warrant you) is as red as any Roſe: But you haue drunke too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous ſearching Wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere wee can ſay what's this. How doe you now?

 Dol.

Better then I was: Hem.

 Hoſt.

Why that was well ſaid: A good heart's worth Gold. Looke, here comes Sir Iohn.

Enter Falſtaffe. Falſt.

When Arthur firſt in Court—(emptie the Iordan) and was a worthy King: How now Miſtris Dol?

 Host.

Sick of a Calme: yea, good-ſooth.

 Falst.

So is all her Sect: if they be once in a Calme, they are ſick.

 Dol.

You muddie Raſcall, is that all the comfort you giue me?

 Falſt.

You make fat Raſcalls, Miſtris Dol.

Dol.

I make them? Gluttonie and Diſeaſes make them, I make them not.

 Falſt.

If the Cooke make the Gluttonie, you helpe to make the Diſeaſes (Dol) we catch of you (Dol) we catch of you: Grant that my poore Vertue, grant that.

 Dol.

I marry, our Chaynes, and our Iewels.

 Falſt.

Your Brooches, Pearles, and Owches: For to ſerue brauely, is to come halting off: you know, to come off the Breach, with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surgerie brauely; to venture vpon the charg'd-Chambers brauely.

 Hoſt.

Why this is the olde faſhion: you two neuer meete, but you fall to ſome diſcord: you are both (in good troth) as Rheumatike as two drie Toſtes, you cannot one beare with anothers Confirmities. What the good-yere? One muſt beare, and that muſt bee you: you are the weaker Veſſell; as they ſay, the emptier Veſſell.

 Dol.

Can a weake emptie Veſſell beare ſuch a huge full Hogs-head? There's a whole Marchants Venture of Burdeux-Stuffe in him: you haue not ſeene a Hulke better ſtufft in the Hold. Come, Ile be friends with thee Iacke: Thou art going to the Warres, and whether I ſhall euer ſee thee againe, or no, there is no body cares.

 Enter Drawer. Drawer.

Sir, Ancient Pistoll is below, and would ſpeake with you.

 Dol.

Hang him, ſwaggering Raſcall, let him not come hither: it is the foule-mouth'dſt Rogue in England.

 Hoſt.

If hee ſwagger, let him not come here: I muſt liue amongſt my Neighbors, Ile no Swaggerers: I am in good name, and fame, with the very beſt: ſhut the doore, there comes no Swaggerers heere: I haue not liu'd all this while, to haue ſwaggering now: ſhut the doore, I pray you.

 Falst.

Do'ſt thou heare, Hoſteſſe?

 Hoſt.

'Pray you pacifie your ſelfe (Sir Iohn) there comes no Swaggerers heere.

 Falst.

Do'ſt thou heare? it is mine Ancient.

 Host.

Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancient Swaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Maſter Tiſick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee ſaid to me, it was no longer agoe then Wedneſday laſt: Neighbour Quickly (ſayes hee;) Maſter Dombe, our Miniſter, was by then: Neighbour Quickly (ſayes hee) receiue thoſe that are Ciuill; for (ſayth hee) you are in an ill Name: now hee ſaid ſo, I can tell whereupon: for (ſayes hee) you are an honeſt Woman, and well thought on; therefore take heede what Gueſts you receiue: Receiue (ſayes hee) no ſwaggering Companions. There comes none heere. You would bleſſe you to heare what hee ſaid. No, Ile no Swaggerers.

 Falſt.

Hee's no Swaggerer (Hoſteſſe:) a tame Cheater, hee: you may ſtroake him as gently, as a Puppie Greyhound: hee will not ſwagger with a Barbarie Henne, if her feathers turne backe in any ſhew of reſiſtance. Call him vp (Drawer.)

 Hoſt.

Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honeſt man my houſe, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue ſwaggering; I am the worſe when one ſayes, ſwagger: Feele Maſters, how I ſhake: looke you, I warrant you.

 Dol.

So you doe, Hoſteſſe.

 Hoſt.

Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an Aſpen Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers.

 Enter Piſtol, and Bardolph and his Boy. Piſt.

'Saue you, Sir Iohn.

Falſt.

Welcome Ancient Piſtol. Here (Piſtol) I charge you with a Cup of Sacke: doe you diſcharge vpon mine Hoſteſſe.

 Piſt.

I will diſcharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two Bullets.

 Falſt.

She is Piſtoll-proofe (Sir) you ſhall hardly offend her.

 Hoſt.

Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: I will drinke no more then will doe me good, for no mans pleaſure, I.

 Piſt.

Then to you (Miſtris Dorothie) I will charge you.

 Dol.

Charge me? I ſcorne you (ſcuruie Companion) what? you poore, baſe, raſcally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-Mate: away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat for your Maſter.

 Piſt.

I know you, Miſtris Dorothie.

Dol.

Away you Cut-purſe Raſcall, you filthy Bung, away: By this Wine, Ile thruſt my Knife in your mouldie Chappes, if you play the ſawcie Cuttle with me. Away you Bottle-Ale Raſcall, you Basket-hilt ſtale Iugler, you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points on your ſhoulder? much.

 Piſt.

I will murther your Ruffe, for this.

 Hoſt.

No, good Captaine Piſtol: not heere, ſweete Captaine.

 Dol.

Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater, art thou not aſham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaines were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for taking their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them. You a Captaine? you ſlaue, for what? for tearing a poore Whores Ruffe in a Bawdy-houſe? Hee a Captaine? hang him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie ſtew'd-Pruines, and dry'de Cakes. A Captaine? Theſe Villaines will make the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had neede looke to it.

 Bard.

'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient.

 Falſt.

Hearke thee hither, Miſtris Dol.

Pist.

Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I could teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her.

 Page.

'Pray thee goe downe.

 Piſt.

Ile ſee her damn'd firſt: to Pluto's damn'd Lake, to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde alſo. Hold Hooke and Line, ſay I: Downe: downe Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?

 Hoſt.

Good Captaine Peeſel be quiet, it is very late: I beſeeke you now, aggrauate your Choler.

 Piſt.

Theſe be good Humors indeede. Shall Pack-Horſes, and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Aſia, which cannot goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Caeſar, and with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: ſhall wee fall foule for Toyes?

 Hoſt.

By my troth Captaine, theſe are very bitter words.

 Bard.

Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a Brawle anon.

 Piſt.

Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes: Haue we not Hiren here?

 Hoſt.

On my word (Captaine) there's none ſuch here. What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her? I pray be quiet.

 Pist.

Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come, giue me ſome Sack, Si fortune me tormente, ſperato me contente. Feare wee broad-ſides? No, let the Fiend giue fire: Giue me ſome Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there: Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's nothing?

 Fal.

Pistol, I would be quiet.

 Pist.

Sweet Knight, I kiſſe thy Neaffe: what? wee haue ſeene the ſeuen Starres.

 Dol.

Thruſt him downe ſtayres, I cannot endure ſuch a Fuſtian Raſcall.

 Piſt.

Thruſt him downe ſtayres? know we not Galloway Nagges?

 Fal.

Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a ſhoue-groat ſhilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but ſpeake nothing, hee ſhall be nothing here.

 Bard.

Come, get you downe ſtayres.

 Piſt.

What? ſhall wee haue Inciſion? ſhall wee embrew? then Death rocke me aſleepe, abridge my dolefull dayes: why then let grieuous, gaſtly, gaping Wounds, vntwin'd the Siſters three: Come Atropos, I ſay.

 Host.

Here's good ſtuffe toward.

 Fal.

Giue me my Rapier, Boy.

 Dol.

I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw.

 Fal.

Get you downe ſtayres.

 Hoſt.

Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forſweare keeping houſe, before Ile be in theſe tirrits, and frights. So: Murther I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons, put vp your naked Weapons.

 Dol.

I prethee Iack be quiet, the Raſcall is gone: ah, you whorſon little valiant Villaine, you.

 Host.

Are you not hurt i' th' Groyne? me thought hee made a ſhrewd Thruſt at your Belly.

 Fal.

Haue you turn'd him out of doores?

 Bard.

Yes Sir: the Raſcall's drunke: you haue hurt him (Sir) in the ſhoulder.

 Fal.

A Raſcall to braue me.

 Dol.

Ah, you ſweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape, how thou ſweat'ſt? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come on, you whorſon Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamemnon, and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ah Villaine.

 Fal.

A raſcally Slaue, I will toſſe the Rogue in a Blanket.

 Dol. Doe, if thou dar'ſt for thy heart: if thou doo'ſt, Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes. Enter Muſique. Page.

The Muſique is come, Sir.

 Fal.

Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol. A Raſcall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me like Quick-ſiluer.

 Dol.

And thou followd'ſt him like a Church: thou whorſon little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wilt thou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, and begin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen?

 Enter the Prince and Poines disguis'd. Fal.

Peace (good Dol) doe not ſpeake like a Deaths-head: doe not bid me remember mine end.

 Dol.

Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of?

 Fal.

A good ſhallow young fellow: hee would haue made a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp'd Bread well.

 Dol.

They ſay Poines hath a good Wit.

 Fal.

Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit is as thicke as Tewksburie Muſtard: there is no more conceit in him, • hen is in a Mallet.

 Dol.

Why doth the Prince loue him ſo then?

 Fal.

Becauſe their Legges are both of a bigneſſe: and hee playes at Quoits well and eates Conger and Fennell, and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and rides the wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn'd-ſtooles, and ſweares with a good grace, and weares his Boot very ſmooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; and breedes no bate with telling of diſcreete ſtories: and ſuch other Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that ſhew a weake Minde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admits him; for the Prince himſelfe is ſuch another: the weight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene their Haber-de-pois.

Prince.

Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue his Eares cut off?

 Poin.

Let vs beat him before his Whore.

 Prince.

Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Poll claw'd like a Parrot.

 Poin.

Is it not ſtrange, that Deſire ſhould ſo many yeeres out-liue performance?

 Fal.

Kiſſe me Dol.

Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction? What ſayes the Almanack to that? Poin.

And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man, be not liſping to his Maſters old Tables, his Note-Booke, his Councell-keeper?

 Fal.

Thou do'ſt giue me flatt'ring Buſſes.

 Dol.

Nay truely, I kiſſe thee with a moſt conſtant heart.

 Fal.

I am olde, I am olde.

 Dol.

I loue thee better, then I loue ere a ſcuruie young Boy of them all.

 Fal.

What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I ſhall receiue Money on Thurſday: thou ſhalt haue a Cappe to morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late, wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am gone.

 Dol.

Thou wilt ſet me a weeping, if thou ſay'ſt ſo: proue that euer I dreſſe my ſelfe handſome, till thy returne: well, hearken the end.

 Fal.

Some Sack, Francis.

Prin. Poin.

Anon, anon, Sir.

 Fal.

Ha? a Baſtard Sonne of the Kings? And art not thou Poines, his Brother?

 Prince.

Why thou Globe of ſinfull Continents, what a Life do'ſt thou lead?

 Fal.

A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou art a Drawer.

 Prince.

Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out by the Eares.

 Hoſt.

Oh, the Lord preſerue thy good Grace: Welcome to London. Now Heauen bleſſe that ſweete Face of thine: what, are you come from Wales?

 Fal.

Thou whorſon mad Compound of Maieſtie: by this light Fleſh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome.

 Dol.

How? you fat Foole, I ſcorne you.

 Poin.

My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge, and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the heat.

 Prince.

You whorſon Candle-myne you, how vildly did you ſpeake of me euen now, before this honeſt, vertuous, ciuill Gentlewoman?

 Hoſt.

'Bleſſing on your good heart, and ſo ſhee is by my troth.

 Fal.

Didſt thou heare me?

 Prince.

Yes: and you knew me, as you did when you ranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back, and ſpoke it on purpoſe, to trie my patience.

 Fal.

No, no, no: not ſo: I did not thinke, thou waſt within hearing.

 Prince.

I ſhall driue you then to confeſſe the wilfull abuſe, and then I know how to handle you.

 Fal.

No abuſe (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuſe.

 Prince.

Not to diſprayſe me? and call me Pantler, and Bread-chopper, and I know not what?

 Fal.

No abuſe (Hal.)

Poin.

No abuſe?

 Fal.

No abuſe (Ned) in the World: honeſt Ned none. I diſprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wicked might not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I haue done the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, and thy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuſe (Hal:) none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none.

 Prince.

See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cowardiſe, doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman, to cloſe with vs? Is ſhee of the Wicked? Is thine Hoſteſſe heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the Wicked? Or honeſt Bardolph (whoſe Zeale burnes in his Noſe) of the Wicked?

 Poin.

Anſwere thou dead Elme, anſwere.

 Fal.

The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecouerable, and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where hee doth nothing but roſt Mault-Wormes: for the Boy, there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill outbids him too.

 Prince.

For the Women?

 Fal.

For one of them, ſhee is in Hell alreadie, and burnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Money; and whether ſhee bee damn'd for that, I know not.

 Hoſt.

No, I warrant you.

 Fal.

No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee, for ſuffering fleſh to bee eaten in thy houſe, contrary to the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle.

 Host.

All Victuallers doe ſo: What is a Ioynt of Mutton, or two, in a whole Lent?

 Prince.

You, Gentlewoman.

 Dol.

What ſayes your Grace?

 Falſt.

His Grace ſayes that, which his fleſh rebells againſt.

 Hoſt.

Who knocks ſo lowd at doore? Looke to the doore there, Francis?

 Enter Peto. Prince.

Peto, how now? what newes?

 Peto. The King, your Father, is at Weſtminſter, And there are twentie weake and wearied Poſtes, Come from the North: and as I came along, I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines, Bare-headed, ſweating, knocking at the Tauernes, And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falſtaffe. Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame, So idly to prophane the precious time, When Tempeſt of Commotion, like the South, Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt, And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads. Giue me my Sword, and Cloake: Falſtaffe, good night. Exit. Falst.

Now comes in the ſweeteſt Morſell of the night, and wee muſt hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More knocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter?

 Bard. You muſt away to Court, Sir, preſently, A dozen Captaines ſtay at doore for you. Falſt.

Pay the Muſitians, Sirrha: farewell Hoſteſſe, farewell Dol. You ſee (my good Wenches) how men of Merit are ſought after: the vndeſeruer may ſleepe, when the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches: if I be not ſent away poſte, I will ſee you againe, ere I goe.

 Dol.

I cannot ſpeake: if my heart bee not readie to burſt— Well (ſweete Iacke) haue a care of thy ſelfe.

 Falſt.

Farewell, farewell.

Exit. Host.

Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee theſe twentie nine yeeres, come Peſcod-time: but an honeſter, and truer-hearted man— Well, fare thee well.

 Bard.

Miſtris Teare-ſheet.

Hoſt.

What's the matter?

 Bard.

Bid Miſtris Teare-ſheet come to my Maſter.

 Hoſt.

Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.

Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Enter the King, with a Page. King. Goe, call the Earles of Surrey, and of Warwick: But ere they come, bid them ore-reade theſe Letters, And well conſider of them: make good ſpeed. Exit. How many thouſand of my pooreſt Subiects Are at this howre aſleepe? O Sleepe, O gentle Sleepe, Natures ſoft Nurſe, how haue I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids downe, And ſteepe my Sences in Forgetfulneſſe? Why rather (Sleepe) lyeſt thou in ſmoakie Cribs, Vpon vneaſie Pallads ſtretching thee, And huiſht with buſſing Night, flyes to thy ſlumber, Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great? Vnder the Canopies of coſtly State, And lull'd with ſounds of ſweeteſt Melodie? O thou dull God, why lyeſt thou with the vilde, In loathſome Beds, and leau'ſt the Kingly Couch, A Watch-caſe, or a common Larum-Bell? Wilt thou, vpon the high and giddie Maſt, Seale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes, and rock his Braines, In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge, And in the viſitation of the Windes, Who take the Ruffian Billowes by the top, Curling their monſtrous heads, and hanging them With deaff'ning Clamors in the ſlipp'ry Clouds, That with the hurley, Death it ſelfe awakes? Canſt thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy Repoſe To the wet Sea-Boy, in an houre ſo rude: And in the calmeſt, and moſt ſtilleſt Night, With all appliances, and meanes to boote, Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe, Vneaſie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne. Enter Warwicke and Surrey. War.

Many good-morrowes to your Maieſtie.

 King.

Is it good-morrow, Lords?

 War.

'Tis One a Clock, and paſt.

 King. Why then good-morrow to you all (my Lords:) Haue you read o're the Letters that I ſent you? War.

We haue (my Liege.)

 King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome, How foule it is: what ranke Diſeaſes grow, And with what danger, neere the Heart of it? War. It is but as a Body, yet diſtemper'd, Which to his former ſtrength may be reſtor'd, With good aduice, and little Medicine: My Lord Northumberland will ſoone be cool'd. King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate, And ſee the reuolution of the Times Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent (Wearie of ſolide firmeneſſe) melt it ſelfe Into the Sea: and other Times, to ſee The beachie Girdle of the Ocean Too wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocks And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Did feaſt together; and in two yeeres after, Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres ſince, This Percie was the man, neereſt my Soule, Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires, And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot: Yea, for my ſake, euen to the eyes of Richard Gaue him defiance. But which of you was by (You Couſin Neuil, as I may remember) When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares, (Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland) Did ſpeake theſe words (now prou'd a Prophecie:) Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which My Couſin Bullingbrooke aſcends my Throne: (Though then, Heauen knowes, I had no ſuch intent, But that neceſſitie ſo bow'd the State, That I and Greatneſſe were compell'd to kiſſe:) The Time ſhall come (thus did hee follow it) The Time will come, that foule Sinne gathering head, Shall breake into Corruption: ſo went on, Fore-telling this ſame Times Condition, And the diuiſion of our Amitie. War. There is a Hiſtorie in all mens Liues, Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd: The which obſeru'd, a man may prophecie With a neere ayme, of the maine chance of things, As yet not come to Life, which in their Seedes And weake beginnings lye entreaſured: Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time; And by the neceſſarie forme of this, King Richard might create a perfect gueſſe, That great Northumberland, then falſe to him, Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falſeneſſe, Which ſhould not finde a ground to roote vpon, Vnleſſe on you. King. Are theſe things then Neceſſities? Then let vs meete them like Neceſſities; And that ſame word, euen now cryes out on vs: They ſay, the Biſhop and Northumberland Are fiftie thouſand ſtrong. War. It cannot be (my Lord:) Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho, The numbers of the feared. Pleaſe it your Grace To goe to bed, vpon my Life (my Lord) The Pow'rs that you alreadie haue ſent forth, Shall bring this Prize in very eaſily. To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'd A certaine inſtance, that Glendour is dead. Your Maieſtie hath beene this fort-night ill, And theſe vnſeaſon'd howres perforce muſt adde Vnto your Sickneſſe. King. I will take your counſaile: And were theſe inward Warres once out of hand, Wee would (deare Lords) vnto the Holy-Land. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Shallow and Silence: with Mouldie, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calfe. Shal.

Come-on, come-on, come-on: giue mee your Hand, Sir; giue mee your Hand, Sir: an early ſtirrer, by the Rood. And how doth my good Couſin Silence?

Sil.

Good-morrow, good Couſin Shallow.

Shal.

And how doth my Couſin, your Bed-fellow? and your faireſt Daughter, and mine, my God-Daughter Ellen?

Sil.

Alas, a blacke Ouzell (Couſin Shallow.)

 Shal.

By yea and nay, Sir, I dare ſay my Couſin William is become a good Scholler? hee is at Oxford ſtill, is hee not?

 Sil.

Indeede Sir, to my coſt.

 Shal.

Hee muſt then to the Innes of Court ſhortly: I was once of Clements Inne; where (I thinke) they will talke of mad Shallow yet.

 Sil.

You were call'd luſtie Shallow then (Couſin.)

 Shal.

I was call'd any thing: and I would haue done any thing indeede too, and roundly too. There was I, and little Iohn Doit of Staffordſhire, and blacke George Bare, and Francis Pick-bone, and Will Squele a Cot-ſal-man, you had not foure ſuch Swindge-bucklers in all the Innes of Court againe: And I may ſay to you, wee knew where the Bona-Roba's were, and had the beſt of them all at commandement. Then was Iacke Falſtaffe (now Sir Iohn) a Boy, and Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolke.

 Sil.

This Sir Iohn (Couſin) that comes hither anon about Souldiers?

 Shal.

The ſame Sir Iohn, the very ſame: I ſaw him breake Scoggan's Head at the Court-Gate, when hee was a Crack, not thus high: and the very ſame day did I fight with one Sampſon Stock-fiſh, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inne. Oh the mad dayes that I haue ſpent! and to ſee how many of mine olde Acquaintance are dead?

 Sil.

Wee ſhall all follow (Couſin.)

 Shal.

Certaine: 'tis certaine: very ſure, very ſure: Death is certaine to all, all ſhall dye. How a good Yoke of Bullocks at Stamford Fayre?

 Sil.

Truly Couſin, I was not there.

 Shal.

Death is certaine. Is old Double of your Towne liuing yet?

 Sil.

Dead, Sir.

 Shal.

Dead? See, ſee: hee drew a good Bow: and dead? hee ſhot a fine ſhoote. Iohn of Gaunt loued him well, and betted much Money on his head. Dead? hee would haue clapt in the Clowt at Twelue-ſcore, and carryed you a fore-hand Shaft at foureteene, and foureteene and a halfe, that it would haue done a mans heart good to ſee. How a ſcore of Ewes now?

 Sil.

Thereafter as they be: a ſcore of good Ewes may be worth tenne pounds.

 Shal.

And is olde Double dead?

 Enter Bardolph and his Boy. Sil.

Heere come two of Sir Iohn Falſtaffes Men (as I thinke.)

 Shal.

Good-morrow, honeſt Gentlemen.

 Bard.

I beſeech you, which is Iuſtice Shallow?

 Shal.

I am Robert Shallow (Sir) a poore Eſquire of this Countie, and one of the Kings Iuſtices of the Peace: What is your good pleaſure with me?

 Bard.

My Captaine (Sir) commends him to you: my Captaine, Sir Iohn Falſtaffe: a tall Gentleman, and a moſt gallant Leader.

 Shal.

Hee greetes me well: (Sir) I knew him a good Back-Sword-man. How doth the good Knight? may I aske, how my Lady his Wife doth?

 Bard.

Sir, pardon: a Souldier is better accommodated, then with a Wife.

 Shal.

It is well ſaid, Sir; and it is well ſaid, indeede, too: Better accommodated? it is good, yea indeede is it: good phraſes are ſurely, and euery where very commendable. Accommodated, it comes of Accommodo: very good, a good Phraſe.

 Bard.

Pardon, Sir, I haue heard the word. Phraſe call you it? by this Day, I know not the Phraſe: but I will maintaine the Word with my Sword, to bee a Souldier-like Word, and a Word of exceeding good Command. Accommodated: that is, when a man is (as they ſay) accommodated: or, when a man is, being whereby he thought to be accommodated, which is an excellent thing.

 Enter Falſtaffe. Shal.

It is very iuſt: Looke, heere comes good Sir Iohn. Giue me your hand, giue me your Worſhips good hand: Truſt me, you looke well: and beare your yeares very well. Welcome, good Sir Iohn.

Fal.

I am glad to ſee you well, good M. Robert Shallow: Maſter Sure-card as I thinke?

 Shal.

No ſir Iohn, it is my Coſin Silence: in Commiſſion with mee.

 Fal.

Good M. Silence, it well befits you ſhould be of the peace.

 Sil.

Your good Worſhip is welcome.

 Fal.

Fye, this is hot weather (Gentlemen) haue you prouided me heere halfe a dozen of ſufficient men?

 Shal.

Marry haue we ſir: Will you ſit?

 Fal.

Let me ſee them, I beſeech you.

 Shal.

Where's the Roll? Where's the Roll? Where's the Roll? Let me ſee, let me ſee, let me ſee: ſo, ſo, ſo, ſo: yea marry Sir. Raphe Mouldie: let them appeare as I call: let them do ſo, let them do ſo: Let mee ſee, Where is Mouldie?

 Moul.

Heere, if it pleaſe you.

 Shal.

What thinke you (Sir Iohn) a good limb'd fellow: yong, ſtrong, and of good friends.

 Fal.

Is thy name Mouldie?

 Moul.

Yea, if it pleaſe you.

 Fal.

'Tis the more time thou wert vs'd.

 Shal.

Ha, ha, ha, moſt excellent. Things that are mouldie, lacke vſe: very ſingular good. Well ſaide Sir Iohn, very well ſaid.

 Fal.

Pricke him.

 Moul.

I was prickt well enough before, if you could haue let me alone: my old Dame will be vndone now, for one to doe her Husbandry, and her Drudgery; you need not to haue prickt me, there are other men fitter to goe out, then I.

 Fal.

Go too: peace Mouldie, you ſhall goe. Mouldie, it is time you were ſpent.

 Moul.

Spent?

 Shallow.

Peace, fellow, peace; ſtand aſide: Know you where you are? For the other ſir Iohn: Let me ſee: Simon Shadow.

Fal.

I marry, let me haue him to ſit vnder: he's like to be a cold ſouldier.

 Shal.

Where's Shadow?

 Shad.

Heere ſir.

 Fal.

Shadow, whoſe ſonne art thou?

 Shad.

My Mothers ſonne, Sir.

 Falſt.

Thy Mothers ſonne: like enough, and thy Fathers ſhadow: ſo the ſonne of the Female, is the ſhadow of the Male: it is often ſo indeede, but not of the Fathers ſubſtance.

 Shal.

Do you like him, ſir Iohn?

 Falſt.

Shadow will ſerue for Summer: pricke him: For wee haue a number of ſhadowes to fill vppe the Muſter-Booke.

 Shal.

Thomas Wart?

 Falſt.

Where's he?

 Wart.

Heere ſir.

 Falſt.

Is thy name Wart?

 Wart.

Yea ſir.

 Fal.

Thou art a very ragged Wart.

 Shal. Shall I pricke him downe, Sir Iohn? Falſt.

It were ſuperfluous: for his apparrel is built vpon his backe, and the whole frame ſtands vpon pins: prick him no more.

 Shal.

Ha, ha, ha, you can do it ſir: you can doe it: I commend you well.

 Francis Feeble. Feeble.

Heere ſir.

 Shal.

What Trade art thou Feeble?

 Feeble.

A Womans Taylor ſir.

 Shal.

Shall I pricke him, ſir?

 Fal.

You may: But if he had beene a mans Taylor, he would haue prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemies Battaile, as thou haſt done in a Womans petticote?

 Feeble.

I will doe my good will ſir, you can haue no more.

 Falſt.

Well ſaid, good Womans Tailour: Well ſayde Couragious Feeble: thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrathfull Doue, or moſt magnanimous Mouſe. Pricke the womans Taylour well Maſter Shallow, deepe Maiſter Shallow.

Feeble.

I would Wart might haue gone ſir.

 Fal.

I would thou wert a mans Tailor, that yu might'ſt mend him, and make him fit to goe. I cannot put him to a priuate ſouldier, that is the Leader of ſo many thouſands. Let that ſuffice, moſt Forcible Feeble.

Feeble.

It ſhall ſuffice.

 Falſt.

I am bound to thee, reuerend Feeble. Who is the next?

 Shal.

Peter Bulcalfe of the Greene.

 Falſt.

Yea marry, let vs ſee Bulcalfe.

Bul.

Heere ſir.

 Fal.

Truſt me, a likely Fellow. Come, pricke me Bulcalfe till he roare againe.

 Bul.

Oh, good my Lord Captaine.

 Fal.

What? do'ſt thou roare before th' art prickt.

 Bul.

Oh ſir, I am a diſeaſed man.

 Fal.

What diſeaſe haſt thou?

 Bul.

A whorſon cold ſir, a cough ſir, which I caught with Ringing in the Kings affayres, vpon his Coronation day, ſir.

 Fal.

Come, thou ſhalt go to the Warres in a Gowne: we will haue away thy Cold, and I will take ſuch order, that thy friends ſhall ring for thee. Is heere all?

 Shal.

There is two more called then your number: you muſt haue but foure heere ſir, and ſo I pray you go in with me to dinner.

 Fal.

Come, I will goe drinke with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to ſee you in good troth, Maſter Shallow.

Shal.

O ſir Iohn, doe you remember ſince wee lay all night in the Winde-mill, in S Georges Field.

 Falſtaffe.

No more of that good Maſter Shallow: No more of that.

 Shal.

Ha? it was a merry night. And is Iane Night-worke aliue?

 Fal.

She liues, M. Shallow.

Shal.

She neuer could away with me.

 Fal.

Neuer, neuer: ſhe would alwayes ſay ſhee could not abide M. Shallow.

Shal.

I could anger her to the heart: ſhee was then a Bona-Roba. Doth ſhe hold her owne well.

 Fal.

Old, old, M. Shallow.

Shal.

Nay, ſhe muſt be old, ſhe cannot chooſe but be old: certaine ſhee's old: and had Robin Night-worke, by old Night-worke, before I came to Clements Inne.

 Sil.

That's fiftie fiue yeeres agoe.

 Shal.

Hah, Couſin Silence, that thou hadſt ſeene that, that this Knight and I haue ſeene: hah, Sir Iohn, ſaid I well?

 Falſt.

Wee haue heard the Chymes at mid-night, Maſter Shallow.

Shal.

That wee haue, that wee haue; in faith, Sir Iohn, wee haue: our watch-word was, Hem-Boyes. Come, let's to Dinner; come, let's to Dinner: Oh the dayes that wee haue ſeene. Come, come.

 Bul.

Good Maſter Corporate Bardolph, ſtand my friend, and heere is foure Harry tenne ſhillings in French Crownes for you: in very truth, ſir, I had as lief be hang'd ſir, as goe: and yet, for mine owne part, ſir, I do not care; but rather, becauſe I am vnwilling, and for mine owne part, haue a deſire to ſtay with my friends: elſe, ſir, I did not care, for mine owne part, ſo much.

 Bard.

Go-too: ſtand aſide.

 Mould.

And good Maſter Corporall Captaine, for my old Dames ſake, ſtand my friend: ſhee hath no body to doe any thing about her, when I am gone: and ſhe is old, and cannot helpe her ſelfe: you ſhall haue fortie, ſir.

 Bard.

Go-too: ſtand aſide.

 Feeble.

I care not, a man can die but once: wee owe a death. I will neuer beare a baſe minde: if it be my deſtinie, ſo: if it be not, ſo: no man is too good to ſerue his Prince: and let it goe which way it will, he that dies this yeere, is quit for the next.

 Bard.

Well ſaid, thou art a good fellow.

 Feeble.

Nay, I will beare no baſe minde.

 Falſt.

Come ſir, which men ſhall I haue?

 Shal.

Foure of which you pleaſe.

 Bard.

Sir, a word with you: I haue three pound, to free Mouldie and Bull-calfe.

Falſt.

Go-too: well.

 Shal.

Come, ſir Iohn, which foure will you haue?

 Falſt.

Doe you chuſe for me.

 Shal.

Marry then, Mouldie, Bull-calfe, Feeble, and Shadow.

Falſt.

Mouldie, and Bull-calfe: for you Mouldie, ſtay at home, till you are paſt ſeruice: and for your part, Bull-calfe, grow till you come vnto it: I will none of you.

 Shal.

Sir Iohn, Sir Iohn, doe not your ſelfe wrong, they are your likelyeſt men, and I would haue you ſeru'd with the beſt.

 Falſt.

Will you tell me (Maſter Shallow) how to chuſe a man? Care I for the Limbe, the Thewes, the ſtature, bulke, and bigge aſſemblance of a man? giue mee the ſpirit (Maſter Shallow.) Where's Wart? you ſee what a ragged appearance it is: hee ſhall charge you, and diſcharge you, with the motion of a Pewterers Hammer: come off, and on, ſwifter then hee that gibbets on the Brewers Bucket. And this ſame halfe-fac'd fellow, Shadow, giue me this man: hee preſents no marke to the Enemie, the foe-man may with as great ayme leuell at the edge of a Pen-knife: and for a Retrait, how ſwiftly will this Feeble, the Womans Taylor, runne off. O, giue me the ſpare men, and ſpare me the great ones. Put me a Calyuer into Warts hand, Bardolph.

Bard.

Hold Wart, Trauerſe: thus, thus, thus.

 Falſt.

Come, manage me your Calyuer: ſo▪ very well, go-too, very good, exceeding good. O, giue me alwayes a little, leane, old, chopt, bald Shot. Well ſaid Wart, thou art a good Scab: hold, there is a Teſter for thee.

 Shal.

Hee is not his Crafts-maſter, hee doth not doe it right. I remember at Mile-end-Greene, when I lay at Clements Inne, I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthurs Show: there was a little quiuer fellow, and hee would manage you his Peece thus: and hee would about, and about, and come you in, and come you in: Rah, tah, tah, would hee ſay, Bownce would hee ſay, and away againe would hee goe, and againe would he come: I ſhall neuer ſee ſuch a fellow.

 Falſt.

Theſe fellowes will doe well, Maſter Shallow Farewell Maſter Silence, I will not vſe many wordes with you: fare you well, Gentlemen both: I thanke you: I muſt a dozen mile to night. Bardolph, giue the Souldiers Coates.

 Shal.

Sir Iohn, Heauen bleſſe you, and proſper your Affaires, and ſend vs Peace. As you returne, viſit my houſe. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: peraduenture I will with you to the Court.

 Falſt.

I would you would, Maſter Shallow.

Shal.

Go-too: I haue ſpoke at a word. Fare you well.

Exit. Falſt.

Fare you well, gentle Gentlemen. On Bardolph, leade the men away. As I returne, I will fetch off theſe Iuſtices: I doe ſee the bottome of Iuſtice Shallow. How ſubiect wee old men are to this vice of Lying? This ſame ſtaru'd Iuſtice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildeneſſe of his Youth, and the Feates hee hath done about Turnball-ſtreet, and euery third word a Lye, duer pay'd to the hearer, then the Turkes Tribute. I doe remember him at Clements Inne, like a man made after Supper, of a Cheeſe-paring. When hee was naked, hee was, for all the world, like a forked Radiſh, with a Head fantaſtically caru'd vpon it with a Knife. Hee was ſo forlorne, that his Dimenſions (to any thicke ſight) were inuincible. Hee was the very Genius of Famine: hee came euer in the rere-ward of the Faſhion: And now is this Vices Dagger become a Squire, and talkes as familiarly of Iohn of Gaunt, as if hee had beene ſworne Brother to him: and Ile be ſworne hee neuer ſaw him but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he burſt his Head, for crowding among the Marſhals men. I ſaw it, and told Iohn of Gaunt, hee beat his owne Name, for you might haue truſs'd him and all his Apparrell into an Eele-skinne: the Caſe of a Treble Hoe-boy was a Manſion for him: a Court: and now hath hee Land, and Beeues. Well, I will be acquainted with him, if I returne: and it ſhall goe hard, but I will make him a Philoſophers two Stones to me. If the young Dace be a Bayt for the old Pike, I ſee no reaſon, in the Law of Nature, but I may ſnap at him. Let time ſhape, and there an end.

Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima. Enter the Arch-biſhop, Mowbray, Hastings, Westmerland, Coleuile. Biſh.

What is this Forreſt call'd?

 Haſt.

'Tis Gualtree Forreſt, and't ſhall pleaſe your Grace.

 Biſh. Here ſtand (my Lords) and ſend diſcouerers forth, To know the numbers of our Enemies. Hast.

Wee haue ſent forth alreadie.

 Biſh. 'Tis well done. My Friends, and Brethren (in theſe great Affaires) I muſt acquaint you, that I haue receiu'd New-dated Letters from Northumberland: Their cold intent, tenure, and ſubſtance thus. Here doth hee wiſh his Perſon, with ſuch Powers As might hold ſortance with his Qualitie, The which hee could not leuie: whereupon Hee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes, To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers, That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard, And fearefull meeting of their Oppoſite. Mow. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground, And daſh themſelues to pieces. Enter a Meſſenger. Haſt.

Now? what newes?

 Meſſ. Weſt of this Forreſt, ſcarcely off a mile, In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie: And by the ground they hide, I iudge their number Vpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thouſand. Mow. The iuſt proportion that we gaue them out. Let vs ſway-on, and face them in the field. Enter Weſtmerland. Biſh.

What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here?

 Mow.

I thinke it is my Lord of Weſtmerland.

 Weſt. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall, The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaſter. Biſh. Say on (my Lord of Weſtmerland) in peace: What doth concerne your comming? West. Then (my Lord) Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addreſſe The ſubſtance of my Speech. If that Rebellion Came like it ſelfe, in baſe and abiect Routs, Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage, And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie: I ſay, if damn'd Commotion ſo appeare, In his true, natiue, and moſt proper ſhape, You (Reuerend Father, and theſe Noble Lords) Had not beene here, to dreſſe the ougly forme Of baſe, and bloodie Inſurrection, With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-biſhop, Whoſe Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd, Whoſe Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd, Whoſe Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd, Whoſe white Inueſtments figure Innocence, The Doue, and very bleſſed Spirit of Peace. Wherefore doe you ſo ill tranſlate your ſelfe, Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares ſuch grace, Into the harſh and boyſtrous Tongue of Warre? Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood, Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuine To a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre. Biſh. Wherefore doe I this? ſo the Queſtion ſtands. Briefely to this end: Wee are all diſeas'd, And with our ſurfetting, and wanton howres, Haue brought our ſelues into a burning Feuer, And wee muſt bleede for it: of which Diſeaſe, Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd. But (my moſt Noble Lord of Weſtmerland) I take not on me here as a Phyſician, Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace, Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men: But rather ſhew a while like fearefull Warre, To dyet ranke Mindes, ſicke of happineſſe, And purge th' obſtructions, which begin to ſtop Our very Veines of Life: heare me more plainely. I haue in equall ballance iuſtly weigh'd, What wrongs our Arms may do, what wrongs we ſuffer, And finde our Griefes heauier then our Offences. Wee ſee which way the ſtreame of Time doth runne, And are enforc'd from our moſt quiet there, By the rough Torrent of Occaſion, And haue the ſummarie of all our Griefes (When time ſhall ſerue) to ſhew in Articles; Which long ere this, wee offer'd to the King, And might, by no Suit, gayne our Audience: When wee are wrong'd, and would vnfold our Griefes, Wee are deny'd acceſſe vnto his Perſon, Euen by thoſe men, that moſt haue done vs wrong. The dangers of the dayes but newly gone, Whoſe memorie is written on the Earth With yet appearing blood; and the examples Of euery Minutes inſtance (preſent now) Hath put vs in theſe ill-beſeeming Armes: Not to breake Peace, or any Branch of it, But to eſtabliſh here a Peace indeede, Concurring both in Name and Qualitie. Weſt. When euer yet was your Appeale deny'd? Wherein haue you beene galled by the King? What Peere hath beene ſuborn'd, to grate on you, That you ſhould ſeale this lawleſſe bloody Booke Of forg'd Rebellion, with a Seale diuine? Biſh. My Brother generall, the Common-wealth, I make my Quarrell, in particular. Weſt. There is no neede of any ſuch redreſſe: Or if there were, it not belongs to you. Mow. Why not to him in part, and to vs all, That feele the bruizes of the dayes before, And ſuffer the Condition of theſe Times To lay a heauie and vnequall Hand vpon our Honors? Weſt. O my good Lord Mowbray, Conſtrue the Times to their Neceſſities, And you ſhall ſay (indeede) it is the Time, And not the King, that doth you iniuries. Yet for your part, it not appeares to me, Either from the King, or in the preſent Time, That you ſhould haue an ynch of any ground To build a Griefe on: were you not reſtor'd To all the Duke of Norfolkes Seignories, Your Noble, and right well-remembred Fathers? Mow. What thing, in Honor, had my Father loſt, That need to be reuiu'd, and breath'd in me? The King that lou'd him, as the State ſtood then, Was forc'd, perforce compell'd to baniſh him: And then, that Henry Bullingbrooke and hee Being mounted, and both rowſed in their Seates, Their neighing Courſers daring of the Spurre, Their armed Staues in charge, their Beauers downe, Their eyes of fire, ſparkling through ſights of Steele, And the lowd Trumpet blowing them together: Then, then, when there was nothing could haue ſtay'd My Father from the Breaſt of Bullingbrooke; O, when the King did throw his Warder downe, (His owne Life hung vpon the Staffe hee threw) Then threw hee downe himſelfe, and all their Liues, That by Indictment, and by dint of Sword, Haue ſince miſ-carryed vnder Bullingbrooke. Weſt. You ſpeak (Lord Mowbray) now you know not what. The Earle of Hereford was reputed then In England the moſt valiant Gentleman. Who knowes, on whom Fortune would then haue ſmil'd? But if your Father had beene Victor there, Hee ne're had borne it out of Couentry. For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce, Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue, Were ſet on Herford, whom they doted on, And bleſs'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King. But this is meere digreſſion from my purpoſe. Here come I from our Princely Generall, To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace, That hee will giue you Audience: and wherein It ſhall appeare, that your demands are iuſt, You ſhall enioy them, euery thing ſet off, That might ſo much as thinke you Enemies. Mow. But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer, And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue. Weſt. Mowbray, you ouer-weene to take it ſo: This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare. For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes, Vpon mine Honor, all too confident To giue admittance to a thought of feare. Our Battaile is more full of Names then yours, Our Men more perfect in the vſe of Armes, Our Armor all as ſtrong, our Cauſe the beſt; Then Reaſon will, our hearts ſhould be as good. Say you not then, our Offer is compell'd. Mow.

Well, by my will, wee ſhall admit no Parley.

 West. That argues but the ſhame of your offence: A rotten Caſe abides no handling. Haſt. Hath the Prince Iohn a full Commiſſion, In very ample vertue of his Father, To heare, and abſolutely to determine Of what Conditions wee ſhall ſtand vpon? Weſt. That is intended in the Generals Name: I muſe you make ſo ſlight a Queſtion. Biſh. Then take (my Lord of Weſtmerland) this Schedule, For this containes our generall Grieuances: Each ſeuerall Article herein redreſs'd, All members of our Cauſe, both here, and hence, That are inſinewed to this Action, Acquitted by a true ſubſtantiall forme, And preſent execution of our wills, To vs, and to our purpoſes confin'd, Wee come within our awfull Banks againe, And knit our Powers to the Arme of Peace. Weſt. This will I ſhew the Generall. Pleaſe you Lords, In ſight of both our Battailes, wee may meete At either end in peace: which Heauen ſo frame, Or to the place of difference call the Swords, Which muſt decide it. Biſh.

My Lord, wee will doe ſo.

 Mow. There is a thing within my Boſome tells me, That no Conditions of our Peace can ſtand. Hast. Feare you not, that if wee can make our Peace Vpon ſuch large termes, and ſo abſolute, As our Conditions ſhall conſiſt vpon, Our Peace ſhall ſtand as firme as Rockie Mountaines. Mow. I, but our valuation ſhall be ſuch, That euery ſlight, and falſe-deriued Cauſe, Yea, euery idle, nice, and wanton Reaſon, Shall, to the King, taſte of this Action: That were our Royall faiths, Martyrs in Loue, Wee ſhall be winnowed with ſo rough a winde, That euen our Corne ſhall ſeeme as light as Chaffe, And good from bad finde no partition. Biſh. No, no (my Lord) note this: the King is wearie Of daintie and ſuch picking Grieuances: For hee hath found, to end one doubt by Death, Reuiues two greater in the Heires of Life. And therefore will hee wipe his Tables cleane, And keepe no Tell-tale to his Memorie, That may repeat, and Hiſtorie his loſſe, To new remembrance. For full well hee knowes, Hee cannot ſo preciſely weede this Land, As his miſ-doubts preſent occaſion: His foes are ſo en-rooted with his friends, That plucking to vnfixe an Enemie, Hee doth vnfaſten ſo, and ſhake a friend. So that this Land, like an offenſiue wife, That hath enrag'd him on, to offer ſtrokes, As he is ſtriking, holds his Infant vp, And hangs reſolu'd Correction in the Arme, That was vprear'd to execution. Haſt. Beſides, the King hath waſted all his Rods, On late Offenders, that he now doth lacke The very Inſtruments of Chaſticement: So that his power, like to a Fangleſſe Lion May offer, but not hold. Biſh. 'Tis very true: And therefore be aſſur'd (my good Lord Marſhal) If we do now make our attonement well, Our Peace, will (like a broken Limbe vnited) Grow ſtronger, for the breaking. Mow. Be it ſo: Heere is return'd my Lord of Weſtmerland. Enter Weſtmerland. Weſt. The Prince is here at hand: pleaſeth your Lordſhip To meet his Grace, iuſt diſtance 'tweene our Armies? Mow.

Your Grace of Yorke, in heauen's name then forward.

 Biſh.

Before, and greet his Grace (my Lord) we come.

 Enter Prince Iohn. Iohn. You are wel encountred here (my coſin Mowbray) Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbiſhop, And ſo to you Lord Haſtings, and to all. My Lord of Yorke, it better ſhew'd with you, When that your Flocke (aſſembled by the Bell) Encircled you, to heare with reuerence Your expoſition on the holy Text, Then now to ſee you heere an Iron man Chearing a rowt of Rebels with your Drumme, Turning the Word, to Sword; and Life to death: That man that ſits within a Monarches heart, And ripens in the Sunne-ſhine of his fauor, Would hee abuſe the Countenance of the King, Alack, what Miſchiefes might hee ſet abroach, In ſhadow of ſuch Greatneſſe? With you, Lord Biſhop, It is euen ſo. Who hath not heard it ſpoken. How deepe you were within the Bookes of Heauen? To vs, the Speaker in his Parliament; To vs, th' imagine Voyce of Heauen it ſelfe: The very Opener, and Intelligencer, Betweene the Grace, the Sanctities of Heauen, And our dull workings. O, who ſhall beleeue, But you miſ-vſe the reuerence of your Place, Employ the Countenance, and Grace of Heauen, As a falſe Fauorite doth his Princes Name, In deedes diſ-honorable? You haue taken vp, Vnder the counterfeited Zeale of Heauen, The Subiects of Heauens Subſtitute, my Father, And both againſt the Peace of Heauen, and him, Haue here vp-ſwarmed them. Biſh. Good my Lord of Lancaſter, I am not here againſt your Fathers Peace: But (as I told my Lord of Weſtmerland) The Time (miſ-order'd) doth in common ſence Crowd vs, and cruſh vs, to this monſtrous Forme, To hold our ſafetie vp. I ſent your Grace The parcels, and particulars of our Griefe, The which hath been with ſcorne ſhou'd from the Court: Whereon this Hydra-Sonne of Warre is borne, Whoſe dangerous eyes may well be charm'd aſleepe, With graunt of our moſt iuſt and right deſires; And true Obedience, of this Madneſſe cur'd, Stoope tamely to the foot of Maieſtie. Mow. If not, wee readie are to trye our fortunes, To the laſt man. Haſt. And though wee here fall downe, Wee haue Supplyes, to ſecond our Attempt: If they miſ-carry, theirs ſhall ſecond them. And ſo, ſucceſſe of Miſchiefe ſhall be borne, And Heire from Heire ſhall hold this Quarrell vp, Whiles England ſhall haue generation. Iohn. You are too ſhallow (Haſtings) Much too ſhallow, To ſound the bottome of the after-Times. Weſt. Pleaſeth your Grace, to anſwere them directly, How farre-forth you doe like their Articles. Iohn. I like them all, and doe allow them well: And ſweare here, by the honor of my blood, My Fathers purpoſes haue beene miſtooke, And ſome, about him, haue too lauiſhly Wreſted his meaning, and Authoritie. My Lord, theſe Griefes ſhall be with ſpeed redreſt: Vpon my Life, they ſhall. If this may pleaſe you, Diſcharge your Powers vnto their ſeuerall Counties, As wee will ours: and here, betweene the Armies, Let's drinke together friendly, and embrace, That all their eyes may beare thoſe Tokens home, Of our reſtored Loue, and Amitie. Biſh.

I take your Princely word, for theſe redreſſes.

 Iohn. I giue it you, and will maintaine my word: And thereupon I drinke vnto your Grace. Haſt. Goe Captaine, and deliuer to the Armie This newes of Peace: let them haue pay, and part: I know, it will well pleaſe them. High thee Captaine. Exit. Biſh.

To you▪ my Noble Lord of Weſtmerland.

 West. I pledge your Grace: And if you knew what paines I haue beſtow'd, To breede this preſent Peace, You would drinke freely: but my loue to ye, Shall ſhew it ſelfe more openly hereafter. Biſh.

I doe not doubt you.

 Weſt. I am glad of it. Health to my Lord, and gentle Couſin Mowbray. Mow. You wiſh me health in very happy ſeaſon, For I am, on the ſodaine, ſomething ill. Biſh. Againſt ill Chances, men are euer merry, But heauineſſe fore-runnes the good euent. Weſt. Therefore be merry (Cooze) ſince ſodaine ſorrow Serues to ſay thus: ſome good thing comes to morrow. Biſh.

Beleeue me, I am paſſing light in ſpirit.

 Mow.

So much the worſe, if your owne Rule be true.

 Iohn.

The word of Peace is render'd: hearke how they ſhowt.

 Mow.

This had been chearefull, after Victorie.

 Biſh. A Peace is of the nature of a Conqueſt: For then both parties nobly are ſubdu'd, And neither partie looſer. Iohn. Goe (my Lord) And let our Army be diſcharged too: And good my Lord (ſo pleaſe you) let our Traines March by vs, that wee may peruſe the men Exit. Wee ſhould haue coap'd withall. Biſh. Goe, good Lord Haſtings: And ere they be diſmiſs'd, let them march by. Exit. Iohn. I truſt (Lords) wee ſhall lye to night together. Enter Weſtmerland. Now Couſin, wherefore ſtands our Army ſtill? West. The Leaders hauing charge from you to ſtand, Will not goe off, vntill they heare you ſpeake. Iohn.

They know their duties.

Enter Haſtings. Haſt. Our Army is diſpers'd: Like youthfull Steeres, vnyoak'd, they tooke their courſe Eaſt, Weſt, North, South: or like a Schoole, broke vp, Each hurryes towards his home, and ſporting place. Weſt. Good tidings (my Lord Haſtings) for the which, I doe arreſt thee (Traytor) of high Treaſon: And you Lord Arch-biſhop, and you Lord Mowbray, Of Capitall Treaſon, I attach you both. Mow.

Is this proceeding iuſt, and honorable?

 Weſt.

Is your Aſſembly ſo?

 Biſh.

Will you thus breake your faith?

 Iohn. I pawn'd thee none: I promis'd you redreſſe of theſe ſame Grieuances Whereof you did complaine; which, by mine Honor, I will performe, with a moſt Chriſtian care. But for you (Rebels) looke to taſte the due Meet for Rebellion, and ſuch Acts as yours. Moſt ſhallowly did you theſe Armes commence, Fondly brought here, and fooliſhly ſent hence. Strike vp our Drummes, purſue the ſcatter'd ſtray, Heauen, and not wee, haue ſafely fought to day. Some guard theſe Traitors to the Block of Death, Treaſons true Bed, and yeelder vp of breath. Exeunt. Enter Falſtaffe and Colleuile. Falſt.

What's your Name, Sir? of what Condition are you? and of what place, I pray?

 Col. I am a Knight, Sir: And my Name is Colleuile of the Dale. Falst.

Well then, Colleuile is your Name, a Knight is your Degree, and your Place, the Dale. Colleuile ſhall ſtill be your Name, a Traytor your Degree, and the Dungeon your Place, a place deepe enough: ſo ſhall you be ſtill Colleuile of the Dale.

 Col.

Are not you Sir Iohn Falſtaffe?

Falſt.

As good a man as he ſir, who ere I am: doe yee yeelde ſir, or ſhall I ſweate for you? if I doe ſweate, they are the drops of thy Louers, and they weep for thy death, therefore rowze vp Feare and Trembling, and do obſeruance to my mercy.

 Col.

I thinke you are Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, & in that thought yeeld me.

 Fal.

I haue a whole Schoole of tongues in this belly of mine, and not a Tongue of them all, ſpeakes anie other word but my name: and I had but a belly of any indifferencie, I were ſimply the moſt actiue fellow in Europe: my wombe, my wombe, my wombe vndoes mee. Heere comes our Generall.

 Enter Prince Iohn, and Weſtmerland. Iohn. The hea • is paſt, follow no farther now: Call in the Powers good Couſin Westmerland. Now Fal • taffe, where haue you beene all this while? When euery thing is ended, then you come. Theſe tardie Tricks of yours will (on my life) One time, or other, breake ſome Gallowes back. Falſt.

I would bee ſorry (my Lord) but it ſhould bee thus: I neuer knew yet, but rebuke and checke was the reward of Valour. Doe you thinke me a Swallow, an Arrow, or a Bullet? Haue I, in my poore and olde Motion, the expedition of Thought? I haue ſpeeded hither with the very extremeſt ynch of poſſibilitie. I haue fowndred nine ſcore and odde Poſtes: and heere (trauell-tainted as I am) haue, in my pure and immaculate Valour, taken Sir Iohn Colleuile of the Dale, a moſt furious Knight, and valorous Enemie: But what of that? hee ſaw mee, and yeelded: that I may iuſtly ſay with the hooke-nos'd fellow of Rome, I came, ſaw, and ouer-came.

 Iohn.

It was more of his Courteſie, then your deſeruing.

 Falſt.

I know not: heere hee is, and heere I yeeld him: and I beſeech your Grace, let it be book'd, with the reſt of this dayes deedes; or I ſweare, I will haue it in a particular Ballad, with mine owne Picture on the top of it (Colleuile kiſſing my foot:) To the which courſe, if I be enforc'd, if you do not all ſhew like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the cleare Skie of Fame, o're-ſhine you as much as the Full Moone doth the Cynders of the Element (which ſhew like Pinnes-heads to her) beleeue not the Word of the Noble: therefore let mee haue right, and let deſert mount.

 Iohn.

Thine's too heauie to mount.

 Falſt.

Let it thine then.

 Iohn.

Thine's too thick to ſhine.

 Falſt.

Let it doe ſomething (my good Lord) that may doe me good, and call it what you will.

 Iohn.

Is thy Name Colleuile?

 Col.

It is (my Lord.)

 Iohn.

A famous Rebell art thou, Colleuile.

Falſt.

And a famous true Subiect tooke him.

 Col. I am (my Lord) but as my Betters are, That led me hither: had they beene rul'd by me, You ſhould haue wonne them dearer then you haue. Falſt.

I know not how they ſold themſelues, but thou like a kinde fellow, gau'ſt thy ſelfe away; and I thanke thee, for thee.

 Enter Westmerland. Iohn.

Haue you left purſuit?

 Weſt.

Retreat is made, and Execution ſtay'd.

 Iohn. Send Colleuile, with his Confederates, To Yorke, to preſent Execution. Blunt, leade him hence, and ſee you guard him ſure. Exit with Colleuile. And now diſpatch we toward the Court (my Lords) I heare the King, my Father, is ſore ſicke. Our Newes ſhall goe before vs, to his Maieſtie, Which (Couſin) you ſhall beare, to comfort him: And wee with ſober ſpeede will follow you. Falſt.

My Lord, I beſeech you, giue me leaue to goe through Glouceſterſhire: and when you come to Court, ſtand my good Lord, 'pray, in your good report.

 Iohn. Fare you well, Falstaffe: I, in my condition, Shall better ſpeake of you, then you deſerue. Exit. Falſt.

I would you had but the wit: 'twere better then your Dukedome. Good faith, this ſame young ſober-blooded Boy doth no • loue me, nor a man cannot make him laugh: but that's no maruaile, hee drinkes no Wine. There's neuer any of theſe demure Boyes come to any proofe: for thinne Drinke doth ſo ouer-coole their blood, and making many Fiſh-Meales, that they fall into a kinde of Male Greene-ſickneſſe: and then, when they marry, they get Wenches. They are generally Fooles, and Cowards; which ſome of vs ſhould be too, but for inflamation. A good Sherris-Sack hath a two-fold operation in it: it aſcends me into the Braine, dryes me there all the fooliſh, and dull, and cruddie Vapours, which enuiron it: makes it apprehenſiue, quicke, forgetiue, full of nimble, fierie, and delectable ſhapes; which deliuer'd o're to the Voyce, the Tongue, which is the Birth, becomes excellent Wit. The ſecond propertie of your excellent Sherris, is, the warming of the Blood: which before (cold, and ſetled) left the Liuer white, and pale; which is the Badge of Puſillanimitie, and Cowardize: but the Sherris warmes it, and makes it courſe from the inwards, to the parts extremes: it illuminateth the Face, which (as a Beacon) giues warning to all the reſt of this little Kingdome (Man) to Arme: and then the Vitall Commoners, and in-land pettie Spirits, muſter me all to their Captaine, the Heart; who great, and pufft vp with his Retinue, doth any Deed of Courage: and this Valour comes of Sherris. So, that skill in the Weapon is nothing, without Sack (for that ſets it a-worke:) and Learning, a meere Hoord of Gold, kept by a Deuill, till Sack commences it, and ſets it in act, and vſe. Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry is valiant: for the cold blood hee did naturally inherite of his Father, hee hath, like leane, ſtirrill, and bare Land, manured, husbanded, and tyll'd, with excellent endeauour of drinking good, and good ſtore of fertile Sherris, that hee is become very hot, and valiant. If I had a thouſand Sonnes, the firſt Principle I would teach them, ſhould be to forſweare thinne Potations, and to addict themſelues to Sack.

Enter Bardolph.

How now Bardolph?

 Bard.

The Armie is diſcharged all, and gone.

 Falſt.

Let them goe: Ile through Glouceſterſhire, and there will I viſit Maſter Robert Shallow, Eſquire: I haue him alreadie tempering betweene my finger and my thombe, and ſhortly will I ſeale with him. Come away.

 Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter King, Warwicke, Clarence, Glouceſter. King. Now Lords, if Heauen doth giue ſucceſſefull end To this Debate that bleedeth at our doores, Wee will out Youth lead on to higher Fields, And draw no Swords, but what are ſanctify'd. Our Nauie is addreſſed, our Power collected, Our Subſtitutes, in abſence, well inueſted, And euery thing lyes leuell to our wiſh; Onely wee want a little perſonall Strength: And pawſe vs, till theſe Rebels, now a-foot, Come vnderneath the yoake of Gouernment. War. Both which we doubt not, but your Maieſtie Shall ſoone enioy. King.

Humphrey (my Sonne of Glouceſter) where is the Prince, your Brother?

 Glo.

I thinke hee's gone to hunt (my Lord) at Windſor.

 King.

And how accompanied?

 Glo.

I doe not know (my Lord.)

 King.

Is not his Brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?

 Glo.

No (my good Lord) hee is in preſence heere.

 Clar.

What would my Lord, and Father?

 King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance thou art not with the Prince, thy Brother? Hee loues thee, and thou do'ſt neglect him (Thomas.) Thou haſt a better place in his Affection, Then all thy Brothers: cheriſh it (my Boy) And Noble Offices thou may'ſt effect Of Mediation (after I am dead) Betweene his Greatneſſe, and thy other Brethren. Therefore omit him not: blunt not his Loue, Nor looſe the good aduantage of his Grace, By ſeeming cold, or careleſſe of his will. For hee is gracious, if hee be obſeru'd: Hee hath a Teare for Pitie, and a Hand Open (as Day) for melting Charitie: Yet notwithſtanding, being incens'd, hee's Flint, As humorous as Winter, and as ſudden, As Flawes congealed in the Spring of day. His temper therefore muſt be well obſeru'd: Chide him for faults, and doe it reuerently, When you perceiue his blood enclin'd to mirth: But being moodie, giue him Line, and ſcope, Till that his paſſions (like a Whale on ground) Confound themſelues with working. Learne this Thomas, And thou ſhalt proue a ſhelter to thy friends, A Hoope of Gold, to binde thy Brothers in: That the vnited Veſſell of their Blood (Mingled with Venome of Suggeſtion, As force, perforce, the Age will powre it in) Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as ſtrong As Aconitum, or raſh Gun-powder. Clar.

I ſhall obſerue him with all care, and loue.

 King.

Why art thou not at Windſor with him (Thomas?)

Clar.

Hee is not there to day: hee dines in London.

 King.

And how accompanyed? Canſt thou tell that?

 Clar.

With Pointz, and other his continuall followers.

 King. Moſt ſubiect is the fatteſt Soyle to Weedes: And hee (the Noble Image of my Youth) Is ouer-ſpread with them: therefore my griefe Stretches it ſelfe beyond the howre of death. The blood weepes from my heart, when I doe ſhape (In formes imaginarie) th' vnguided Dayes, And rotten Times, that you ſhall looke vpon, When I am ſleeping with my Anceſtors. For when his head-ſtrong Riot hath no Curbe, When Rage and hot-Blood are his Counſailors, When Meanes and lauiſh Manners meete together; Oh, with what Wings ſhall his Affections flye Towards fronting Perill, and oppos'd Decay? War. My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite: The Prince but ſtudies his Companions, Like a ſtrange Tongue: wherein, to gaine the Language, 'Tis needfull, that the moſt immodeſt word Be look'd vpon, and learn'd: which once attayn'd, Your Highneſſe knowes, comes to no farther vſe, But to be knowne, and hated. So, like groſſe termes, The Prince will, in the perfectneſſe of time, Caſt off his followers: and their memorie Shall as a Patterne, or a Meaſure, liue, By which his Grace muſt mere the liues of others, Turning paſt-euills to aduantages. King. 'Tis ſeldome, when the Bee doth leaue her Combe In the dead Carrion. Enter Weſtmerland. Who's heere? Weſtmerland? Weſt. Health to my Soueraigne, and new happineſſe Added to that, that I am to deliuer. Prince Iohn, your Sonne, doth kiſſe your Graces Hand: Mowbray, the Biſhop, Scroope, Haſtings, and all, Are brought to the Correction of your Law. There is not now a Rebels Sword vnſheath'd, But Peace puts forth her Oliue euery where: The manner how this Action hath beene borne, Here (at more leyſure) may your Highneſſe reade, With euery courſe, in his particular. King. O Weſtmerland, thou art a Summer Bird▪ Which euer in the haunch of Winter ſings The lifting vp of day. Enter Harcourt. Looke, heere's more newes. Harc. From Enemies, Heauen keepe your Maieſtie: And when they ſtand againſt you, may they fall, As thoſe that I am come to tell you of. The Earle Northumberland, and the Lord Bardolfe, With a great Power of Engliſh, and of Scots, Are by the Sherife of Yorkeſhire ouerthrowne: The manner, and true order of the fight, This Packet (pleaſe it you) containes at large. King. And wherefore ſhould theſe good newes Make me ſicke? Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full, But write her faire words ſtill in fouleſt Letters? Shee eyther giues a Stomack, and no Foode, (Such are the poore, in health) or elſe a Feaſt, And takes away the Stomack (ſuch are the Rich, That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.) I ſhould reioyce now, at this happy newes, And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie. O me, come neere me, now I am much ill. Glo.

Comfort your Maieſtie.

 Cla.

Oh, my Royall Father.

 Weſt.

My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your ſelfe, looke vp.

 War. Be patient (Princes) you doe know, theſe Fits Are with his Highneſſe very ordinarie▪ Stand from him, giue him ayre: Hee'le ſtraight be well. Clar. No, no, hee cannot long hold out: theſe pangs, Th' inceſſant care, and labour of his Minde, Hath wrought the Mure, that ſhould confine it in, So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out. Glo. The people feare me: for they doe obſerue Vnfather'd Heires, and loathly Births of Nature: The Seaſons change their manners, as the Yeere Had found ſome Moneths aſleepe, and leap'd them ouer. Clar. The Riuer hath thrice flow'd, no ebbe betweene: And the old folke (Times doting Chronicles) Say it did ſo, a little time before That our great Grand-fire Edward ſick'd, and dy'de. War.

Speake lower (Princes) for the King recouers.

 Glo.

This Apoplexie will (certaine) be his end.

 King. I pray you take me vp, and beare me hence Into ſome other Chamber: ſoftly 'pray. Let there be no noyſe made (my gentle friends) Vnleſſe ſome dull and fauourable hand Will whiſper Muſicke to my wearie Spirit. War.

Ca • for the Muſicke in the other Roome.

 King.

Set me the Crowne vpon my Pillow here.

 Clar.

His eye is hollow, and hee changes much.

 War.

Leſſe noyſe, leſſe noyſe.

 Enter Prince Henry. P. Hen.

Who ſaw the Duke of Clarence?

 Clar.

I am here (Brother) full of heauineſſe.

 P. Hen.

How now? Raine within doores, and none abroad? How doth the King?

 Glo.

Exceeding ill.

 P. Hen. Heard hee the good newes yet? Tell it him. Glo.

Hee alter'd much, vpon the hearing it.

 P. Hen. If hee be ſicke with Ioy, Hee'le recouer without Phyſicke. War. Not ſo much noyſe (my Lords) Sweet Prince ſpeake lowe. The King, your Father, is diſpos'd to ſleepe. Clar.

Let vs with-draw into the other Roome.

 War.

Wil't pleaſe your Grace to goe along with vs?

 P. Hen. No: I will ſit, and watch here, by the King. Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow, Being ſo troubleſome a Bed-fellow? O polliſh'd Perturbation! Golden Care! That keep'ſt the Ports of Slumber open wide, To many a watchfull Night: ſleepe with it now, Yet not ſo ſound, and halte ſo deepely ſweete, As hee whoſe Brow (with homely Biggen bound) Snores out the Watch of Night. O Maieſtie! When thou do'ſt pinch thy Bearer, thou do'ſt ſit Like a rich Armor, worne in heat of day, That ſcald'ſt with ſafetie: by his Gates of breath, There lyes a dowlney feather, which ſtirres not: Did hee ſuſpit • , that light and weightleſſe dowlne Perforce muſt moue. My gracious Lord, my Father, This ſleepe is ſound indeede: this is a ſleepe, That from this Golden Rigoll hath diuorc'd So many Engliſh Kings. Thy due, from me, Is Teare • , and heauie Sorrowes of the Blood, Which Nature, Loue, and filiall tenderneſſe, Shall (O deare Father) pay thee plenteouſly. My due, from thee, is this Imperiall Crowne, Which (as immediate from thy Place, and Blood) Deriues it ſelfe to me. Loe, heere it ſits, Which Heauen ſhall guard: And put the worlds whole ſtrength into one gyant Arme, It ſhall not force this Lineall Honor from me. This from thee, will I to mine leaue, As 'tis left to me. Exit. Enter Warwicke, Glouceſter, Clarence. King.

Warwicke, Glouceſter, Clarence.

Clar.

Doth the King call?

 War.

What would your Maieſtie? how fares your Grace?

 King.

Why did you leaue me here alone (my Lords?)

 Cla. We left the Prince (my Brother) here (my Liege) Who vndertooke to ſit and watch by you. King.

The Prince of Wales? where is hee? let mee ſee him.

 War.

This doore is open, hee is gone this way.

 Glo.

Hee came not through the Chamber where wee ſtayd.

 King.

Where is the Crowne? who tooke it from my Pillow?

 War.

When wee with-drew (my Liege) wee left it heere.

 King. The Prince hath ta'ne it hence: Goe ſeeke him out. Is hee ſo haſtie, that hee doth ſuppoſe My ſleepe, my death? Finde him (my Lord of Warwick) Chide him hither: this part of his conioynes With my diſeaſe, and helpes to end me. See Sonnes, what things you are: How quickly Nature falls into reuolt, When Gold becomes her Obiect? For this, the fooliſh ouer-carefull Fathers Haue broke their ſleepes with thoughts, Their braines with care, their bones with induſtry. For this, they haue ingroſſed and pyl'd vp The canker'd heapes of ſtrange-atchieued Gold: For this, they haue beene thoughtfull, to inueſt Their Sonnes with Arts, and Martiall Exerciſes: When, like the Bee, culling from euery flower The vertuous Sweetes, our Thighes packt, with Wax, Our Mouthes with Honey, wee bring it to the Hiue; And like the Bees, are murthered for our paines. This bitter taſte yeelds his engroſſements, To the ending Father. Enter Warwicke. Now, where is hee, that will not ſtay ſo long, Till his Friend Sickneſſe hath determin'd me? War. My Lord, I found the Prince in the next Roome, Waſhing with kindly Teares his gentle Cheekes, With ſuch a deepe demeanure, in great ſorrow, That Tyranny, which neuer quafft but blood, Would (by beholding him) haue waſh'd his Knife With gentle eye-drops. Hee is comming hither. King. But wherefore did hee take away the Crowne? Enter Prince Henry. Loe, where hee comes. Come hither to me (Harry.) Depart the Chamber, leaue vs heere alone. Exit. P. Hen.

I neuer thought to heare you ſpeake againe.

 King. Thy wiſh was Father (Harry) to that thought: I ſtay too long by thee, I wearie thee. Do'ſt thou ſo hunger for my emptie Chayre, That thou wilt needes inueſt thee with mine Honors, Before thy howre be ripe? O fooliſh Youth! Thou ſeek'ſt the Greatneſſe, that will ouer-whelme thee. Stay but a little: for my Cloud of Dignitie Is held from falling, with ſo weake a winde, That it will quickly drop: my Day is dimme. Thou haſt ſtolne that, which after ſome few howres Were thine, without offence: and at my death Thou haſt ſeal'd vp my expectation. Thy Life did manifeſt, thou lou'dſt me not, And thou wilt haue me dye aſſur'd of it. Thou hid'ſt a thouſand Daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou haſt whetted on thy ſtonie heart, To ſtab at halfe an howre of my Life. What? canſt thou not forbeare me halfe an howre? Then get thee gone, and digge my graue thy ſelfe, And bid the merry Bels ring to thy care That thou art Crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the Teares, that ſhould be dew my Hearſe Be drops of Balme, to ſanctifie thy head: Onely compound me with forgotten duſt. Giue that, which gaue thee life, vnto the Wormes: Plucke downe my Officers, breake my Decrees; For now a time is come, to mocke at Forme. Henry the fift is Crown'd: Vp Vanity, Downe Royall State: All you ſage Counſailors, hence: And to the Engliſh Court, aſſemble now From eu'ry Region, Apes of Idleneſſe. Now neighbor-Confines, purge you of your Scum: Haue you a Ruffian that ſwill ſweare? drinke? dance? Reuell the night? Rob? Murder? and commit The oldeſt ſinnes, the neweſt kinde of wayes? Be happy, he will trouble you no more: England, ſhall double gill'd, His trebble guilt. England, ſhall giue him Office, Honor, Might: For the Fift Harry, from curb'd Licenſe pluckes The muzzle of Reſtraint; and the wilde Dogge Shall fleſh his tooth in euery Innocent. O my poore Kingdome (ſicke, with ciuill blowes) When that my Care could not with-hold thy Ryots, What wilt thou do, when Ryot is thy Care? O, thou wilt be a Wilderneſſe againe, Peopled with Wolues (thy old Inhabitants. Prince. O pardon me (my Liege) But for my Teares, The moſt Impediments vnto my Speech, I had fore-ſtall'd this deere, and deepe Rebuke, Ere you (with greefe) had ſpoke, and I had heard The courſe of it ſo farre. There is your Crowne, And he that weares the Crowne immortally, Long guard it yours. If I affect it more, Then as your Honour, and as your Renowne, Let me no more from this Obedience riſe, Which my moſt true, and inward duteous Spirit Teacheth this proſtrate, and exteriour bending. Heauen witneſſe with me, when I heere came in, And found no courſe of breath within your Maieſtie, How cold it ſtrooke my heart. If I do faine, O let me, in my preſent wildeneſſe, dye, And neuer liue, to ſhew th' incredulous World, The Noble change that I haue purpoſed. Comming to looke on you, thinking you dead, (And dead almoſt (my Liege) to thinke you were) I ſpake vnto the Crowne (as hauing ſenſe) And thus vpbraided it. The Care on thee depending, Hath fed vpon the body of my Father, Therefore, thou beſt of Gold, art worſt of Gold. Other, leſſe fine in Char • act, is more precious, Preſeruing life, in Med • cine potable: But thou, moſt Fine, moſt Honour'd, moſt Renown'd, Haſt eate the Bearer vp. Thus (my Royall Liege) Accuſing it, I put it on my Head, To try with it (as with an Enemie, That had before my face murdred my Father) The Quarrell of a true Inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with Ioy, Or ſwell my Thoughts, to any ſtraine of Pride, If any Rebell, or vaine ſpirit of mine, Did, with the leaſt Affection of a Welcome, Giue entertainment to the might of it, Let heauen, for euer, keepe it from my head, And make me, as the pooreſt Vaſſaile is, That doth with awe, and terror kneele to it. King. O my Sonne! Heauen put it in thy minde to take it hence, That thou might'ſt ioyne the more, thy Fathers loue, Pleading ſo wiſely, in excuſe of it. Come hither Harrie, ſit thou by my bedde, And heare (I thinke, the very lateſt Counſell That euer I ſhall breath: Heauen knowes, my Sonne) By what by-pathes, and indirect crook'd-wayes I met this Crowne: and I my ſelfe know well How troubleſome it ſate vpon my head. To thee, it ſhall deſcend with better Quiet, Better Opinion, better Confirmation: For all the ſoyle of the Atchieuement goes With me, into the Earth. It ſeem'd in mee, But as an Honour ſnatch'd with boyſt'rous hand, And I had many liuing, to vpbraide My gaine of it, by their Aſſiſtances, Which dayly grew to Quarrell, and to Blood-ſhed, Wounding ſuppoſed Peace. All theſe bold Feares, Thou ſeeſt (with perill) I haue anſwered: For all my Reigne, hath beene but as a Scene Acting that argument. And now my death Changes the Moode: For what in me, was purchas'd, Falles vpon thee, in a more Fayrer ſort. So thou, the Garland wear'ſt ſucceſſiuely. Yet, though thou ſtand'ſt more ſure, then I could do, Thou art-not firme enough, ſince greefes are greene: And all thy Friends, which thou muſt make thy Friends Haue but their ſtings, and teeth, newly tak'n out, By whoſe fell working, I was firſt aduanc'd, And by whoſe power, I well might lodge a Feare To be againe diſplac'd. Which to auoyd, I cut them off: and had a purpoſe now To leade out many to the Holy Land; Leaſt reſt, and lying ſtill, might make them looke Too neere vnto my State. Therefore (my Harrie) Be it thy courſe to buſie giddy Mindes With Forraigne Quarrels: that Action hence borne out, May waſte the memory of the former dayes. More would I, but my Lungs are waſted ſo, That ſtrength of Speech is vtterly deni'de mee. How I came by the Crowne, O heauen forgiue: And grant it may, with thee, in true peace liue. Prince. My gracious Liege: You wonne it, wore it: kept it, gaue it me, Then plaine and right muſt my poſſeſſion be; Which I, with more, then with a Common paine, 'Gainſt all the World, will rightfully maintaine. Enter Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, and Warwicke. King. Looke, looke, Heere comes my Iohn of Lancaſter: Iohn. Health, Peace, and Happineſſe, To my Royall Father. King. Thou bring'ſt me happineſſe and Peace (Sonne Iohn: But health (alacke) with youthfull wings is flowne From this bare; wither'd Trunke, Vpon thy ſight My worldly buſineſſe makes a period. Where is my Lord of Warwicke? 〈◊〉 .

My Lord of Warwicke.

 • ng.

Doth any name particular, belong 〈◊〉 • he Lodging, where I firſt did ſwoon'd?

 • r.

'Tis call'd Ieruſalem, my Noble Lord.

 • i • g. Laud be to heauen: Eu • there my life muſt end. It hath beene propheſi'de to me many yeares, I ſhould not dye, but in Ieruſalem: Which (vainly) I ſuppos'd the Holy-Land. But beare me to that Chamber, there Ile lye: In that Ieruſalem, ſhall Harry dye. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Scoena Prima. Enter Shallow, Silence, Falſtaffe, Bardolfe, Page, and Dauie. Shal. By Cocke and Pye, you ſhall not away to night. What Dauy, I ſay. Fal.

You muſt excuſe me, M. Robert Shallow.

Shal.

I will not excuſe you: you ſhall not be excuſed.

Excuſes ſhall not be admitted: there is no excuſe ſhall ſerue: you ſhall not be excus'd.

Why Dauie. Dauie.

Heere ſir.

 Shal.

Dauy, Dauy, Dauy, let me ſee (Dauy) let me ſee: William Cooke, bid him come hither. Sir Iohn, you ſhal not be excus'd.

 Dauy.

Marry ſir, thus: thoſe Precepts cannot bee ſeru'd: and againe ſir, ſhall we ſowe the head-land with Wheate?

 Shal.

With red Wheate Dauy. But for William Cook: are there no yong Pigeons?

 Dauy. Yes Sir. Heere is now the Smithes note, for Shooing, And Plough-Irons. Shal.

Let it be caſt, and payde: Sir Iohn, you ſhall not be excus'd.

 Dauy.

Sir, a new linke to the Bucket muſt needes bee had: And Sir, doe you meane to ſtoppe any of Williams Wages, about the Sacke he loſt the other day, at Hinckley Fayre?

 Shal.

He ſhall anſwer it:

Some Pigeons Dauy, a couple of ſhort-legg'd Hennes: a ioynt of Mutton and any pretty little tine Kickſhawes, tell William Cooke.

 Dauy.

Doth the man of Warre, ſtay all night ſir?

 Shal.

Yes Dauy:

I will vſe him well. A Friend i' th Court, is better then a penny in purſe. Vſe his men well Dauy, for they are arrant Knaues, and will backe-bite.

 Dauy.

No worſe then they are bitten. ſir: For, they haue maruellous fowle linnen.

 Shallow.

Well conceited Dauy: about thy Buſineſſe, Dauy.

Dauy.

I beſeech you ſir,

To countenance William Ʋiſor of Woncot, againſt Clement Perkes of the hill.

 Shal.

There are many Complaints Dauy, againſt that Ʋiſor, that Ʋiſor is an arrant Knaue, on my knowledge.

 Dauy.

I graunt your Worſhip, that he is a knaue Sir:) But yet heauen forbid Sir, but a Knaue ſhould haue ſome Countenance, at his Friends requeſt. An honeſt man ſir, is able to ſpeake for himſelfe, when a Knaue is not. I haue ſeru'd your Worſhippe truely ſir, theſe eight yeares: and if I cannot once or twice in a Quarter beare out a knaue, againſt an honeſt man, I haue but a very litle credite with your Worſhippe. The Knaue is mine honeſt Friend Sir, therefore I beſeech your Worſhip, let him bee Countenanc'd.

 Shal. Go too, I ſay he ſhall haue no wrong: Looke about Dauy. Where are you Sir Iohn? Come, off with your Boots. Giue me your hand M. Bardolfe. Bard.

I am glad to ſee your Worſhip.

 Shal. I thanke thee, with all my heart, kinde Maſter Bardolfe: and welcome my tall Fellow: Come Sir Iohn. Falſtaffe.

Ile follow you, good Maſter Robert Shallow. Bardolfe, looke to our Horſſes. If I were ſaw'de into Quantities, I ſhould make foure dozen of ſuch bearded Hermites ſtaues, as Maſter Shallow. It is a wonderfull thing to ſee the ſemblable Cohetence of his mens ſpirits, and his: They, by obſeruing of him, do beare themſelues like fooliſh Iuſtices: Hee, by conuerſing with them, is turn'd into a Iuſtice-like Seruingman. Their ſpirits are ſo married in Coniunction, with the participation of Society, that they flocke together in conſent, like ſo many Wilde-Geeſe. If I had a ſuite to Mayſter Shallow, I would humour his men, with the imputation of beeing neere their Mayſter. If to his Men, I would currie with Maiſter Shallow, that no man could better command his Seruants. It is certaine, that either wiſe bearing, or ignorant Carriage is caught, as men take diſeaſes, one of another: therefore, let men take heede of their Companie. I will deuiſe matter enough out of this Shallow, to keepe Prince Harry in continuall Laughter, the wearing out of ſixe Faſhions (which is foure Tearmes) or two Actions, and he ſhall laugh with Interuallums. O it is much that a Lye (with a flight Oath) and a ieſt (with • ſadde brow) will doe, with a Fellow, that neuer had the Ache in his ſhoulders. O you ſhall ſee him laugh, till his Face be like a wet Cloake, ill laid vp.

 Shal.

Sir Iohn.

Falſt.

I come Maſter Shallow, I come Maſter Shallow.

Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter the Earle of Warwicke, and the Lord Chiefe Iuſtice. Warwicke.

How now, my Lord Chiefe Iuſtice, whether away?

 Ch. Iuſt.

How doth the King?

 Warw. Exceeding well: his Cares Are now, all ended. Ch. Iuſt.

I hope, not dead.

 Warw. Hee's walk'd the way of Nature, And to our purpoſes, he liues no more. Ch. Iuſt. I would his Maieſty had call'd me with him, The ſeruice, that I truly did his life, Hath left me open to all iniuries. War.

Indeed I thinke the yong King loues you not.

 Ch. Iuſt. I know he doth not, and do arme my ſelfe To welcome the condition of the Time, Which cannot looke more hideouſly vpon me, Then I haue drawne it in my fantaſie. Enter Iohn of Lancaſter, Gloucester, and Clarence. War. Heere come the heauy Iſſue of dead Harrie: O, that the liuing Harrie had the temper Of him, the worſt of theſe three Gentlemen: How many Nobles then, ſhould hold their places, That muſt ſtrike ſaile, to Spirits of vilde ſort? Ch. Iuſt.

Alas, I feare, all will be ouer-turn'd.

 Iohn.

Good morrow Coſin Warwick, good morrow.

 Glou.

Cla. Good morrow, Coſin.

 Iohn.

We meet, like men, that had forgot to ſpeake.

 War. We do remember: but our Argument Is all too heauy, to admit much talke. Ioh.

Well: Peace be with him, that hath made vs heauy

 Ch. Iuſt.

Peace be with vs, leaſt we be heauier.

 Glou. O, good my Lord, you haue loſt a friend indeed: And I dare ſweare, you borrow not that face Of ſeeming ſorrow, it is ſure your owne. Iohn. Though no man be aſſur'd what grace to finde, You ſtand in coldeſt expectation. I am the ſorrier, would 'twere otherwiſe. Cla. Wel, you muſt now ſpeake Sir Iohn Falstaffe faire, Which ſwimmes againſt your ſtreame of Quality. Ch. Iuſt. Sweet Princes: what I did, I did in Honor, Led by th' Imperiall Conduct of my Soule, And neuer ſhall you ſee, that I will begge A ragged, and fore-ſtall'd Remiſſion. If Troth, and vpright Innocency fayle me, Ile to the King (my Maſter) that is dead, And tell him, who hath ſent me after him. War.

Heere comes the Prince.

 Enter Prince Henrie. Ch. Iuſt.

Good morrow: and heauen ſaue your Maieſty

 Prince. This new, and gorgeous Garment, Maieſty, Sits not ſo eaſie on me, as you thinke. Brothers, you mixe your Sadneſſe with ſome Feare: This is the Engliſh, not the Turkiſh Court: Not Amurah, an Amurah ſucceeds, But Harry, Harry: Yet be ſad (good Brothers) For (to ſpeake truth) it very well becomes you: Sorrow, ſo Royally in you appeares, That I will deeply put the Faſhion on, And weare it in my heart. Why then be ſad, But entertaine no more of it (good Brothers) Then a ioynt burthen, laid vpon vs all. For me, by Heauen (I bid you be aſſur'd) Ile be your Father, and your Brother too: Let me but beare your Loue, Ile beare your Cares; But weepe that Horrie's dead, and ſo will I. But Harry liues, that ſhall conuert thoſe Teares By number, into houres of Happineſſe. Iohn, &c.

We hope no other from your Maieſty.

 Prin. You all looke ſtrangely on me: and you moſt, You are (I thinke) aſſur'd, I loue you not. Ch. Iuſt. I am aſſur'd (if I be meaſur'd rightly) Your Maieſty hath no iuſt cauſe to hate mee. Pr. No? How might a Prince of my great hopes forget So great Indignities you laid vpon me? What? Rate? Rebuke? and roughly ſend to Priſon Th' immediate Heire of England? Was this eaſie? May this be waſh'd in Lethe, and forgotten? Ch. Iuſt. I then did vſe the Perſon of your Father; The Image of his power, lay then in me, And in th' adminiſtration of his Law, Whiles I was buſie for the Commonwealth, Your Highneſſe pleaſed to forget my place, The Maieſty, and power of Law, and Iuſtice, The Image of the King, whom I preſented, And ſtrooke me in my very Seate of Iudgement▪ Whereon (as an Offender to your Father) I gaue bold way to my Authority, And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Be you contented, wearing now the Garland, To haue a Sonne, ſet your Decrees at naught? To plucke downe Iuſtice from your awefull Bench? To trip the courſe of Law, and blunt the Sword That guards the peace, and ſafety of your Perſon? Nay more, to ſpurne at your moſt Royall Image, And mocke your workings, in a Second body? Queſtion your Royall Thoughts, make the caſe yours: Be now the Father, and propoſe a Sonne: Heare your owne dignity ſo much prophan'd, See your moſt dreadfull Lawes, ſo looſely ſlighted; Behold your ſelfe, ſo by a Sonne diſdained▪ And then imagine me, taking you part, And in your power, ſoft ſilencing your Sonne: After this cold conſiderance, ſentence me; And, as you are a King, ſpeake in your State, What I haue done, that misbecame my place, My perſon, or my Lieges Soueraigntie. Prin. You are right Iuſtice, and you weigh this well: Therefore ſtill beare the Ballance, and the Sword: And I do wiſh your Honors may encreaſe, Till you do liue, to ſee a Sonne of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So ſhall I liue, to ſpeake my Fathers words: Happy am I, that haue a man ſo bold, That dares do Iuſtice, on my proper Sonne; And no leſſe happy, hauing ſuch a Sonne, That would deliuer vp his Greatneſſe ſo, Into the hands of Iuſtice. You did commit me: For which, I do commit into your hand, Th' vnſtained Sword that you haue vs'd to beare: With this Remembrance; That you vſe the ſame With the like bold, iuſt, and impartiall ſpirit As you haue done 'gainſt me. There is my hand, You ſhall be as a Father, to my Youth; My voice ſhall ſound, as you do prompt mine eare, And I will ſtoope, and humble my Intents, To your well-practis'd, wiſe Directions. And Princes all, beleeue me, I beſeech you: My Father is gone wilde into his Graue, (For in his Tombe, lye my Affections) And with his Spirits, ſadly I ſuruiue, To mocke the expectation of the World; To fruſtrate Propheſies, and to race out Rotten Opinion, who hath writ me downe After my ſeeming. The Tide of Blood in me, Hath prowdly flow'd in Vanity, till now. Now doth it turne, and ebbe backe to the Sea, Where it ſhall mingle with the ſtate of Floods, And flow henceforth in formall Maieſty. Now call we our High Court of Parliament, And let vs chooſe ſuch Limbes of Noble Counſaile, That the great Body of our State may go In equall ranke, with the beſt gouern'd Nation, That Warre, or Peace, or both at once may be As things acquainted and familiar to vs, In which you (Father) ſhall haue formoſt hand. Our Coronation done, we will accite (As I before remembred) all our State, And heauen (conſigning to my good intents) No Prince, nor Peere, ſhall haue iuſt cauſe to ſay, Heauen ſhorten Harries happy life, one day. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falſtaffe, Shallow, Silence, Bardolfe, Page, and Piſtoll. Shal

Nay, you ſhall ſee mine Orchard: where, in an Arbor we will eate a laſt yeares Pippin of my owne graffing, with a diſh of Carrawayes, and ſo forth (Come Coſin Silence, and then to bed.

 Fal.

You haue heere a goodly dwelling, and a rich.

 Shal.

Barren, barren, barren: Beggers all, beggers all Sir Iohn: Marry, good ayre. Spread Dauy, ſpread Dauie: Well ſaid Dauie.

Falſt.

This Dauie ſerues you for good vſes: he is your Seruingman, and your Husband.

 Shal

A good Varlet, a good Varlet, a very good Varlet, Sir Iohn: I haue drunke too much Sacke at Supper. A good Varlet. Now ſit downe, now ſit downe: Come Coſin.

 Sil.

Ah ſirra (quoth-a) we ſhall doe nothing but eate, and make good cheere, and praiſe heauen for the merrie yeere: when fleſh is cheape, and Females deere, and luſtie Lads rome heere, and there: ſo merrily, and euer among ſo merrily.

 Fal.

There's a merry heart, good M. Silence, Ile giue you a health for that anon.

 Shal.

Good M. Bardolfe: ſome wine, Dauie.

Da.

Sweet ſir, ſit: Ile be with you anon: moſt ſweete ſir, ſit. Maſter Page, good M. Page, ſit: Proface. What you want in meate, wee'l haue in drinke: but you beare, the heart's all.

 Shal.

Be merry M. Bardolfe, and my little Souldiour there, be merry.

 Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife ha's all. For women are Shrewes, both ſhort, and tall: 'Tis merry in Hall, when Beards wagge all; And welcome merry Shrouetide. Be merry, be merry. Fal.

I did not thinke M. Silence had bin a man of this Mettle.

 Sil.

Who I? I haue beene merry twice and once, ere now.

 Dauy.

There is a diſh of Lether-coats for you.

 Shal.

Dauie.

Dau.

Your Worſhip: Ile be with you ſtraight. A cup of Wine, ſir?

 Sil.

A Cup of Wine, that's briske and fine, & drinke vnto the Leman mine: and a merry heart liues long-a.

 Fal.

Well ſaid, M. Silence.

Sil.

If we ſhall be merry, now comes in the ſweete of the night.

 Fal.

Health, and long life to you, M. Silence.

Sil.

Fill the Cuppe, and let it come. Ile pledge you a mile to the bottome.

 Shal.

Honeſt Bardolfe, welcome: If thou want'ſt any thing, and wilt not call, beſhrew thy heart. Welcome my little tyne theefe, and welcome indeed too: Ile drinke to M. Bardolfe, and to all the Cauileroes about London.

 Dau.

I hope to ſee London, once ere I die.

 Bar.

If I might ſee you there, Dauie.

Shal.

You'l cracke a quart together? Ha, will you not M. Bardolfe?

 Bar.

Yes Sir, in a pottle pot.

 Shal.

I thanke thee: the knaue will ſticke by thee, I can aſſure thee that. He will not out, he is true bred.

 Bar.

And Ile ſticke by him, ſir.

 Shal. Why there ſpoke a King: lack nothing, be merry. Looke, who's at doore there, ho: who knockes? Fal

Why now you haue done me right.

 Sil.

Do me right, and dub me Knight, Samingo. Is't not ſo?

 Fal.

'Tis ſo.

 Sil.

Is't ſo? Why then ſay an old man can do ſomwhat.

 Dau.

If it pleaſe your Worſhippe, there's one Piſtoll come from the Court with newes.

 Fal. From the Court? Let him come in. Enter Piſtoll. How now Piſtoll? Piſt.

Sir Iohn, 'ſaue you ſir.

 Fal.

What winde blew you hither, Piſtoll?

 Piſt.

Not the ill winde which blowes none to good, ſweet Knight: Thou art now one of the greateſt men in the Realme.

 Sil.

Indeed, I thinke he bee, but Goodman Puffe of Barſon.

 Pist.

Puffe? puffe in thy teeth, moſt recreant Coward baſe. Sir Iohn, I am thy Piſtoll, and thy Friend: helter skelter haue I rode to thee, and tydings do I bring, and luckie ioyes, and golden Times, and happie Newes of price.

 Fal.

I prethee now deliuer them, like a man of this World.

 Piſt. A footra for the World, and Worldlings baſe, I ſpeake of Affrica, and Golden ioyes. Fal. O baſe Aſſyrian Knight, what is thy newes? Let King Couitha know the truth thereof. Sil.

And Robin-hood, Scarlet, and Iohn.

 Piſt. Shall dunghill Curres confront the Hellicons? And ſhall good newes be baffel'd? Then Piſtoll lay thy head in Furies lappe. Shal. Honeſt Gentleman, I know not your breeding. Piſt.

Why then Lament therefore.

 Shal.

Giue me pardon, Sir.

If ſir, you come with news from the Court, I take it, there is but two wayes, either to vtter them, or to conceale them. I am Sir, vnder the King, in ſome Authority.

 Piſt. Vnder which King? Bezonian, ſpeake, or dye. Shal.

Vnder King Harry.

Piſt.

Harry the Fourth? or Fift?

 Shal.

Harry the Fourth.

 Piſt. A footra for thine Office. Sir Iohn, thy tender Lamb-kinne, now is King. Harry the Fift's the man, I ſpeake the truth. When Piſtoll lyes, do this, and figge-me, like The bragging Spaniard. Fal.

What, is the old King dead?

 Piſt. As naile in doore. The things I ſpeake, are iuſt. Fal. Away Bardolfe, Sadle my Horſe, Maſter Robert Shallow, chooſe what Office thou wilt In the Land, 'tis thine. Piſtol, I will double charge thee With Dignities. Bard. O ioyfull day: I would not take a Knighthood for my Fortune. Piſt.

What? I do bring good newes.

 Fal.

Carrie Maſter Silence to bed: Maſter Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am Fortunes Steward. Get on thy Boots, wee I ride all night. Oh ſweet Piſtoll: Away Bardolfe: Come Piſtoll, vtter more to mee: and withall deuiſe ſomething to do thy ſelfe good. Boote, boote Maſter Shallow, I know the young King is ſick for mee. Let vs take any mans Horſfes: The Lawes of England are at my command'ment. Happie are they, which haue beene my Friendes: and woe vnto my Lord Chiefe Iuſtice.

 Piſt. Let Vultures vil'de ſeize on his Lungs alſo: Where is the life that late I led, ſay they? Why heere it is, welcome thoſe pleaſant dayes. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Hoſteſſe Quickly, Dol Teare-ſheete, and Beadles. Hoſteſſe.

No, thou arrant knaue: I would I might dy, that I might haue thee hang'd: Thou haſt drawne my ſhoulder out of ioynt.

 Off.

The Conſtables haue deliuer'd her ouer to mee: and ſhee ſhall haue Whipping cheere enough, I warrant her. There hath beene a man or two (lately) kill'd about her.

 Dol.

Nut-hooke, nut-hooke, you Lye: Come on, Ile tell thee what, thou damn'd Tripe-viſag'd Raſcall, if the Childe I now go with, do miſcarrie, thou had'ſt better thou had'ſt ſtrooke thy Mother, thou Paper-fac'd Villaine.

 Hoſt.

O that Sir Iohn were come, hee would make this a bloody day to ſome body. But I would the Fruite of her Wombe might miſcarry.

 Officer.

If it do, you ſhall haue a dozen of Cuſhions againe, you haue but eleuen now. Come, I charge you both go with me: for the man is dead, that you and Piſtoll beate among you.

 Dol.

Ile tell thee what, thou thin man in a Cenſor; I will haue you as ſoundly ſwindg'd for this, you blew-Bottel'd Rogue: you filthy famiſh'd Correctioner, if you be not ſwing'd, Ile forſweare halfe Kirtles.

 Off.

Come, come, you ſhee-Knight-arrant, come.

 Hoſt.

O, that right ſhould thus o'recome might. Wel of ſufferance, comes eaſe.

 Dol. Come you Rogue, come: Bring me to a Iuſtice. Hoſt.

Yes, come you ſtaru'd Blood-hound.

 Dol.

Goodman death, goodman Bones.

 Hoſt.

Thou Anatomy, thou.

 Dol. Come you thinne Thing: Come you Raſcall. Off.

Very well.

Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter two Groomes. 1. Groo.

More Ruſhes, more Ruſhes.

 2. Groo.

The Trumpets haue ſounded twice.

 1. Groo.

It will be two of the Clocke, ere they come from the Coronation.

Exit Groo. Enter Falſtaffe, Shallow, Piſtoll, Bardolfe, and Page. Falſtaffe.

Stand heere by me, M. Robert Shallow, I will make the King do you Grace. I will leere vpon him, as he comes by: and do but marke the countenance that hee will giue me.

 Piſtol.

Bleſſe thy Lungs, good Knight.

 Falſt.

Come heere Piſtol, ſtand behind me. O if I had had time to haue made new Liueries, I would haue beſtowed the thouſand pound I borrowed of you. But it is no matter, this poore ſhew doth better: this doth inferre the zeale I had to ſee him.

 Shal.

It doth ſo.

 Falſt.

It ſhewes my earneſtneſſe in affection.

 Piſt.

It doth ſo.

 Fal.

My deuotion.

 Piſt.

It doth, it doth, it doth.

 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night, And not to deliberate, not to remember, Not to haue patience to ſhift me. Shal.

It is moſt certaine,

 Fal.

But to ſtand ſtained with Trauaile, and ſweating with deſire to ſee him, thinking of nothing elſe, putting all affayres in obliuion, as if there were nothing els to bee done, but to ſee him.

 Piſt.

'Tis ſemper idem: for obſque hoc nihil est. 'Tis all in euery part.

 Shal.

'Tis ſo indeed.

 Piſt.

My Knight, I will enflame thy Noble Liuer, and make thee rage. Thy Dol, and Helen of thy noble thoghts is in baſe Durance, and contagious priſon: Hall'd thither by moſt Mechanicall and durty hand. Rowze vppe Reuenge from Ebon den, with fell Alecto's Snake, for Dol is in. Piſtol, ſpeakes nought but troth.

 Fal.

I will deliuer her.

 Piſtol.

There roar'd the Sea: and Trumpet Clangour ſounds.

 The Trumpets ſound. Enter King Henrie the Fift, Brothers, Lord Chiefe Iuſtice. Falſt.

Saue thy Grace, King Hall, my Royall Hall.

Piſt.

The heauens thee guard, and keepe, moſt royall Impe of Fame.

 Fal.

'Saue thee my ſweet Boy.

 King.

My Lord Chiefe Iuſtice, ſpeake to that vaine man.

 Ch. Iuſt. Haue you your wits? Know you what 'tis you ſpeake? Falſt.

My King, my Ioue; I ſpeake to thee, my heart.

 King. I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy Prayers: How ill white haires become a Foole, and Ieſter? I haue long dream'd of ſuch a kinde of man, So ſurfeit-ſwell'd, ſo old, and ſo prophane: But being awake, I do deſpiſe my dreame. Make leſſe thy body (hence) and more thy Grace, Leaue gourmandizing; Know the Graue doth gape For thee, thrice wider then for other men. Reply not to me, with a Foole-borne Ieſt, Preſume not, that I am the thing I was, For heauen doth know (ſo ſhall the world perceiue) That I haue turn'd away my former Selfe, So will I thoſe that kept me Companie. When thou doſt heare I am, as I haue bin, Approach me, and thou ſhalt be as thou was't The Tutor and the Feeder of my Riots: Till then, I baniſh thee, on paine of death, As I haue done the reſt of my Miſleaders, Not to come neere our Perſon, by ten mile. For competence of life, I will allow you, That lacke of meanes enforce you not to euill: And as we heare you do reforme your ſelues, We will according to your ſtrength, and qualities, Giue you aduancement. Be it your charge (my Lord) To ſee perform'd the tenure of our word. Set on. Exit King. Fal.

Maſter Shallow, I owe you a thouſand pound.

 Shal.

I marry Sir Iohn, which I beſeech you to let me haue home with me.

 Fal.

That can hardly be, M. Shallow, do not you grieue at this: I ſhall be ſent for in priuate to him: Looke you, he muſt ſeeme thus to the world: feare not your aduancement: I will be the man yet, that ſhall make you great.

 Shal.

I cannot well perceiue how, vnleſſe you ſhould giue me your Doublet, and ſtuffe me out with Straw. I beſeech you, good Sir Iohn, let mee haue fiue hundred of my thouſand.

 Fal.

Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you heard, was but a colour.

 Shall.

A colour I feare, that you will dye, in Sir Iohn.

Fal. Feare no colours, go with me to dinner: Come Lieutenant Pistol, come Bardolfe, I ſhall be ſent for ſoone at night. Ch. Iuſt. Go carry Sir Iohn Falſtaffe to the Fleete, Take all his Company along with him. Fal.

My Lord, my Lord.

 Ch. Iuſt. I cannot now ſpeake, I will heare you ſoone: Take them away. Piſt.

Si fortuna me tormento, ſpera me contento.

Exit. Manet Lancaſter and Chiefe Iuſtice. Iohn. I like this faire proceeding of the Kings: He hath intent his wonted Followers Shall all be very well prouided for: But all are baniſht, till their conuerſations Appeare more wiſe, and modeſt to the world. Ch. Iuſt.

And ſo they are.

 Iohn. The King hath call'd his Parliament, My Lord. Ch. Iuſt.

He hath.

 Iohn. I will lay oddes, that ere this yeere expire, We beare our Ciuill Swords, and Natiue fire As farre as France. I heare a Bird ſo ſing, Whoſe Muſicke (to my thinking) pleas'd the King. Come, will you hence? Exeunt
FINIS.
EPILOGVE.

FIRST, my Feare: then, my Curtſie: last, my Speech. My Feare, is your Displeaſure: My Curtſie, my Dutie: And my speech, to Begge your Pardons. If you looke for a good speech now, you vndoe me: For what I haue to ſay, is of mine owne making: and what (indeed) I ſhould ſay, will (I doubt) prooue mine owne marring. But to the Purpoſe, and ſo to the Venture. Be it knowne to you (as it is very well) I was lately heere in the end of a displeaſing Play, to pray your Patience for it, and to promiſe you a Better: I did meane (indeede) to pay you with this, which if (like an ill Venture) it come vnluckily home, I breake; and you, my gentle Creditors loſe. Heere I promiſt you I would be, and heere I commit my Bodie to your Mercies: Bate me ſome, and I will-pay you ſome, and (as moſt Debtors do) promiſe you infinitely.

If my Tongue cannot entreate you to acquit me: will you command me to vſe my Legges? And yet that were but light payment, to Dance out of your debt: But a good Conſcience, will make any poſsible ſatisfaction, and ſo will I. All the Gentlewomen heere, haue forgiuen me, if the Gentlemen will not, then the Gentlemen do not agree with the Gentlewowen, which was neuer ſeene before, in ſuch an Aſſembly.

One word more, I beſeech you: if you be not too much cloid with Fat Meate, our humble Author will continue the Story (with Sir Iohn in it) and make you merry, with faire Katherine of France: where (for any thing I know) Falſtaffe ſhall dye of a ſweat, vnleſſe already he be kill'd with your hard Opinions: For Old-Caſtle dyed a Martyr, and this is not the man. My Tongue is wearie, when my Legs are too, I will bid you good night; and ſo kneele downe before you: But (indeed) to pray for the Queene.

THE ACTORS NAMES. RVMOVR the Preſentor. King Henry the Fourth. Prince Henry, afterwards Crowned King Henrie the Fift. Prince Iohn of Lancaſter. Humphrey of Glouceſter. Thomas of Clarence. Sonnes to Henry the Fourth, & brethren to Henry 5. Northumberland. The Arch Byſhop of Yorke. Mowbray. Haſtings. Lord Bardolfe. Trauers. Morton. Coleuile. Oppoſites againſt King Henrie the Fourth. Warwicke. Weſtmerland. Surrey. Gowre. Harecourt. Lord Chiefe Iuſtice. Of the Kings Partie. Pointz. Falſtaffe. Bardolphe. Piſtoll. Peto. Page. Irregular Humoriſts. Shallow. Silence. Both Country Iuſtices. Dauie, Seruant to Shallow. Phang, and Snare, 2. Sericants Mouldie. Shadow. Wait. Feeble. Bullcalfe. Country Soldiers Drawers Beadles. Groomes Northumberlands Wife. Percies Widdow. Hoſteſſe Quickly. Doll Teare-ſheete. Epilogue.
The Life of Henry the Fift.
Enter Prologue. O For a Muſe of Fire, that would aſcend The brighteſt Heauen of Inuention: A Kingdome for a Stage, Princes to Act, And Monarchs to behold the ſwelling Scene. Then ſhould the Warlike Harry, like himſelfe, Aſſume the Port of Mars, and at his heeles (Leaſht in, like Hounds) ſhould Famine, Sword, and Fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, Gentles all: The flat vnrayſed Spirits, that hath dar'd, On this vnworthy Scaffold, to bring forth So great an Obiect. Can this Cock-Pit hold The vaſtie fields of France? Or may we cramme Within this Woodden O, the very Caskes That did affright the Ayre at Agincourt? O pardon: ſince a crocked Figure may Atteſt in little place a Million, And let vs, Cyphers to this great Accompt, On your imaginarie Forces worke. Suppoſe within the Girdle of theſe Walls Are now confin'd two mightie Monarchies, Whoſe high, vp-reared, and abutting Fronts, The perillous narrow Ocean parts aſunder. Peece out our imperfections with your thoughts: Into a thouſand parts diuide one Man, And make imaginarie Puiſſance. Thinke when we talke of Horſes, that you ſee them, Printing their prowd Hoofes i' th' receiuing Earth: For 'tis your thoughts that now muſt deck our Kings, Carry them here and there: Iumping o're Times; Turning th' accompliſhment of many yeeres Into an Howre-glaſſe: for the which ſupplie, Admit me Chorus to this Historie; Who Prologue-like, your humble patience pray, Gently to heare, kindly to iudge our Play. Exit.
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima. Enter the two Biſhops of Canterbury and Ely. Biſh. Cant. MY Lord, Ile tell you, that ſelfe Bill is vrg'd, Which in th' eleuēth yere of ye laſt Kings reign Was like, and had indeed againſt vs paſt, But that the ſcambling and vnquiet time Did puſh it out of farther queſtion. Biſh. Ely.

But how my Lord ſhall we reſiſt is now?

 Biſh. Cant. It muſt be thought on: if it paſſe againſt vs, We looſe the better halfe of our Poſſeſſion: For all the Temporall Lands, which men deuout By Teſtament haue giuen to the Church, Would they ſtrip from vs; being valu'd thus, As much as would maintaine, to the Kings honor, Full fifteene Earles, and fifteene hundred Knights, Six thouſand and two hundred good Eſquires: And to reliefe of Lazars, and weake age Of indigent faint Soules, paſt corporall toyle, A hundred Almes-houſes, right well ſupply'd: And to the Coffers of the King beſide, A thouſand pounds by th' yeere. Thus runs the Bill. Biſh. Ely.

This would drinke deepe.

 Biſh. Cant.

'Twould drinke the Cup and all.

 Biſh. Ely.

But what preuention?

 Biſh. Cant.

The King is full of grace, and faire regard.

 Biſh. Ely.

And a true louer of the holy Church.

 Biſh. Cant. The courſes of his youth promis'd it not. The breath no ſooner left his Fathers body, But that his wildneſſe, mortify'd in him, Seem'd to dye too: yea, at that very moment, Conſideration like an Angell came, And whipt th' offending Adam out of him; Leauing his body as a Paradiſe, T' inuelop and containe Celeſtiall Spirits. Neuer was ſuch a ſodaine Scholler made: Neuer came Reformation in a Flood, With ſuch a heady currance ſcowring faults: Nor neuer Hidra-headed Wilfulneſſe So ſoone did looſe his Seat; and all at once; As in this King. Biſh. Ely:

We are bleſſed in the Change.

 Biſh. Cant. Heare him but reaſon in Diuinitie; And all-admiring, with an inward wiſh You would deſire the King were made a Prelate: Heare him debate of Common-wealth Affaires; You would ſay, it hath been all in all his ſtudy: Liſt his diſcourſe of Warre; and you ſhall heare A fearefull Battaile rendred you in Muſique. Turne him to any Cauſe of Pollicy, The Gordian Knot of it he will vnlooſe, Familiar as his Garter: that when he ſpeakes, The Ayre, a Charter'd Libertine, is ſtill, And the mute Wonder lurketh in mens eares, To ſteale his ſweet and honyed Sentences: So that the Art and Practique part of Life, Muſt be the Miſtreſſe to this Theorique. Which is a wonder how his Grace ſhould gleane it, Since his addiction was to Cour • e, vaine, His Companies vnletter'd, rude, and ſhallow, His Houres fill'd vp with Ryots Banq • ets, Sports; And neuer noted in him any ſtudie, Any retyrement, any ſequeſtration, From open Haunts and Popularitie. B. Ely. The Strawberry growes vnderneath the Nettle, And holeſome Berryes thriue and ripen beſt, Neighbour'd by Fruit of baſer qualitie: And ſo the Prince obſcur'd his Contemplation Vnder the V • yle of Wildneſſe, which (no doubt) Grew like the Summer Graſſe▪ faſteſt by Night, Vnſeene, yet creſſiue in his facultie. B. Cant. It muſt be ſo: for Miracles are ceaſt: And therefore we muſt needes admit the meanes, How things are perfected. B. Ely. But my good Lord: How now for mittigation of this Bill, Vrg'd by the Commons? doth his Maieſtie Incline to it, or no? B. Cant. He ſeemes indifferent: Or rather ſwaying more vpon our part, Then cheriſhing th' exhibiters againſt vs▪ For I haue made an offer to his Maieſtie, Vpon our Spirituall Conuocation, And in regard of Cauſes now in hand, Which I haue open'd to his Grace at large, As touching France, to giue a greater Summe, Then euer at one time the Clergie yet Did to his Predeceſſors part withall. B. Ely.

How did this offer ſeeme receiu'd, my Lord?

 B. Cant. With good acceptance of his Maieſtie: Saue that there was not time enough to heare, As I perceiu'd his Grace would ſaine haue done, The ſeueralls and vnhidden paſſage: Of his true Titles to ſome certaine Dukedomes, And generally, to the Crowne and Seat of France, Deriu'd from Edward his great Grandfather. B. Ely.

What was th' impediment that broke this off?

 B. Cant. The French Embaſſador vpon that inſtant Crau'd audience; and the howre I thinke is come, To giue him hearing: Is it foure a Clock? B. Ely.

It is.

 B. Cant. Then goe we in, to know his Embaſſie: Which I could with a ready gueſſe declare, Before the Frenchman ſpeake a word of it. B. Ely.

Ile wait vpon you, and I long to heare it.

 Exeunt. Enter the King▪ Humfrey, Bedford, Clarence, Warwick, Westmerland, and Exeter. King.

Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

 Exeter.

Not here in preſence.

 King.

Send for him, good Vnckle.

 • m.

Shall we call in th' Ambaſſador, my Liege?

 K • . Not yet, my Couſin: we would be reſolu'd, Before we heare him, of ſome things of weight, That taske our thoughts, concerning vs and France. Enter two Biſhops. B. Cant. God and his Angels guard your ſacred Throne, And make you long become it. King. Sure we thanke you. My learned Lord, we pray you to proceed, And iuſtly and religiouſly vnfold, Why the Law Salike, that they haue in France, Or ſhould or ſhould not barre vs in our Clayme: And God forbid, my deare and faithfull Lord, That you ſhould faſhion, wreſt, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your vnderſtanding Soule, With opening Titles miſcreate, whoſe right Sutes not in natiue colours with the truth: For God doth know, how many now in health, Shall drop their blood, in approbation Of what your reuerence ſhall incite vs to. Therefore take heed how you impawne our Perſon, How you awake our ſleeping Sword of Warre; We charge you in the Name of God take heed: For neuer two ſuch Kingdomes did contend, Without much fall of blood, whoſe guiltleſſe drops Are euery one, a Woe, a ſore Complaint, 'Gainſt him, whoſe wrongs giues edge vnto the Swords, That makes ſuch waſte in briefe mortalitie. Vnder this Coniuration, ſpeake my Lord: For we will heare, note, and beleeue in heart, That what you ſpeake, is in your Conſcience waſht, As pure as ſinne with Baptiſme. B. Can. Then heare me gracious Soueraign, & you Peers, That owe your ſelues, your liues, and ſeruices, To this Imperiall Throne. There is no barre To make againſt your Highneſſe Clayme to France, But this which they produce from Pharamond, Interram Salicam Mulieres ne ſuccedaul, No Woman ſhall ſucceed in Salike Land: Which Salike Land, the French vniuſtly gloze To be the Realme of France, and Pharamond The • nder of this Law, and Female Barre. Yet their owne Authors faithfully affirme, That the Land Salike is in Germanie, Betweene the Clouds of Sala and of Elue: Where Charles the Great hauing ſubdu'd the Saxons, There left behind and ſettled certaine French: Who holding in diſdaine the German Women, For ſome diſhoneſt manners of their life, Eſtabliſht then this Law; to wit, No Female Should be Inheritrix in Salike Land: Which Salike (as I ſaid) 'twixt Elue and Sala, Is at this day in Germanie, call'd Meiſen. Then doth it well appeare, the Salike Law Was not deuiſed for the Realme of France: Nor did the French poſſeſſe the Salike, Land, Vntill foure hundred one and twentie yeeres After defunction of King Pharamond, Idly ſuppos'd the founder of this Law, Who died within the yeere of our Redemption, Foure hundred twentie ſix: and Charles the Great Subdu'd the Saxons, and did ſeat the French Beyond the Riuer Sala, in the yeere Eight hundred fiue. Beſides, their Writers ſay, King Pepin, which depoſed Childerike, Did as Heire Generall, being deſcended Of Blithild, which was Daughter to King Clothair, Make Clayme and Title to the Crowne of France. Hugh Capet alſo, who vſurpt the Crowne Of Charles the Duke of Loraine, ſole Heire male Of the true Line and Stock of Charles the Great: To find his Title with ſome ſhewes of truth, Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught, Conuey'd himſelfe as th' Heire to th' Lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemaine, who was the Sonne To Lewes the Emperour, and Lewes the Sonne Of Charles the Great: alſo King Lewes the Tenth, Who was ſole Heire to the Vſurper Capet, Could not keepe quiet in his conſcience, Wearing the Crowne of France, 'till ſatisfied, That faire Queene Iſabel, his Grandmother, Was Lineall of the Lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foreſaid Duke of Loraine: By the which Marriage, the Lyne of Charles the Great Was re-vnited to the Crowne of France. So, that as cleare as is the Summers Sunne, King Pepins Title, and Hugh Capets Clayme, King Lewes his ſatisfaction, all appeare To hold in Right and Title of the Female: So doe the Kings of France vnto this day. Howbeit, they would hold vp this Salique Law, To barre your Highneſſe clayming from the Female, And rather chuſe to hide them in a Net, Then amply to imbarre their crooked Titles, Vſurpt from you and your Progenitors. King.

May I with right and conſcience make this claim?

 Biſh. Cant. The ſinne vpon my head, dread Soueraigne: For in the Booke of Numbers is it writ, When the man dyes, let the Inheritance Deſcend vnto the Daughter. Gracious Lord, Stand for your owne, vnwind your bloody Flagge, Looke back into your mightie Anceſtors: Goe my dread Lord, to your great Grandſires Tombe, From whom you clayme; inuoke his Warlike Spirit, And your Great Vnckles, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a Tragedie, Making defeat on the full Power of France: Whiles his moſt mightie Father on a Hill Stood ſmiling, to behold his Lyons Whelpe Forrage in blood of French Nobilitie. O Noble Engliſh, that could entertaine With halfe their Forces, the full pride of France, And let another halfe ſtand laughing by, All out of worke, and cold for action. Biſh. Awake remembrance of theſe valiant dead, And with your puiſſant Arme renew their Feats; You are their Heire, you ſit vpon their Throne: The Blood and Courage that renowned them, Runs in your Veines: and my thrice-puiſſant Liege Is in the very May-Morne of his Youth, Ripe for Exploits and mightie Enterpriſes. Exe. Your Brother Kings and Monarchs of the Earth Doe all expect, that you ſhould rowſe your ſelfe, As did the former Lyons of your Blood. Weſt. They know your Grace hath cauſe, and means, and might; So hath your Highneſſe: neuer King of England Had Nobles richer, and more loyall Subiects, Whoſe hearts haue left their bodyes here in England, And lye pauillion'd in the fields of France. Biſh. Can. O let their bodyes follow my deare Liege With Bloods, and Sword and Fire, to win your Right: In ayde whereof, we of the Spiritualtie Will rayſe your Highneſſe ſuch a mightie Summe, As neuer did the Clergie at one time Bring in to any of your Anceſtors. King. We muſt not onely arme t' inuade the French, But lay downe our proportions, to defend Againſt the Scot, who will make roade vpon vs, With all aduantages. Biſh. Can. They of thoſe Marches, gracious Soueraign, Shall be a Wall ſufficient to defend Our in-land from the pilfering Borderers. King. We do not meane the courſing ſnatchers onely, But feare the maine intendment of the Scot, Who hath been ſtill a giddy neighbour to vs: For you ſhall reade, that my great Grandfather Neuer went with his forces into France, But that the Scot, on his vnfurniſht Kingdome, Came pouring like the Tyde into a breach, With ample and brim fulneſſe of his force, Galling the gleaned Land with hot Aſſayes, Girding with grieuous ſiege, Caſtles and Townes: That England being emptie of defence, Hath ſhooke and trembled at th' ill neighbourhood. B. Can. She hath bin thē more fear'd thē harm'd, my Liege: For heare her but exampl'd by her ſelfe, When all her Cheualrie hath been in France, And ſhee a mourning Widdow of her Nobles, Shee hath her ſelfe not onely well defended, But taken and impounded as a Stray, The King of Scots: whom ſhee did ſend to France, To fill King Edwards fame with priſoner Kings, And make their Chronicle as rich with prayſe, As is the Owſe and bottome of the Sea With ſunken Wrack, and ſum-leſſe Treaſuries. Biſh. Ely. But there's a ſaying very old and true, If that you will France win, then with Scotland firſt begin. For once the Eagle (England) being in prey, To her vnguarded Neſt, the Weazell (Scot) Comes ſneaking, and ſo ſucks her Princely Egges, Playing the Mouſe in abſence of the Cat, To tame and hauocke more then ſhe can eate. Exet. It followes then, the Cat muſt ſtay at home, Yet that is but a cruſh'd neceſsity, Since we haue lockes to ſafegard neceſſaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty theeues. While that the Armed hand doth fight abroad, Th' aduiſed head defends it ſelfe at home: For Gouernment, though high, and low, and lower, Put into parts, doth keepe in one conſent, Congreeing in a full and natural cloſe, Like Muſicke. Cant. Therefore doth heauen diuide The ſtate of man in diuers functions, Setting endeuour in continual motion: To which is fixed as an ayme or butt, Obedience: for ſo worke the Hony Bees, Creatures that by a rule in Nature teach The Act of Order to a peopled Kingdome▪ They haue a King, and Officers of ſorts, Where ſome like Magiſtrates correct at home: Others, like Merchants venter Trade abroad; Others, like Souldiers armed in their ſtings, Make boote vpon the Summer, Veluet buddes: Which pillage, they with merry march bring home To the Tent-royal of their Emperor: Who buſied in his Maieſties ſurueyes The ſinging Maſons building roofes of Gold, The ciuil Citizens kneading vp the hony; The poore Mechanicke Porters, crowding in Their heauy burthens at his narrow gate: The ſad-ey'd Iuſtice with his ſurly humme, Deliuering ore to Executors pale The lazie yawning Drone: I this inferre, That many things hauing full reference To one conſent, may worke contrariouſly, As many Arrowes looſed ſeuerall wayes Come to one marke: as many wayes meet in one towne, As many freſh ſtreames meet in one ſalt ſea; As many Lynes cloſe in the Dials center: So may a thouſand actions once a foote, And in one purpoſe, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my Liege, Diuide your happy England into foure, Whereof, take you one quarter into France, And you withall ſhall make all Gallia ſhake. If we with thrice ſuch powers left at home, Cannot defend our owne doores from the dogge, Let vs be worried, and our Nation loſe The name of hardineſſe and policie. King. Call in the Meſſengers ſent from the Dolphin. Now are we well reſolu'd, and by Gods helpe And yours, the noble ſinewes of our power, France being ours, wee'l bend it to our Awe, Or breake it all to peeces. Or there wee'l ſit, (Ruling in large and ample Emperie, Ore France, and all her (almoſt) Kingly Dukedomes) Or lay theſe bones in an vnworthy Vrne, Tombleſſe, with no remembrance ouer them: Either our Hiſtory ſhall with full mouth Speake freely of our Acts, or elſe our graue Like Turkiſh mute ſhall haue a tongueleſſe mouth, Not worſhipt with a waxen Epitaph. Enter Ambaſſadors of France. Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleaſure Of our faire Coſin Dolphin: for we heare, Your greeting is from him, not from the King. Amb. May't pleaſe your Maieſtie to giue vs leaue Freely to render what we haue in charge: Or ſhall we ſparingly ſhew you farre off The Dolphins meaning, and our Embaſsie. King. We are no Tyrant, but a Chriſtian King, Vnto whoſe grace our paſsion is as ſubiect As is our wretches fettred in our priſons, Therefore with franke and with vncurbed plainneſſe, Tell vs the Dolphins minde. Amb. Thus than in few: Your Highneſſe lately ſending into France, Did claime ſome certaine Dukedomes, in the right Of your great Predeceſſor, King Edward the third. In anſwer of which claime, the Prince our Maſter Sayes, that you ſauour too much of your youth, And bids you be aduis'd: There's nought in France, That can be with a nimble Galliard wonne: You cannot reuell into Dukedomes there. He therefore ſends you meeter for your ſpirit This Tun of Treaſure; and in lieu of this, Deſires you let the dukedomes that you claime Heare no more of you. This the Dolphin ſpeakes. King.

What Treaſure Vncle?

 Exe.

Tennis balles, my Liege.

 Kin, We are glad the Dolphin is ſo pleaſant with vs, His Preſent, and your paines we thanke you for: When we haue matcht our Rackets to theſe Balles, We will in France (by Gods grace) play a ſet, Shall ſtrike his fathers Crowne into the hazard. Tell him, he hath made a match with ſuch a Wrangler, That all the Courts of France will be diſturb'd With Chaces. And we vnderſtand him well, How he comes o're vs with our wilder dayes, Not meaſuring what vſe we made of them. We neuer valew'd this poore ſeate of England, And therefore liuing hence, did giue our ſelfe To barbarous licenſe: As 'tis euer common, That men are merrieſt, when they are from home. But tell the Dolphin, I will keepe my State, Be like a King, and ſhew my ſayle of Greatneſſe, When I do rowſe me in my Throne of France. For that I haue layd by my Maieſtie, And plodded like a man for working dayes: But I will riſe there with ſo full a glorie, That I will dazle all the eyes of France, Yea ſtrike the Dolphin blinde to looke on vs, And tell the pleaſant Prince, this Mocke of his Hath turn'd his balles to Gun-ſtones, and his ſoule Shall ſtand ſore charged, for the waſtefull vengeance That ſhall flye with them: for many a thouſand widows Shall this his Mocke, mocke out of their deer husbands; Mocke mothers from their ſonnes, mock Caſtles downe: And ſome are yet vngotten and vnborne, That ſhal haue cauſe to curſe the Dolphins ſcorne. But this lyes all within the wil of God, To whom I do appeale, and in whoſe name Tel you the Dolphin, I am comming on, To venge me as I may, and to put forth My rightfull hand in a wel-hallow'd cauſe. So get you hence in peace: And tell the Dolphin. His Ieſt will ſauour but of ſhallow wit, When thouſands weepe more then did laugh at it, Conuey them with ſafe conduct. Fare you well. Exeunt Ambaſſadors. Exe.

This was a merry Meſſage.

 King. We hope to make the Sender bluſh at it: Therefore, my Lords, omit no happy howre, That may giue furth'rance to our Expedition: For we haue now no thought in vs but France, Saue thoſe to God, that runne before our buſineſſe. Therefore let our proportions for theſe Warres Be ſoone collected, and all things thought vpon, That may with reaſonable ſwiftneſſe adde More Feathers to our Wings: for God before, Wee'le chide this Dolphin at his fathers doore. Therefore let euery man now taske his thought, That this faire Action may on foot be brought. Exeunt. Flouriſh. Enter Chorus. Now all the Youth of England are on fire, And ſilken Dalliance in the Wardrobe lyes: Now thriue the Armorers, and Honors thought Reignes ſolely in the breaſt of euery man. They ſell the Paſture now, to buy the Horſe; Following the Mirror of all Chriſtian Kings, With winged heeles, as Engliſh Mercuries. For now ſits Expectation in the Ayre, And hides a Sword, from Hilts vnto the Point, With Crownes Imperiall, Crownes and Coronets▪ Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. The French aduis'd by good intelligence Of this moſt dreadfull preparation, Shake in their feare, and with pale Pollicy Seeke to diuert the Engliſh purpoſes. O England: Modell to thy inward Greatneſſe, Like little Body with a mightie Heart: What mightſt thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kinde and naturall: But ſee, thy fault France hath in thee found out, A neſt of hollow boſomes, which he filles With treacherous Crownes, and three corrupted men: One, Richard Earle of Cambridge, and the ſecond Henry Lord Scroope of Maſham, and the third Sir Thomas Grey Knight of Northumberland, Haue for the Gilt of France (O guilt indeed) Confirm'd Conſpiracy with fearefull France, And by their hands, this grace of Kings muſt dye. If Hell and Treaſon hold their promiſes, Ere he take ſhip for France; and in Southampton. Linger your patience on, and wee'l digeſt Th' abuſe of diſtance; force a play: The ſumme is payde, the Traitors are agreed, The King is ſet from London, and the Scene Is now tranſported (Gentles) to Southampton, There is the Play-houſe now, there muſt you ſit, And thence to France ſhall we conuey you ſafe, And bring you backe: Charming the narrow ſeas To giue you gentle Paſſe: for if we may, Wee'l not offend one ſtomacke with our Play. But till the King come forth, and not till then, Vnto Southampton do we ſhift our Scene. Exit Enter Corporall Nym, and Lieutenant Bardolfe. Bar.

Well met Corporall Nym.

Nym.

Good morrow Lieutenant Bardolfe.

Bar.

What, are Ancient Piſtoll and you friends yet?

 Nym.

For my part, I care not: I ſay little: but when time ſhall ſerue, there ſhall be ſmiles, but that ſhall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will winke and holde out mine yron: it is a ſimple one, but what though? It will toſte Cheeſe, and it will endure cold, as another mans ſword will: and there's an end.

 Bar.

I will beſtow a breakfaſt to make you friendes, and wee'l bee all three ſworne brothers to France: Let't be ſo good Corporall Nym.

Nym.

Faith, I will liue ſo long as I may, that's the certaine of it: and when I cannot liue any longer, I will doe as I may: That is my reſt, that is the rendeuous of it.

 Bar.

It is certaine Corporall, that he is marryed to Nell Quickly, and certainly ſhe did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her.

 Nym.

I cannot tell, Things muſt be as they may: men may ſleepe, and they may haue their throats about them at that time, and ſome ſay, kniues haue edges: It muſt be as it may, though patience be a tyred name, yet ſhee will plodde, there muſt be Concluſions, well, I cannot tell.

 Enter Piſtoll, & Quickly. Bar.

Heere comes Ancient Piſtoll and his wife: good Corporall be patient heere. How now mine Hoaſte Piſtoll?

 Piſt.

Baſe Tyke, cal'ſt thou mee Hoſte, now by this hand I ſweare I ſcorne the terme: nor ſhall my Nel keep Lodgers.

 Hoſt.

No by my troth, not long: For we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteene Gentlewomen that liue honeſtly by the pricke of their Needles, but it will bee thought we keepe a Bawdy-houſe ſtraight. O welliday Lady, if he be not hewne now, we ſhall ſee wilful adultery and murther committed.

 Bar.

Good Lieutenant, good Corporal offer nothing heere.

 Nym.

Piſh.

 Piſt.

Piſh for thee, Iſland dogge: thou prickeard cur of Iſland.

 Hoſt.

Good Corporall Nym ſhew thy valor, and put vp your ſword.

 Nym.

Will you ſhogge off? I would haue you ſolus.

 Piſt.

Solus, egregious dog? O Viper vile; The ſolus in thy moſt meruailous face, the ſolus in thy teeth, and in thy throate, and in thy hatefull Lungs, yea in thy Maw perdy; and which is worſe, within thy naſtie mouth. I do retort the ſolus in thy bowels, for I can take, and Piſtols cocke is vp, and flaſhing fire will follow.

 Nym.

I am not Barbaſon, you cannot coniure mee: I haue an humor to knocke you indifferently well: If you grow fowle with me Piſtoll, I will ſcoure you with my Rapier, as I may, in fayre tearmes. If you would walke off, I would pricke your guts a little in good tearmes, as I may, and that's the humor of it.

 Piſt. O Braggard vile, and damned furious wight, The Graue doth gape, and doting death is neere, Therefore exhale. Bar.

Heare me, heare me what I ſay: Hee that ſtrikes the firſt ſtroake, Ile run him vp to the hilts, as I am a ſoldier.

 Piſt. An oath of mickle might, and fury ſhall abate. Giue me thy fiſt, thy fore-foote to me giue: Thy ſpirites are moſt tall. Nym.

I will cut thy throate one time or other in faire termes, that is the humor of it.

 Piſtoll.

Couple a gorge, that is the word. I defie thee againe. O hound of Creet, think'ſt thou my ſpouſe to get? No, to the ſpittle goe, and from the Poudring tub of infamy, fetch forth the Lazar Kite of Creſſids kinde, Doll Teare-ſheete, ſhe by name, and her eſpouſe. I haue, and I will hold the Quondam Quickely for the onely ſhee: and Pauca, there's enough to go to.

 Enter the Boy. Boy.

Mine Hoaſt Piſtoll, you muſt come to my Mayſter, and your Hoſteſſe: He is very ſicke, & would to bed. Good Bardolfe, put thy face betweene his ſheets, and do the Office of a Warming-pan: Faith, he's very ill.

 Bard.

Away you Rogue.

 Hoſt.

By my troth he'l yeeld the Crow a pudding one of theſe dayes: the King has kild his heart. Good Huſband come home preſently.

Exit Bar.

Come, ſhall I make you two friends. Wee muſt to France together: why the diuel ſhould we keep kniues to cut one anothers throats?

 Piſt.

Let ſtoods ore-ſwell, and fiends for food howle on.

 Nym.

You'l pay me the eight ſhillings I won of you at Betting?

 Piſt.

Baſe is the Slaue that payes.

 Nym.

That now I wil haue: that's the humor of it.

 Piſt.

As manhood ſhal compound: puſh home.

Draw Bard. By this ſword, hee that makes the firſt thruſt, Ile kill him: By this ſword, I wil. Pi.

Sword is an Oath, & Oaths muſt haue their courſe

 Bar.

Coporall Nym, & thou wilt be friends be frends, and thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me to: prethee put vp.

 Piſt.

A Noble ſhalt thou haue, and preſent pay, and Liquor likewiſe will I giue to thee, and friendſhippe ſhall combyne, and brotherhood. Ile liue by Nymme, & Nymme ſhall liue by me, is not this iuſt? For I ſhal Surler be vnto the Campe, and profits will accrue. Giue mee thy hand.

 Nym

I ſhall haue my Noble?

 Piſt.

In caſh, moſt iuſtly payd.

 Nym.

Well, then that the humor of't.

 Enter Hoſteſſe. Hoſt.

As euer you come of women, come in quickly to ſir Iohn: A poore heart, hee is ſo ſhak'd of a burning quotidian Tertian, that it is moſt lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.

 Nym.

The King hath run bad humors on the Knight, that's the euen of it.

 Piſt.

Nym, thou haſt ſpoke the right, his heart is fracted and corroborate.

 Nym.

The King is a good King, but it muſt bee as it may: he paſſes ſome humors, and carreeres.

 Piſt.

Let vs condole the Knight, for (Lambekins) we will liue.

 Enter Exeter, Bedford, & Weſtmerland. Bed

Fore God his Grace is bold to truſt theſe traitors

 Exe.

They ſhall be apprehended by and by.

 Weſt. How ſmooth and euen they do bear themſelues, As if allegeance in their boſomes ſate Crowned with faith, and conſtant loyalty. Bed. The King hath note of all that they intend, By interception, which they dreame not of. Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious fauours; That he ſhould for a forraigne purſe, ſo ſell His Soueraignes life to death and treachery. Sound Trumpets. Enter the King, Scroope, Cambridge, and Gray. King. Now ſits the winde fane, and we will aboord. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kinde Lord of Maſham, And you my gentle Knight, giue me your thoughts: Thinke you not that the powres we beare with vs Will cut their paſſage through the force of France? Doing the execution, and the acte, For which we haue in head aſſembled them. Scro.

No doubt my Liege, if each man do his beſt.

 King. I doubt not that, ſince we are well perſwaded We carry not a heart with vs from hence, That growes not in a faire conſent with ours: Nor leaue not one behinde, that doth not wiſh Succeſſe and Conqueſt to attend on vs. Cam. Neuer was Monarch better fear'd and lou'd, Then is your Maieſty; there's not I thinke a ſubiect That ſits in heart-greefe and vneaſineſſe Vnder the ſweet ſhade of your gouernment. Kni. True: thoſe that were your Fathers enemies, Haue ſteep'd their gauls in hony, and do ſerue you With hearts create of duty, and of zeale. King. We therefore haue great cauſe of thankfulnes, And ſhall forget the office of our hand Sooner then quittance of deſert and merit, According to the weight and worthineſſe. Scro. So ſeruice ſhall with ſteeled ſinewes toyle, And labour ſhall refreſh it ſelfe with hope To do your Grace inceſtant ſeruices. King. We Iudge no leſſe. Vnkle of Exeter, Inlarge the man committed yeſterday, That • ayl'd againſt our perſon: We conſider It was exceſſe of Wine that ſet him on, And on his more aduice, We pardon him, Scro. That's mercy, but too much ſecurity: Let him be puniſh'd Soueraigne, leaſt example Breed (by his ſufferance) more of ſuch a kind. King.

O let vs yet be mercifull.

 Cam.

So may your Highneſſe, and yet puniſh too.

 Grey. Sir, you ſhew great mercy if you giue him life, After the taſte of much correction. King. Alas, your too much loue and care of me, Are heauy Oriſons 'gainſt this poore wretch: If little faults proceeding on diſtemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how ſhall we ſtretch our eye When capitall crimes, chew'd, ſwallow'd, and digeſted, Appeare before vs? Wee'l yet inlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray, in their deere care And tender preſeruation of our perſon Wold haue him puniſh'd▪ And now to our French cauſes, Who are the late Commiſſioners? Cam. I one my Lord, Your Highneſſe bad me aske for it to day. Scro.

So did you me my Liege.

 Gray.

And I my Royall Soueraigne.

 King. Then Richard Earle of Cambridge, there is yours: There yours Lord Scroope of Maſham, and Sir Knight: Gray of Northumberland, this ſame is yours: Reade them, and know I know your worthineſſe. My Lord of Weſtmerland, and Vnkle Exeter, We will aboord to night. Why how now Gentlemen? What ſee you in thoſe papers, that you looſe So much complexion? Looke ye how they change: Their cheekes are paper. Why, what reade you there, That haue ſo cowarded and chac'd your blood Out of apparance. Cam. I do confeſſe my fault, And do ſubmit me to your Highneſſe mercy. Gray. Scro.

To which we all appeale.

 King. The mercy that was quicke in vs but late, By your owne counſaile is ſuppreſt and kill'd: You muſt not dare (for ſhame) to talke of mercy, For your owne reaſons turne into your boſomes, As dogs vpon their maiſters, worrying you: See you my Princes, and my Noble Peeres, Theſe Engliſh monſters: My Lord of Cambridge heere, You know how apt our loue was, to accord To furniſh with all appertinents Belonging to his Honour; and this man, Hath for a few light Crownes, lightly conſpir'd And ſworne vnto the practiſes of France To kill vs heere in Hampton. To the which, This Knight no leſſe for bounty bound to Vs Then Cambridge is, hath likewiſe ſworne. But O, What ſhall I ſay to thee Lord Scroope, thou cruell, Ingratefull, ſauage, and inhumane Creature? Thou that didſt beare the key of all my counſailes, That knew'ſt the very bottome of my ſoule, That (almoſt) might'ſt haue coyn'd me into Golde, Would'ſt thou haue practis'd on me, for thy vſe? May it be poſsible, that forraigne hyer Could out of thee extract one ſparke of euill That might annoy my finger? 'Tis ſo ſtrange, That though the truth of it ſtands off as groſſe As blacke and white, my eye will ſcarſely ſee it. Treaſon, and murther, euer kept together, As two yoake diuels ſworne to eythers purpoſe, Working ſo groſſely in an naturall cauſe, That admiration did not hoope at them. But thou (gainſt all proportion) didſt bring in Wonder to waite on reaſon, and on murther: And whatſoeuer cunning fiend it was That wrought vpon thee ſo prepoſterouſly, Hath got the voyce in hell for excellence: And other diuels that ſuggeſt by treaſons, Do botch and bungle vp damnation, With patches, colours, and with formes being fetcht From gliſt'ring ſemblances of piety: But he that temper'd thee, bad thee ſtand vp, Gaue thee no inſtance why thou ſhouldſt do treaſon, Vnleſſe to dub thee with the name of Traitor. If that ſame Daemon that hath gull'd thee thus, Should with his Lyon-gate walke the whole world, He might returne to vaſtie Tartar backe, And tell the Legions, I can neuer win A ſoule ſo eaſie as that Engliſhmans. Oh, how haſt thou with iealouſie infected The ſweetneſſe of affiance? Shew men dutifull, Why ſo didſt thou: ſeeme they graue and learned? Why ſo didſt thou. Come they of Noble Family? Why ſo didſt thou. Seeme they religious? Why ſo didſt thou. Or are they ſpare in diet, Free from groſſe paſsion, or of mirth, or anger, Conſtant in ſpirit, not ſweruing with the blood, Garniſh'd and deck'd in modeſt complement, Not working with the eye, without the eare, And but in purged iudgement truſting neither, Such and ſo finely boulted didſt thou ſeeme: And thus thy fall hath left a kinde of blot, To make thee full fraught man, and beſt indued With ſome ſuſpition, I will weepe for thee. For this reuolt of thine, me thinkes is like Another fall of Man. Their faults are open, Arreſt them to the anſwer of the Law, And God acquit them of their practiſes. Exe. I arreſt thee of High Treaſon, by the name of Richard Earle of Cambridge. I arreſt thee of High Treaſon, by the name of Thomas Lord Scroope of Marſham. I arreſt thee of High Treaſon, by the name of Thomas Grey, Knight of Northumberland. Scro. Our purpoſes▪ God iuſtly hath diſcouer'd, And I repent my fault more then my death, Which I beſeech your Highneſſe to forgiue, Although my body pay the price of it. Cam. For me, the Gold of France did not ſeduce, Although I did admit it as a motiue, The ſooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for preuention, Which in ſufferance heartily will reioyce, Beſeeching God, and you, to pardon mee. Gray. Neuer did faithfull ſubiect more reioyce At the diſcouery of moſt dangerous Treaſon, Then I do at this houre ioy ore my ſelfe, Preuented from a damned enterprize; My fault, but not my body, pardon Soueraigne. King. God quit you in his mercy: Hear your ſentence You haue conſpir'd againſt Our Royall perſon, Ioyn'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his Coffers, Receyu'd the Golden Earneſt of Our death: Wherein you would haue ſold your King to ſlaughter, His Princes, and his Peeres to ſeruitude, His Subiects to oppreſsion, and contempt, And his whole Kingdome into deſolation: Touching our perſon, ſeeke we no reuenge, But we our Kingdomes ſafety muſt ſo tender, Whoſe ruine you ſought, that to her Lawes We do deliuer you. Get you therefore hence, (Poore miſerable wretches) to your death: The taſte whereof, God of his mercy giue You patience to indure, and true Repentance Of all your deare offences. Beare them hence. Exit. Now Lords for France: the enterpriſe whereof Shall be to you as vs, like glorious. We doubt not of a faire and luckie Warre, Since God ſo graciouſly hath brought to light This dangerous Treaſon, lurking in our way, To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now, But euery Rubbe is ſmoothed on our way. Then forth, deare Countreymen: Let vs deliuer Our Puiſſance into the hand of God, Putting it ſtraight in expedition. Chearely to Sea, the ſignes of Warre aduance, No King of England, if not King of France. Flouriſh. Enter Piſtoll, Nim, Bardolph, Boy, and Hoſteſſe. Hoſteſſe.

'Prythee honey ſweet Husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

 Piſtoll.

No: for my manly heart doth erne. Bardolph, be blythe: Nim, rowſe thy vaunting Veines: Boy, briſsle thy Courage vp: for Falſtaffe hee is dead, and wee muſt erne therefore.

 Bard.

Would I were with him, whereſomere hee is, eyther in Heauen, or in Hell.

 Hoſteſſe.

Nay ſure, hee's not in Hell: hee's in Arthurs Boſome, if euer man went to Arthurs Boſome: a made a finer end, and went away and it had beene any Chriſtome Child: a parted eu'n iuſt betweene Twelue and One, eu'n at the turning o' th' Tyde: for after I ſaw him ſumble with the Sheets, and play with Flowers, and ſmile vpon his fingers end, I knew there was but one way: for his Noſe was as ſharpe as a Pen, and a Table of greene fields. How now Sir Iohn (quoth I?) what man? be a good cheare: ſo a cryed out, God, God, God, three or foure times: now I, to comfort him, bid him a ſhould not thinke of God; I hop'd there was no neede to trouble himſelfe with any ſuch thoughts yet: ſo a bad me lay more Clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the Bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any ſtone: then I felt to his knees, and ſo vp-peer'd, and vpward, and all was as cold as any ſtone.

 Nim.

They ſay he cryed out of Sack.

 Hoſteſſe.

I, that a did.

 Bard.

And of Women.

 Hoſteſſe.

Nay, that a did not.

 Boy.

Yes that a did, and ſaid they were Deules incarnate.

 Woman.

A could neuer abide Carnation, 'twas a Colour he neuer lik'd.

 Boy.

A ſaid once, the Deule would haue him about Women.

 Hoſteſſe.

A did in ſome ſort (indeed) handle Women: but then hee was rumatique, and talk'd of the Whore of Babylon.

 Boy.

Doe you not remember a ſaw a Flea ſticke vpon Bardolphs Noſe, and a ſaid it was a blacke Soule burning in Hell.

 Bard.

Well, the fuell is gone that maintain'd that fire: that's all the Riches I got in his ſeruice.

 Nim.

Shall wee ſhogg? the King will be gone from Southampton.

 Piſt.

Come, let's away. My Loue, giue me thy Lippes: Looke to my Chattels, and my Moueables: Let Sences rule: The world is, Pitch and pay: truſt none: for Oathes are Strawes, mens Faiths are Wafer-Cakes, and hold-faſt is the onely Dogge: My Ducke, therefore Caueto bee thy Counſailor. Goe, cleare thy Chryſtalls. Yoke-fellowes in Armes, let vs to France, like Horſe-leeches my Boyes, to ſucke, to ſucke, the very blood to ſucke.

 Boy.

And that's but vnwholeſome food, they ſay.

 Piſt.

Touch her ſoft mouth, and march.

 Bard.

Farwell Hoſteſſe.

 Nim.

I cannot kiſſe, that is the humor of it: but adieu.

 Piſt.

Let Huſwiferie appeare: keepe cloſe, I thee command.

 Hoſteſſe.

Farwell: adieu.

Exeunt Flouriſh. Enter the French King, the Dolphin, the Dukes of Berry and Britaine. King. Thus comes the Engliſh with full power vpon vs, And more then carefully it vs concernes, To anſwer Royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Britaine, Of Brabant and of Orleance, ſhall make forth, And you Prince Dolphin, with all ſwift diſpatch To lyne and new repayre our Townes of Warre With men of courage, and with meanes defendant: For England his approaches makes as fierce, As Waters to the ſucking of a Gulfe. It fits vs then to be as prouident, As feare may teach vs, out of late examples Left by the fatall and neglected Engliſh, Vpon our fields. Dolphin. My moſt redoubted Father, It is moſt meet we arme vs 'gainſt the Foe: For Peace it ſelfe ſhould not ſo dull a Kingdome, (Though War nor no knowne Quarrel were in queſtion) But that Defences, Muſters, Preparations, Should be maintain'd, aſſembled, and collected, As were a Warre in expectation. Therefore I ſay, 'tis meet we all goe forth, To view the ſick and feeble parts of France: And let vs doe it with no ſhew of feare, No, with no more, then if we heard that England Were buſied with a Whitſon Morris-dance: For, my good Liege, ſhee is ſo idly King'd, Her Scepter ſo phantaſtically borne, By a vaine giddie ſhallow humorous Youth, That feare attends her not. Const. O peace, Prince Dolphin, You are too much miſtaken in this King: Queſtion your Grace the late Embaſſadors, With what great State he heard their Embaſſie, How well ſupply'd with Noble Councellors, How modeſt in exception; and withall, How terrible in conſtant reſolution: And you ſhall find, his Vanities fore-ſpent, Were but the out-ſide of the Roman Brutus, Couering Diſcretion with a Coat of Folly; As Gardeners doe with Ordure hide thoſe Roots That ſhall firſt ſpring, and be moſt delicate. Dolphin. Well, 'tis not ſo, my Lord High Conſtable. But though we thinke it ſo, it is no matter: In caſes of defence, 'tis beſt to weigh The Enemie more mightie then he ſeemes, So the proportions of defence are fill'd: Which of a weake and niggardly proiection, Doth like a Miſer ſpoyle his Coat, with ſcanting A little Cloth. King. Thinke we King Harry ſtrong: And Princes, looke you ſtrongly arme to meet him. The Kindred of him hath beene fleſht vpon vs: And he is bred out of that bloodie ſtraine, That haunted vs in our familiar Pathes: Witneſſe our too much memorable ſhame, When Creſſy Battell fatally was ſtrucke, And all our Princes captiu'd, by the hand Of that black Name, Edward, black Prince of Wales: Whiles that his Mountaine Sire, on Mountaine ſtanding Vp in the Ayre, crown'd with the Golden Sunne, Saw his Heroicall Seed, and ſmil'd to ſee him Mangle the Worke of Nature, and deface The Patternes, that by God and by French Fathers Had twentie yeeres been made. This is a Stem Of that Victorious Stock: and let vs feare The Natiue mightineſſe and fate of him. Enter a Meſſenger. Meſſ. Embaſſadors from Harry King of England, Doe craue admittance to your Maieſtie. King. Weele giue them preſent audience. Goe, and bring them. You ſee this Chaſe is hotly followed, friends. Dolphin. Turne head, and ſtop purſuit: for coward Dogs Moſt ſpend their mouths, whē what they ſeem to threaten Runs farre before them. Good my Soueraigne Take vp the Engliſh ſhort, and let them know Of what a Monarchie you are the Head: Selfe-loue, my Liege, is not ſo vile a ſinne, As ſelfe-neglecting. Enter Exeter. King.

From our Brother of England?

 Exe. From him, and thus he greets your Maieſtie: He wills you in the Name of God Almightie, That you deueſt your ſelfe, and lay apart The borrowed Glories, that by gift of Heauen, By Law of Nature, and of Nations, longs To him and to his Heires, namely, the Crowne, And all wide-ſtretched Honors, that pertaine By Cuſtome, and the Ordinance of Times, Vnto the Crowne of France: that you may know 'Tis no ſiniſter, nor no awk-ward Clayme, Pickt from the worme-holes of long-vaniſht dayes, Nor from the duſt of old Obliuion rakt, He ſends you this moſt memorable Lyne, In euery Branch truly demonſtratiue; Willing you ouer-looke this Pedigree: And when you find him euenly deriu'd From his moſt fam'd, of famous Anceſtors, Edward the third; he bids you then reſigne Your Crowne and Kingdome, indirectly held From him, the Natiue and true Challenger. King.

Or elſe what followes?

 Exe. Bloody conſtraint: for if you hide the Crowne Euen in your hearts, there will he rake for it. Therefore in fierce Tempeſt is he comming, In Thunder and in Earth-quake, like a Ioue: That if requiring faile, he will compell. And bids you, in the Bowels of the Lord, Deliuer vp the Crowne, and to take mercie On the poore Soules, for whom this hungry Warre Opens his vaſtie Iawes: and on your head Turning the Widdowes Teares, the Orphans Cryes, The dead-mens Blood, the priuy Maidens Groanes, For Husbands, Fathers, and betrothed Louers, That ſhall be ſwallowed in this Controuerſie. This is his Clayme, his Threatning, and my Meſſage: Vnleſſe the Dolphin be in preſence here; To whom expreſſely I bring greeting to. King. For vs, we will conſider of this further: To morrow ſhall you beare our full intent Back to our Brother of England. Dolph. For the Dolphin, I ſtand here for him: what to him from England? Exe. Scorne and defiance, ſleight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not miſ-become The mightie Sender, doth he prize you at. Thus ſayes my King: and if your Fathers Highneſſe Doe not, in graunt of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter Mock you ſent his Maieſtie; Hee'le call you to ſo hot an Anſwer of it, That Caues and Wombie Vaultages of France Shall chide your Treſpas, and returne your Mock In ſecond Accent of his Ordinance. Dolph. Say: if my Father render faire returne, It is againſt my will: for I deſire Nothing but Oddes with England, To that end, as matching to his Youth and Vanitie, I did preſent him with the Paris-Balls. Exe. Hee'le make your Paris Louer ſhake for it, Were it the Miſtreſſe Court of mightie Europe: And be aſſur'd, you'le find a diff'rence, As we his Subiects haue in wonder found, Betweene the promiſe of his greener dayes, And theſe he maſters now: now he weighes Time Euen to the vtmoſt Graine: that you ſhall reade In your owne Loſſes, if he ſtay in France. King.

To morrow ſhall you know our mind at full.

 Flouriſh. Exe. Diſpatch vs with all ſpeed, leaſt that our King Come here himſelfe to queſtion our delay; For he is footed in this Land already. King. You ſhalbe ſoone diſpatcht, with faire conditions. A Night is but ſmall breathe, and little pawſe, To anſwer matters of this conſequence. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Flouriſh. Enter Chorus. Thus with imagin'd wing our ſwift Scene flyes, In motion of no leſſe celeritie then that of Thought. Suppoſe, that you haue ſeene The well-appointed King at Douer Peer, Embarke his Royaltie: and his braue Fleet, With ſilken Streamers, the young Phebus fayning; Play with your Fancies: and in them behold, Vpon the Hempen Tackle, Ship-boyes climbing; Heare the ſhrill Whiſtle, which doth order giue To ſounds confus'd: behold the threaden Sayles, Borne with th' inuiſible and creeping Wind, Draw the huge Bottomes through the furrowed Sea, Breſting the loftie Surge. O, doe but thinke You ſtand vpon the Riuage▪ and behold A Citie on th' inconſtant Billowes dauncing: For ſo appeares this Fleet Maieſticall, Holding due courſe to Harflew. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to ſternage of this Nauie, And leaue your England as dead Mid-night, ſtill, Guarded with Grandſires, Babyes, and old Women, Eyther paſt, or not arriu'd to pyth and puiſſance: For who is he, whoſe Chin is but enricht With one appearing Hayre, that will not follow Theſe cull'd and choyſe-drawne Caualiers to France? Worke, worke your Thoughts, and therein ſee a Siege: Behold the Ordenance on their Carriages, With fatall mouthes gaping on girded Harflew. Suppoſe th' Embaſſador from the French comes back: Tells Harry, That the King doth offer him Katherine his Daughter, and with her to Dowrie, Some petty and vnprofitable Dukedomes. The offer likes not: and the nimble Gunner With Lynſtock now the diuelliſh Cannon touches Alarum, and Chambers goe off. And downe goes all before them. Still be kind, And eech out our performance with your mind. Exit. Enter the King, Exeter, Bedford, and Glouceſter. Alarum: Scaling Ladders at Harflew. King. Once more vnto the Breach, Deare friends, once more; Or cloſe the Wall vp with our Engliſh dead: In Peace, there's nothing ſo becomes a man, As modeſt ſtillneſſe, and humilitie: But when the blaſt of Warre blowes in our eares, Then imitate the action of the Tyger: Stiffen the ſinewes, commune vp the blood, Diſguiſe faire Nature with hard-fauour'd Rage: Then lend the Eye a terrible aſpect: Let it pry through the portage of the Head, Like the Braſſe Cannon: let the Brow o'rewhelme it, As fearefully, as doth a galled Rocke O're-hang and iutty his confounded Baſe, Swill'd with the wild and waſtfull Ocean, Now ſet the Teeth, and ſtretch the Noſthrill wide, Hold hard the Breath, and bend vp euery Spirit To his full height. On, on, you Nobliſh Engliſh, Whoſe blood is fet from Fathers of Warre-proofe: Fathers, that like ſo many Alexanders, Haue in theſe parts from Morne till Euen fought, And ſheath'd their Swords, for lack of argument. Diſhonour not your Mothers: now atteſt, That thoſe whom you call'd Fathers, did beget you. Be Coppy now to me of groſſer blood, And teach them how to Warre. And you good Yeomen, Whoſe Lyms were made in England; ſhew vs here The mettell of your Paſture: let vs ſweare, That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not: For there is none of you ſo meane and baſe, That hath not Noble luſter in your eyes. I ſee you ſtand like Grey-hounds in the ſlips, Straying vpon the Start. The Game's afoot: Follow your Spirit; and vpon this Charge, Cry, God for Harry, England, and S. George. Alarum, and Chambers goe off. Enter Nim, Bardolph, Piſtoll, and Boy. Bard.

On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the breach.

 Nim.

'Pray thee Corporall ſtay, the Knocks are too hot: and for mine owne part, I haue not a Caſe of Liues: the humor of it is too hot, that is the very plaine-Song of it.

 Piſt.

The plaine-Song is moſt iuſt: for humors doe abound: Knocks goe and come: Gods Vaſſals drop and dye: and Sword and Shield, in bloody Field, doth winne immortall fame.

 Boy.

Would I were in an Ale-houſe in London, I would giue all my fame for a Pot of Ale, and ſafetie.

 Piſt.

And I: If wiſhes would preuayle with me, my purpoſe ſhould not fayle with me; but thither would I high.

 Boy.

As duly, but not as truly, as Bird doth ſing on bough.

 Enter Fluellen. Flu.

Vp to the breach, you Dogges; auaunt you Cullions.

 Piſt.

Be mercifull great Duke to men of Mould: abate thy Rage, abate thy manly Rage; abate thy Rage, great Duke. Good Bawcock bate thy Rage: vſe lenitie ſweet Chuck.

 Nim.

Theſe be good humors: your Honor wins bad humors.

 Exit. Boy.

As young as I am, I haue obſeru'd theſe three Swaſhers: I am Boy to them all three, but all they three, though they would ſerue me, could not be Man to me; for indeed three ſuch Antiques doe not amount to a man: for Bardolph, hee is white-liuer'd, and red-fac'd; by the meanes whereof, a faces it out, but fights not: for Piſtoll, hee hath a killing Tongue, and a quiet Sword; by the meanes whereof, a breakes Words, and keepes whole Weapons: for Nim, hee hath heard, that men of few Words are the beſt men, and therefore hee ſcornes to ſay his Prayers, leſt a ſhould be thought a Coward: but his few bad Words are matcht with as few good Deeds; for a neuer broke any mans Head but his owne, and that was againſt a Poſt, when he was drunke. They will ſteale any thing, and call it Purchaſe. Bardolph ſtole a Lute-caſe, bore it twelue Leagues, and ſold it for three halfepence. Nim and Bardolph are ſworne Brothers in filching: and in Callice they ſtole a fire-ſhouell. I knew by that peece of Seruice, the men would carry Coales. They would haue me as familiar with mens Pockets, as their Gloues or their Hand-kerchers: which makes much againſt my Manhood, if I ſhould take from anothers Pocket, to put into mine; for it is plaine pocketting vp of Wrongs. I muſt leaue them, and ſeeke ſome better Seruice: their Villany goes againſt my weake ſtomacke, and therefore I muſt caſt it vp.

Exit. Enter Gower. Gower.

Captaine Fluellen, you muſt come preſently to the Mynes; the Duke of Glouceſter would ſpeake with you.

 Flu.

To the Mynes? Tell you the Duke, it is not ſo good to come to the Mynes: for looke you, the Mynes is not according to the diſciplines of the Warre; the concauities of it is not ſufficient: for looke you, th' athuerſarie, you may diſcuſſe vnto the Duke, looke you, is digt himſelfe foure yard vnder the Countermines: by Cheſhu, I thinke a will plowe vp all, if there is not better directions.

 Gower.

The Duke of Glouceſter, to whom the Order of the Siege is giuen, is altogether directed by an Iriſh man, a very valiant Gentleman yfaith.

 Welch.

It is Captaine Makmorrice, is it not?

 Gower.

I thinke it be.

 Welch.

By Cheſhu he is an Aſſe, as in the World, I will verifie as much in his Beard: he ha's no more directions in the true diſciplines of the Warres, looke you, of the Roman diſciplines, then is a Puppy-dog.

 Enter Makmorrice, and Captaine Iamy. Gower.

Here a comes, and the Scots Captaine, Captaine Iamy, with him.

 Welch.

Captaine Iamy is a maruellous falorous Gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchiant Warres, vpon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheſhu he will maintaine his Argument as well as any Militarie man in the World, in the diſciplines of the Priſtine Warres of the Romans.

 Scot.

I ſay gudday, Captaine Fluellen.

Welch.

Godden to your Worſhip, good Captaine Iames.

Gower.

How now Captaine Mackmorrice, haue you quit the Mynes? haue the Pioners giuen o're?

 Iriſh.

By Chriſh Law tiſh ill done: the Worke iſh giue ouer, the Trompet ſound the Retreat. By my Hand I ſweare, and my fathers Soule, the Worke iſh ill done: it iſh giue ouer: I would haue blowed vp the Towne, ſo Chriſh ſaue me law, in an houre. O tiſh ill done, tiſh ill done: by my Hand tiſh ill done.

 Welch.

Captaine Mackmorrice, I beſeech you now, will you voutſafe me, looke you, a few diſputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the diſciplines of the Warre, the Roman Warres, in the way of Argument, looke you, and friendly communication: partly to ſatisfie my Opinion, and partly for the ſatisfaction, looke you, of my Mind: as touching the direction of the Militarie diſcipline, that is the Point.

 Scot.

It fall be vary gud, gud feith, gud Captens bath, and I fall quit you with gud leue, as I may pick occaſion: that fall I mary.

 Iriſh.

It is no time to diſcourſe, ſo Chriſh ſaue me: the day is hot, and the Weather, and the Warres, and the King, and the Dukes: it is no time to diſcourſe, the Town is beſeech'd: and the Trumpet call vs to the breech, and we talke, and be Chriſh do nothing, tis ſhame for vs all: ſo God ſa'me tis ſhame to ſtand ſtill, it is ſhame by my hand: and there is Throats to be cut, and Workes to be done, and there iſh nothing done, ſo Chriſt ſa'me law.

 Scot.

By the Mes, ere theiſe eyes of mine take themſelues to ſlomber, ayle de gud ſeruice, or Ile ligge i' th' grund for it; ay, or goe to death: and Ile pay't as valorouſly as I may, that fal I ſuerly do, that is the breff and the long: mary, I wad full faine heard ſome queſtion tween you tway.

 Welch.

Captaine Mackmorrice, I thinke, looke you, vnder your correction, there is not many of your Nation.

 Iriſh.

Of my Nation? What iſh my Nation? Iſh a Villaine, and a Baſterd, and a Knaue, and a Raſcall. What iſh my Nation? Who talkes of my Nation?

 Welch.

Looke you, if you take the matter otherwiſe then is meant, Captaine Mackmorrice, peraduenture I ſhall thinke you doe not vſe me with that affabilitie, as in diſcretion you ought to vſe me, looke you, being as good a man as your ſelfe, both in the diſciplines of Warre, and in the deriuation of my Birth, and in other particularities.

 Iriſh.

I doe not know you ſo good a man as my ſelfe: ſo Chriſh ſaue me, I will cut off your Head.

 Gower.

Gentlemen both, you will miſtake each other.

 Scot.

A, that's a foule fault.

A Parley. Gower.

The Towne ſounds a Parley.

 Welch.

Captaine Mackmorrice, when there is more better oportunitie to be required, looke you, I will be ſo bold as to tell you, I know the diſciplines of Warre: and there is an end.

 Exit. Enter the King and all his Traine before the Gates. King. How yet reſolues the Gouernour of the Towne? This is the lateſt Parle we will admit: Therefore to our beſt mercy giue your ſelues, Or like to men prowd of deſtruction, Defie vs to our worſt: for as I am a Souldier, A Name that in my thoughts becomes me beſt; If I begin the batt'rie once againe, I will not leaue the halfe-atchieued Harflew, Till in her aſhes ſhe lye buryed. The Gates of Mercy ſhall be all ſhut vp, And the fleſh'd Souldier, rough and hard of heart, In libertie of bloody hand, ſhall raunge With Conſcience wide as Hell, mowing like Graſſe Your freſh faire Virgins, and your flowring Infants. What is it then to me, if impious Warre, Arrayed in flames like to the Prince of Fiends, Doe with his ſmyrcht complexion all fell feats, Enlynckt to waſt and deſolation? What is't to me, when you your ſelues are cauſe, If your pure Maydens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing Violation? What Reyne can hold licentious Wickedneſſe, When downe the Hill he holds his fierce Carriere? We may as bootleſſe ſpend our vaine Command Vpon th' enraged Souldiers in their ſpoyle, As ſend Precepts to the Leuiathan, to come aſhore. Therefore, you men of Harflew, Take pitty of your Towne and of your People, Whiles yet my Souldiers are in my Command, Whiles yet the coole and temperate Wind of Grace O're-blowes the filthy and contagious Clouds Of headly Murther, Spoyle, and Villany. If not: why in a moment looke to ſee The blind and bloody Souldier, with foule hand Deſire the Locks of your ſhrill-ſhriking Daughters: Your Fathers taken by the ſiluer Beards, And their moſt reuerend Heads daſht to the Walls: Your naked Infants ſpitted vpon Pykes, Whiles the mad Mothers, with their howles confus'd, Doe breake the Clouds; as did the Wiues of Iewry, At Herods bloody-hunting ſlaughter-men. What ſay you? Will you yeeld, and this auoyd? Or guiltie in defence, be thus deſtroy'd. Enter Gouernour. Gouer. Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dolphin, whom of Succours we entreated, Returnes vs, that his Powers are yet not ready, To rayſe ſo great a Siege: Therefore great King, We yeeld our Towne and Liues to thy ſoft Mercy: Enter our Gates, diſpoſe of vs and ours, For we no longer are defenſible. King. Open your Gates: Come Vnckle Exeter, Goe you and enter Harflew; there remaine, And fortifie it ſtrongly 'gainſt the French: Vſe mercy to them all for vs, deare Vnckle. The Winter comming on, and Sickneſſe growing Vpon our Souldiers, we will retyre to Calis. To night in Harflew will we be your Gueſt, To morrow for the March are we addreſt. Flouriſh, and enter the Towne. Enter Katherine and an old Gentlewoman. Kathe.

Alice, tu as eſte en Augleterre, & tu bien parlas le Language.

Alice.

En peu Madame.

Kath.

Ie te prie m'enſigniez, il faut que ie apprend a parlen: Comient appelle vous le main en Anglois?

Alice.

Le main il & appelle de Hand.

Kath.

De Hand.

Alice.

Ele doyts.

Kat.

Le doyts, ma foy Ie oublie, e doyt mays, ie me ſouemeray le doyts ie penſe qu'ils ont appelle de fingres, on de fingres.

Alice.

Le main de Hand, le doyts le Fingres, ie penſe que ie ſuis, le bon eſcholier.

Kath.

I' ay gaynie diux mots d' Anglois viſtement, coment appelle vous le ongles?

 Alice.

Le ongles, les appellons de Nayles.

Kath.

De Nayles eſcoute: dites moy, ſi ie parle bien: de Hand, de Fingres, e de Nayles.

Alice.

Ceſt bien dict Madame, il & fort bon Anglois.

Kath.

Dites moy l' Anglois pour le bras.

Alice.

De Arme, Madame.

Kath.

E de coudee.

Alice.

D' Elbow.

Kath.

D' Elbow: Ie men fay le repiticio de touts les mots que vous maves, apprins des a preſent.

Alice.

Il & trop difficile Madame, comme Ie penſe.

Kath.

Excuſe moy Alice eſcoute, d' Hand, de Fingre, de Nayles, d' Arma, de Bilbow.

Alice.

D' Elbow, Madame.

Kath.

O Seigneur Dieu, ie men oublie d' Elbow, coment appelle vous le col.

Alice.

De Nick, Madame.

Kath.

De Nick, e le menton.

Alice.

De Chin.

Kath.

De Sin: le col de Nick, le menton de Sin.

Alice.

Ouy. Sauf voſtre honneur en verite vous pronouncies les mots auſi droict, que le Natifs d' Angleterre.

Kath.

Ie ne doute point d' apprendre par de grace de Dieu, & en peu de temps.

Alice.

N' aue vos y deſia oublie ce que ie vous a enfignie.

Kath.

Nome ie recitera a vous promptement, d' Hand, de Fingre, de Maylees.

Alice.

De Nayles, Madame.

Kath.

De Nayles, de Arme, de Ilbow.

Alice.

Sans voſtre honeus d' Elbow.

Kath.

Ainſi de ie d' Elbow, de Nick, & de Sin: coment appelle vous les pied & de roba.

Alice.

Le Foot Madame, & le Count.

Kath.

Le Foot, & le Count: O Seignieur Dieu, il ſont le mots de ſon mauvais corruptible groſſe & impudique, & non pour lo Dames de Honeur d' vſer: le ne voudray pronouncer ce mots deuant le Seigneurs de France, pour toute le monde, fo le Foot & le Count, neant moys, Ie recitera vn autrefoys ma lecon enſembe, d' Hand, de Fingre, de Nayles, d' Arme, d' Elbow, de Nick, de Sin, de Foot, le Count.

Alice.

Excellent, Madame.

Kath.

C' eſt aſſes pour vne foyes, alons nous a diner.

Exit. Enter the King of France, the Dolphin, the Conſtable of France, and others. King.

'Tis certaine he hath paſt the Riuer Some.

 Conſt. And if he be not fought withall, my Lord, Let vs not liue in France: let vs quit all, And giue our Vineyards to a barbarous People. Dolph. O Dieu viuant: Shall a few Sprayes of vs, The emptying of our Fathers Luxurie, Our Syens, put in wilde and ſauage Stock, Spirt vp ſo ſuddenly into the Clouds, And ouer-looke their Grafters? Brit. Normans, but baſtard Normans, Norman baſtards: Mort du mavie, if they march along Vnfought withall, but I will ſell my Dukedome, To buy a ſlobbry and a durtie Farme In that nooke-ſhotten Ile of Albion. Conſt. Dieu de Battailes, where haue they this mettell? Is not their Clymate foggy, raw, and dull? On whom, as in deſpight, the Sunne lookes pale, Killing their Fruit with frownes. Can ſodden Water, A Drench for ſur-reyn'd • ades, their Ba • ly broth, Decoct their cold blood to ſuch valiant heat? And ſhall our quick blood, ſpirited with Wine, Seeme froſtie? O, for honor of our Land, Let vs not hang like roping Iſyckles Vpon our Houſes Thatch, whiles a more froſtie People Sweat drops of gallant Youth in our rich fields: Poore we call them, in their Natiue Lords. Dolphin. By Faith and Honor, Our Madames mock at vs, and plainely ſay, Our Mettell is bred out, and they will giue Their bodyes to the Luſt of Engliſh Youth, To new-ſtore France with Baſtard Warriors. Brit. They bid vs to the Engliſh Dancing-Schooles, And teach Lauolta's high, and ſwift Carranto's, Saying, our Grace is onely in our Heeles, And that we are moſt loftie Run-awayes. King. Where is Montioy the Herald? ſpeed him hence, Let him greet England with our ſharpe defiance. Vp Princes, and with ſpirit of Honor edged, More ſharper then your Swords, high to the field: Charles Delabreth, High Conſtable of France, You Dukes of Orleance, Burbon, and of Berry, Alanſon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgonic, Iaques Chattillion, Rambures, Vandemont, Beumont, Grand Free, Rouſſi, and Faulconbridge, Loys, Leſtrale, Bouciquall, and Charaloyes, High Dukes, great Princes, Barons, Lords, and Kings; For your great Seats, now quit you of great ſhames: Barre Harry England, that ſweepes through our Land With Penons painted in the blood of Ha • flew: Ruſh on his Hoaſt, as doth the melted Snow Vpon the Valleyes, whoſe low Vaſſall Seat, The Alpes doth ſpit, and void his rhewme vpon. Goe downe vpon him you haue Power enough, And in a Captiue Chariot into Roan Bring him our Priſoner. Const. This becomes the Great. Sorry am I his numbers are ſo few, His Souldiers ſick, and famiſht in their March: For I am ſure, when he ſhall ſee our Army, Hee'le drop his heart into the ſinck of feare, And for atchieuement, offer vs his Ranſome. King. Therefore Lord Conſtable, haſt on Montioy, And let him ſay to England, that we ſend, To know what willing Ranſome he will giue. Prince Dolphin, you ſhall ſtay with vs in Roan. Dolph. Not ſo, I doe beſeech your Maieſtie. King. Be patient, for you ſhall remaine with vs. Now forth Lord Conſtable, and Princes all, And quickly bring vs word of Englands fall. Exeunt. Enter Captaines, Engliſh and Welch, Gower and Fluellen. Gower.

How now Captaine Fluellen, come you from the Bridge?

 Flu.

I aſſure you, there is very excellent Seruices committed at the Bridge.

 Gower.

Is the Duke of Exeter ſafe?

 Flu.

The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon, and a man that I loue and honour with my ſoule, and my heart, and my dutie, and my liue, and my liuing, and my vttermoſt power. He is not, God be prayſed and bleſſed, any hurt in the World, but keepes the Bridge moſt valiantly, with excellent diſcipline. There is an aunchient Lieutenant there at the Pridge, I thinke in my very conſcience hee is as valiant a man as Marke Anthony, and hee is a man of no eſtimation in the World, but I did ſee him doe as gallant ſeruice.

 Gower.

What doe you call him?

 Flu.

Hee is call'd aunchient Piſtoll.

Gower.

I know him not.

 Enter Piſtoll. Flu.

Here is the man.

 Piſt.

Captaine, I thee beſeech to doe me fauours: the Duke of Exeter doth loue thee well.

 Flu.

I, I prayſe God, and I haue merited ſome loue at his hands.

 Pist.

Bardolph, a Souldier firme and ſound of heart, and of buxome valour, hath by cruell Fate, and giddie Fortunes furious fickle Wheele, that Goddeſſe blind, that ſtands vpon the rolling reſtleſſe Stone.

 Flu.

By your patience, aunchient Piſtoll: Fortune is painted blinde, with a Muffler afore his eyes, to ſignifie to you, that Fortune is blinde; and ſhee is painted alſo with a Wheele, to ſignifie to you, which is the Morall of it, that ſhee is turning and inconſtant, and mutabilitie, and variation: and her foot, looke you, is fixed vpon a Sphericall Stone, which rowles, and rowles, and rowles: in good truth, the Poet makes a moſt excellent deſcription of it: Fortune is an excellent Morall.

 Piſt.

Fortune is Bardolphs foe, and frownes on him: for he hath ſtolne a Pax, and hanged muſt a be: a damned death: let Gallowes gape for Dogge, let Man goe free, and let not Hempe his Wind-pipe ſuffocate: but Exeter hath giuen the doome of death, for Pax of little price. Therefore goe ſpeake, the Duke will heare thy voyce; and let not Bardolphs vitall thred bee cut with edge of Penny-Cord, and vile reproach. Speake Captaine for his Life, and I will thee requite.

 Flu.

Aunchient Piſtoll, I doe partly vnderſtand your meaning.

 Piſt.

Why then reioyce therefore.

 Flu.

Certainly Aunchient, it is not a thing to reioyce at: for if, looke you, he were my Brother, I would deſire the Duke to vſe his good pleaſure, and put him to execution; for diſcipline ought to be vſed.

 Piſt.

Dye, and be dam'd, and Figo for thy friendſhip.

 Flu.

It is well.

 Piſt.

The Figge of Spaine.

Exit. Flu.

Very good.

 Gower.

Why, this is an arrant counterfeit Raſcall, I remember him now: a Bawd, a Cut-purſe.

 Flu.

Ile aſſure you, a vtt'red as praue words at the Pridge, as you ſhall ſee in a Summers day: but it is very well: what he ha's ſpoke to me, that is well I warrant you, when time is ſerue.

 Gower.

Why 'tis a Gull, a Foole, a Rogue, that now and then goes to the Warres, to grace himſelfe at his returne into London, vnder the forme of a Souldier: and ſuch fellowes are perfit in the Great Commanders Names, and they will learne you by rote where Seruices were done; at ſuch and ſuch a Sconce, at ſuch a Breach, at ſuch a Conuoy: who came off brauely, who was ſhot, who diſgrac'd, what termes the Enemy ſtood on: and this they conne perfitly in the phraſe of Warre; which they tricke vp with new-tuned Oathes: and what a Beard of the Generalls Cut, and a horride Sute of the Campe, will doe among foming Bottles, and Ale-waſht Wits, is wonderfull to be thought on: but you muſt learne to know ſuch ſlanders of the age, or elſe you may be maruellouſly miſtooke.

 Flu.

I tell you what, Captaine Gower: I doe perceiue hee is not the man that hee would gladly make ſhew to the World hee is: if I finde a hole in his Coat, I will tell him my minde: hearke you the King is comming, and I muſt ſpeake with him from the Pridge.

 Drum and Colours. Enter the King and his poore Souldiers. Flu.

God pleſſe your Maieſtie.

 King.

How now Fluellen, cam'ſt thou from the Bridge?

 Flu.

I, ſo pleaſe your Maieſtie: The Duke of Exeter ha's very gallantly maintain'd the Pridge; the French is gone off, looke you, and there is gallant and moſt praue paſſages: marry, th' athuerſarie was haue poſſeſſion of the Pridge, but he is enforced to retyre, and the Duke of Exeter is Maſter of the Pridge: I can tell your Maieſtie, the Duke is a praue man.

 King.

What men haue you loſt, Fluellen?

Flu.

The perdition of th' athuerſarie hath beene very great, reaſonnable great: marry for my part, I thinke the Duke hath loſt neuer a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a Church, one Bardolph, if your Maieſtie know the man: his face is all bubukles and whelkes, and knobs, and flames a fire, and his lippes blowes at his noſe, and it is like a coale of fire, ſometimes plew, and ſometimes red, but his noſe is executed, and his fire's out.

 King.

Wee would haue all ſuch offendors ſo cut off: and we giue expreſſe charge, that in our Marches through the Countrey, there be nothing compell'd from the Villages; nothing taken, but pay'd for: none of the French vpbrayded or abuſed in diſdainefull Language; for when Leuitie and Crueltie play for a Kingdome, the gentler Gameſter is the ſooneſt winner.

 Tucket. Enter Mountioy. Mountioy.

You know me by my habit.

 King.

Well then, I know thee: what ſhall I know of thee?

 Mountioy.

My Maſters mind.

 King.

Vnfold it.

 Mountioy.

Thus ſayes my King: Say thou to Harry of England, Though we ſeem'd dead, we did but ſleepe: Aduantage is a better Souldier then raſhneſſe. Tell him, wee could haue rebuk'd him at Harflewe, but that wee thought not good to bruiſe an iniurie, till it were full ripe. Now wee ſpeake vpon our Q. and our voyce is imperiall: England ſhall repent his folly, ſee his weakeneſſe, and admire our ſufferance. Bid him therefore conſider of his ranſome, which muſt proportion the loſſes we haue borne, the ſubiects we haue loſt, the diſgrace we haue digeſted; which in weight to re-anſwer, his pettineſſe would bow vnder. For our loſſes, his Exchequer is too poore; for th' effuſion of our bloud, the Muſter of his Kingdome too faint a number; and for our diſgrace, his owne perſon kneeling at our feet, but a weake and worthleſſe ſatisfaction. To this adde defiance: and tell him for concluſion, he hath betrayed his followers, whoſe condemnation is pronounc't: So farre my King and Maſter; ſo much my Office.

 King.

What is thy name? I know thy qualitie.

 Mount.

Mountioy.

King. Thou doo'ſt thy Office fairely. Turne thee back, And tell thy King, I doe not ſeeke him now, But could be willing to march on to Callice, Without impeachment: for to ſay the ſooth, Though 'tis no wiſdome to confeſſe ſo much Vnto an enemie of Craft and Vantage, My people are with ſickneſſe much enfeebled, My numbers leſſen'd: and thoſe few I haue, Almoſt no better then ſo many French; Who when they were in health, I tell thee Herald, I thought, vpon one payre of Engliſh Legges Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgiue me God, That I doe bragge thus; this your ayre of France Hath blowne that vice in me. I muſt repent: Goe therefore tell thy Maſter, heere I am; My Ranſome, is this frayle and worthleſſe Trunke; My Army, but a weake and ſickly Guard: Yet God before, tell him we will come on, Though France himſelfe, and ſuch another Neighbor Stand in our way. There's for thy labour Mountioy. Goe bid thy Maſter well aduiſe himſelfe. If we may paſſe, we will: if we be hindred, We ſhall your tawnie ground with your red blood Diſcolour: and ſo Mountioy, fare you well. The ſumme of all our Anſwer is but this: We would not ſeeke a Battaile as we are, Nor as we are, we ſay we will not ſhun it: So tell your Maſter. Mount.

I ſhall deliuer ſo: Thankes to your Highneſſe.

 Glouc.

I hope they will not come vpon vs now.

 King. We are in Gods hand, Brother, not in theirs: March to the Bridge, • t now drawes toward night, Beyond the Riuer wee'le encampe our ſelues, And on to morrow bid them march away. Exeunt. Enter the Conſtable of France, the Lord Ramburs, Orleance, Dolphin, with others. Conſt.

Tut, I haue the beſt Armour of the World: would it were day.

 Orleance.

You haue an excellent Armour; but let my Horſe haue his due.

 Conſt.

It is the beſt Horſe of Europe.

 Orleance.

Will it neuer be Morning?

 Dolph.

My Lord of Orleance, and my Lord High Conſtable, you talke of Horſe and Armour?

 Orleance.

You are as well prouided of both, as any Prince in the World.

 Dolph.

What a long Night is this? I will not change my Horſe with any that treades but on foure poſtures: ch' ha: he bounds from the Earth, as if his entrayles were hayres: le Cheual volante, the Pegaſus, ches les na • nes de feu. When I beſtryde him, I ſoare, I am a Hawke: he trots the ayre: the Earth ſings, when he touches it: the baſeſt horne of his hooſe, is more Muſicall then the Pipe of Hermes.

Orleance.

Hee's of the colour of the Nutmeg.

 Dolph.

And of the heat of the Ginger. It is a Beaſt for Perſeus: hee is pure Ayre and Fire; and the dull Elements of Earth and Water neuer appeare in him, but only in patient ſtillneſſe while his Rider mo • nts him: hee is indeede a Horſe, and all other Iades you may call Beaſts.

 Conſt.

Indeed my Lord, it is a moſt abſolute and excellent Horſe.

 Dolph.

It is the Prince of Palfrayes, his Neigh is like the bidding of a Monarch, and his countenance enforces Homage.

 Orleance.

No more Couſin.

 Dolph.

Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot from the riſing of the Larke to the lodging of the Lambe, varie deſerued prayſe on my Palſray: it is a Theame as fluent as the Sea: Turne the Sands into eloquent tongues, and my Horſe is argument for them all: 'tis a ſubiect for a Soueraigne to reaſon on, and for a Soueraignes Soueraigne to ride on: And for the World, familiar to vs, and vnknowne, to lay apart their particular Functions, and wonder at him, I once writ a Sonnet in his prayſe, and began thus, Wonder of Nature.

Orleance.

I haue heard a Sonnet begin ſo to ones Miſtreſſe.

 Dolph.

Then did they imitate that which I compos'd to my Courſer, for my Horſe is my Miſtreſſe.

 Orleance.

Your Miſtreſſe beares well.

 Dolph.

Me well, which is the preſcript prayſe and perfection of a good and particular Miſtreſſe.

 Conſt.

Nay, for me thought yeſterday your Miſtreſſe ſhrewdly ſhooke your back.

 Dolph.

So perhaps did yours.

 Conſt.

Mine was not bridled.

 Dolph.

O then belike ſhe was old and gentle, and you rode like a Kerne of Ireland, your French Hoſe off, and in your ſtrait Stroſſers.

 Conſt.

You haue good iudgement in Horſemanſhip.

 Dolph.

Be warn'd by me then: they that ride ſo, and ride not warily, fall into foule Boggs: I had rather haue my Horſe to my Miſtreſſe.

 Conſt.

I had as liue haue my Miſtreſſe a Iade.

 Dolph.

I tell thee Conſtable, my Miſtreſſe weares his owne hayre.

 Conſt.

I could make as true a boaſt as that, if I had a Sow to my Miſtreſſe.

 Dolph.

Le chien eſt retourne a ſon propre vemiſſement eſt la leuye lauee au bourbier: thou mak'ſt vſe of any thing.

 Conſt.

Yet doe I not vſe my Horſe for my Miſtreſſe, or any ſuch Prouerbe, ſo little kin to the purpoſe.

 Ramb.

My Lord Conſtable, the Armour that I ſaw in your Tent to night, are thoſe Starres or Sunnes vpon it?

 Conſt.

Starres my Lord.

 Dolph.

Some of them will fall to morrow, I hope.

 Conſt.

And yet my Sky ſhall not want.

 Dolph.

That may be, for you beare a many ſuperfluouſly, and 'twere more honor ſome were away.

 Conſt.

Eu'n as your Horſe beares your prayſes, who would trot as well, were ſome of your bragges diſmounted.

 Dolph.

Would I were able to loade him with his deſert. Will it neuer be day? I will trot to morrow a mile, and my way ſhall be paued with Engliſh Faces.

 Conſt.

I will not ſay ſo, for feare I ſhould be fac't out of my way: but I would it were morning, for I would faine be about the eares of the Engliſh.

 Ramb.

Who will goe to Hazard with me for twentie Priſoners?

 Conſt.

You muſt firſt goe your ſelfe to hazard, ere you haue them.

 Dolph

'Tis Mid-night, Ile goe arme my ſelfe.

Exit. Orleance.

The Dolphin longs for morning.

 Ramb.

He longs to eate the Engliſh.

 Conſt.

I thinke he will eate all he kills.

 Orleance.

By the white Hand of my Lady, hee's a gallant Prince.

 Conſt.

Sweare by her Foot, that ſhe may tread out the Oath.

 Orleance.

He is ſimply the moſt actiue Gentleman of France.

 Conſt.

Doing is actiuitie, and he will ſtill be doing.

 Orleance.

He neuer did harme, that I heard of.

 Conſt.

Nor will doe none to morrow: hee will keepe that good name ſtill.

 Orleance.

I know him to be valiant.

 Conſt.

I was told that, by one that knowes him better then you.

 Orleance.

What's hee?

 Conſt.

Marry hee told me ſo himſelfe, and hee ſayd hee car'd not who knew it.

 Orleance.

Hee needes not, it is no hidden vertue in him.

 Const.

By my faith Sir, but it is: neuer any body ſaw it, but his Lacquey: 'tis a hooded valour, and when it appeares, it will bate.

 Orleance.

Ill will neuer ſayd well.

 Conſt.

I will cap that Prouerbe with, There is flatterie in friendſhip.

 Orleance.

And I will take vp that with, Giue the Deuill his due.

 Conſt.

Well plac't: there ſtands your friend for the Deuill: haue at the very eye of that Prouerbe with, A Pox of the Deuill.

 Orleance.

You are the better at Prouerbs, by how much a Fooles Bolt is ſoone ſhot.

 Const.

You haue ſhot ouer.

 Orleance.

'Tis not the firſt time you were ouer-ſhot.

 Enter a Meſſenger. Meſſ.

My Lord high Conſtable, the Engliſh lye within fifteene hundred paces of your Tents.

 Conſt.

Who hath meaſur'd the ground?

 Meſſ.

The Lord Grandpree.

Conſt.

A valiant and moſt expert Gentleman. Would it were day? Alas poore Harry of England: hee longs not for the Dawning, as wee doe.

 Orleance.

What a wretched and peeuiſh fellow is this King of England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers ſo farre out of his knowledge.

 Conſt.

If the Engliſh had any apprehenſion, they would runne away.

 Orleance.

That they lack: for if their heads had any intellectuall Armour, they could neuer weare ſuch heauie Head-pieces.

 Ramb.

That Iland of England breedes very valiant Creatures; their Maſtiffes are of vnmatchable courage.

 Orleance.

Fooliſh Curres, that runne winking into the mouth of a Ruſſian Beare, and haue their heads cruſht like rotten Apples: you may as well ſay, that's a valiant Flea, that dare eate his breakefaſt on the Lippe of a Lyon.

 Conſt.

Iuſt, iuſt: and the men doe ſympathize with the Maſtiffes, in robuſtious and rough comming on, leauing their Wits with their Wiues: and then giue them great Meales of Beefe, and Iron and Steele; they will eate like Wolues, and fight like Deuils.

 Orleance.

I, but theſe Engliſh are ſhrowdly out of Beefe.

 Const.

Then ſhall we finde to morrow, they haue only ſtomackes to eate, and none to fight. Now is it time to arme: come, ſhall we about it?

 Orleance. It is now two a Clock: but let me ſee, by ten Wee ſhall haue each a hundred Engliſh men. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Chorus. Now entertaine coniecture of a time, When creeping Murmure and the poring Darke Fills the wide Veſſell of the Vniuerſe. From Camp to Camp, through the foule Womb of Night The Humme of eyther Army ſtilly ſounds; That the fixt Centinels almoſt receiue The ſecret Whiſpers of each others Watch. Fire anſwers fire, and through their paly flames Each Battaile ſees the others vmber'd face. Steed threatens Steed, in high and boaſtfull Neighs Piercing the Nights dull Eare: and from the Tents, The Armourers accompliſhing the Knights, With buſie Hammers cloſing Riuets vp, Giue dreadfull note of preparation. The Countrey Cocks doe crow, the Clocks doe towle: And the third howre of drowſie Morning nam'd, Prowd of their Numbers, and ſecure in Soule, The confident and ouer-luſtie French, Doe the low-rated Engliſh play at Dice; And chide the creeple-tardy-gated Night, Who like a foule and ougly Witch doth limpe So tediouſly away. The poore condemned Engliſh, Like Sacrifices, by their watchfull Fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The Mornings danger: and their geſture ſad, Inueſting lanke-leane Cheekes, and Warre-worne Coats, Preſented them vnto the gazing Moone So many horride Ghoſts. O now, who will behold The Royall Captaine of this ruin'd Band Walking from Watch to Watch, from Tent to Tent; Let him cry, Prayſe and Glory on his head: For forth he goes, and viſits all his Hoaſt, Bids them good morrow with a modeſt Smyle, And calls them Brothers, Friends, and Countreymen. Vpon his Royall Face there is no note, How dread an Army hath enrounded him; Nor doth he dedicate one iot of Colour Vnto the wearie and all-watched Night: But freſhly lookes, and ouer-beares Attaint, With chearefull ſemblance, and ſweet Maieſtie: That euery Wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his Lookes. A Largeſſe vniuerſall, like the Sunne, His liberall Eye doth giue to euery one, Thawing cold feare, that meane and gentle all Behold, as may vnworthineſſe define. A little touch of Harry in the Night, And ſo our Scene muſt to the Battaile flye: Where, O for pitty, we ſhall much diſgrace, With foure or fiue moſt vile and ragged foyles, (Right ill diſpos'd, in brawle ridiculous) The Name of Agincourt: Yet ſit and ſee, Minding true things, by what their Mock'ries bee. Exit. Enter the King, Bedford, and Glouceſter. King. Gloſter, 'tis true that we are in great danger, The greater therefore ſhould our Courage be. God morrow Brother Bedford: God Almightie, There is ſome ſoule of goodneſſe in things euill, Would men obſeruingly diſtill it out. For our bad Neighbour makes vs early ſtirrers, Which is both healthfull, and good husbandry. Beſides, they are our outward Conſciences, And Preachers to vs all; admoniſhing, That we ſhould dreſſe vs fairely for our end. Thus may we gather Honey from the Weed, And make a Morall of the Diuell himſelfe. Enter Erpingham. Good morrow old Sir Thomas Erpingham: A good ſoft Pillow for that good white Head, Were better then a churliſh turfe of France. Erping. Not ſo my Liege, this. Lodging likes me better, Since I may ſay, now lye I like a King. King. 'Tis good for men to loue their preſent paines, Vpon example, ſo the Spirit is eaſed: And when the Mind is quickned, out of doubt The Organs, though defunct and dead before, Breake vp their drowſie Graue, and newly moue With caſted ſlough, and freſh legeritie. Lend me thy Cloake Sir Thomas: Brothers both, Commend me to the Princes in our Campe; Doe my good morrow to them, and anon Deſire them all to my Pauillion: Gloſter.

We ſhall, my Liege.

 Erping.

Shall I attend your Grace?

 King. No, my good Knight: Goe with my Brothers to my Lords of England: I and my Boſome muſt debate a while, And then I would no other company. Erping.

The Lord in Heauen bleſſe thee, Noble Harry.

Exeunt. King.

God a mercy old Heart, thou ſpeak'ſt chearefully.

 Enter Piſtoll. Piſt.

Che vous la?

King.

A friend.

 Piſt.

Diſcuſſe vnto me, art thou Officer, or art thou baſe, common, and popular?

 King.

I am a Gentleman of a Company.

 Piſt.

Trayl'ſt thou the puiſſant Pyke?

 King.

Euen ſo: what are you?

 Piſt.

As good a Gentleman as the Emperor.

 King.

Then you are a better then the King.

 Piſt.

The King's a Bawcock, and a Heart of Gold, a Lad of Life, an Impe of Fame, of Parents good, of Fiſt moſt valiant: I kiſſe his durtie ſhooe, and from heartſtring I loue the louely Bully. What is thy Name?

 King.

Harry le Roy.

Piſt.

Le Roy? a Corniſh Name: art thou of Corniſh Crew?

 King.

No, I am a Welchman.

 Piſt.

Know'ſt thou Fluellen?

King.

Yes.

 Piſt.

Tell him Ile knock his Leeke about his Pate vpon S. Dauies day.

 King.

Doe not you weare your Dagger in your Cappe that day, leaſt he knock that about yours.

 Piſt.

Art thou his friend?

 King.

And his Kinſman too.

 Piſt.

The Figo for thee then.

 King.

I thanke you: God be with you.

 Piſt.

My name is Pistol call'd.

Exit. King.

It ſorts well with your fierceneſſe.

 Manet King. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Gower.

Captaine Fluellen.

Flu.

'So, in the Name of Ieſu Chriſt, ſpeake fewer: it is the greateſt admiration in the vniuerſall World, when the true and aunchient Prerogatifes and Lawes of the Warres is not kept: if you would take the paines but to examine the Warres of Pompey the Great, you ſhall finde, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle tadle nor pibble bable in Pompeyes Campe: I warrant you, you ſhall finde the Ceremonies of the Warres, and the Cares of it, and the Formes of it, and the Sobrietie of it, and the Modeſtie of it, to be otherwiſe.

 Gower.

Why the Enemie is lowd, you heare him all Night.

 Flu.

If the Enemie is an Aſſe and a Foole, and a prating Coxcombe; is it meet, thinke you, that wee ſhould alſo, looke you, be an Aſſe and a Foole, and a prating Coxcombe, in your owne conſcience now?

 Gow.

I will ſpeake lower.

 Flu.

I pray you, and beſeech you, that you will.

Exit. King. Though it appeare a little out of faſhion, There is much care and valour in this Welchman. Enter three Souldiers, Iohn Bates, Alexander Court, and Michael Williams. Court.

Brother Iohn Bates, is not that the Morning which breakes yonder?

 Bates.

I thinke it be: but wee haue no great cauſe to deſire the approach of day.

 Williams.

Wee ſee yonder the beginning of the day, but I thinke wee ſhall neuer ſee the end of it. Who goes there?

 King.

A Friend.

 Williams.

Vnder what Captaine ſerue you?

 King.

Vnder Sir Iohn Erpingham.

Williams.

A good old Commander, and a moſt kinde Gentleman: I pray you▪ what thinkes he of our eſtate?

 King.

Euen as men wrackt vpon a Sand, that looke to be waſht off the next Tyde.

 Bates.

He hath not told his thought to the King?

 King.

No: nor it is not meet he ſhould: for though I ſpeake it to you, I thinke the King is but a man, as I am: the Violet ſmells to him, as it doth to me; the Element ſhewes to him, as it doth to me; all his Sences haue but humane Conditions: his Ceremonies layd by, in his Nakedneſſe he appeares but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted then ours, yet when they ſtoupe, they ſtoupe with the like wing: therefore, when he ſees reaſon of feares, as we doe; his feares, out of doubt, be of the ſame relliſh as ours are: yet in reaſon, no man ſhould poſſeſſe him with any appearance of feare; leaſt hee, by ſhewing it, ſhould dis-hearten his Army.

 Bates.

He may ſhew what outward courage he will: but I beleeue, as cold a Night as 'tis, hee could wiſh himſelfe in Thames vp to the Neck; and ſo I would he were, and I by him, at all aduentures, ſo we were quit here.

 King.

By my troth, I will ſpeake my conſcience of the King: I thinke hee would not wiſh himſelfe any where, but where hee is.

 Bates.

Then I would he were here alone; ſo ſhould he be ſure to be ranſomed, and a many poore mens liues ſaued.

 King.

I dare ſay, you loue him not ſo ill, to wiſh him here alone: howſoeuer you ſpeake this to feele other mens minds, me thinks I could not dye any where ſo contented, as in the Kings company; his Cauſe being iuſt, and his Quarrell honorable.

 Williams.

That's more then we know.

 Bates.

I, or more then wee ſhould ſeeke after; for wee know enough, if wee know wee are the Kings Subiects: if his Cauſe be wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the Cryme of it out of vs.

 Williams.

But if the Cauſe be not good, the King himſelfe hath a heauie Reckoning to make, when all thoſe Legges, and Armes, and Heads, chopt off in a Battaile, ſhall ioyne together at the latter day, and cry all, Wee dyed at ſuch a place, ſome ſwearing, ſome crying for a Surgean; ſome vpon their Wiues, left poore behind them; ſome vpon the Debts they owe, ſome vpon their Children rawly left: I am afear'd, there are few dye well, that dye in a Battaile: for how can they charitably diſpoſe of any thing, when Blood is their argument? Now, if theſe men doe not dye well, it will be a black matter for the King, that led them to it; who to diſobey, were againſt all proportion of ſubiection.

 King.

So, if a Sonne that is by his Father ſent about Merchandize, doe ſinfully miſcarry vpon the Sea; the imputation of his wickedneſſe, by your rule, ſhould be impoſed vpon his Father that ſent him: or if a Seruant, vnder his Maſters command, tranſporting a ſumme of Money, be aſſayled by Robbers, and dye in many irreconcil'd Iniquities; you may call the buſineſſe of the Maſter the author of the Seruants damnation: but this is not ſo: The King is not bound to anſwer the particular endings of his Souldiers, the Father of his Sonne, nor the Maſter of his Seruant; for they purpoſe not their death, when they purpoſe their ſeruices. Beſides, there is no King, be his Cauſe neuer ſo ſpotleſſe, if it come to the arbitrement of Swords, can trye it out with all vnſpotted Souldiers: ſome (peraduenture) haue on them the guilt of premeditated and contriued-Murther; ſome, of beguiling Virgins with the broken Seales of Periurie; ſome, making the Warres their Bulwarke, that haue before gored the gentle Boſome of Peace with Pillage and Robberie. Now, if theſe men haue defeated the Law, and outrunne Natiue puniſhment; though they can out-ſtrip men, they haue no wings to flye from God. Warre is his Beadle, Warre is his Vengeance: ſo that here men are puniſht, for before breach of the Kings Lawes▪ in now the Kings Quarrell: where they feared the death, they haue borne life away; and where they would bee ſafe, they periſh. Then if they dye vnprouided, no more is the King guiltie of their damnation, then hee was before guiltie of thoſe Impieties, for the which they are now viſited. Euery Subiects Dutie is the Kings, but euery Subiects Soule is his owne. Therefore ſhould euery Souldier in the Warres doe as euery ſicke man in his Bed, waſh euery Moth out of his Conſcience: and dying ſo, Death is to him aduantage; or not dying, the time was bleſſedly loſt, wherein ſuch preparation was gayned: and in him that eſcapes, it were not ſinne to thinke, that making God ſo free an offer, he let him outliue that day, to ſee his Greatneſſe, and to teach others how they ſhould prepare.

 Will.

'Tis certaine, euery man that dyes ill, the ill vpon his owne head, the King is not to anſwer it.

 Bates.

I doe not deſire hee ſhould anſwer for me, and yet I determine to fight luſtily for him.

 King.

I my ſelfe heard the King ſay he would not be ranſom'd.

 Will.

I, hee ſaid ſo, to make vs fight chearefully: but when our throats are cut, hee may be ranſom'd, and wee ne're the wiſer.

 King.

If I liue to ſee it, I will neuer truſt his word after.

 Will.

You pay him then: that's a perillous ſhot out of an Elder Gunne, that a poore and a priuate diſpleaſure can doe againſt a Monarch: you may as well goe about to turne the Sunne to yee, with fanning in his face with a Peacocks feather: You'le neuer truſt his word after; come, 'tis a fooliſh ſaying.

 King.

Your reproofe is ſomething too round, I ſhould be angry with you, if the time were conuenient.

 Will.

Let it bee a Quarrell betweene vs, if you liue.

 King.

I embrace it.

 Will.

How ſhall I know thee againe?

 King.

Giue me any Gage of thine, and I will weare it in my Bonnet: Then if euer thou dar'ſt acknowledge it, I will make it my Quarrell.

 Will.

Heere's my Gloue: Giue mee another of thine.

 King.

There.

 Will.

This will I alſo weare in my Cap: if euer thou come to me, and ſay, after to morrow, This is my Gloue, by this Hand I will take thee a box on the eare.

 King.

If euer I liue to ſee it, I will challenge it.

 Will.

Thou dar'ſt as well be hang'd.

 King.

Well, I will doe it, though I take thee in the Kings companie.

 Will.

Keepe thy word: fare thee well.

 Bates.

Be friends you Engliſh fooles, be friends, wee haue French Quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

Exit Souldiers. King.

Indeede the French may lay twentie French Crownes to one, they will beat vs, for they beare them on their ſhoulders: but it is no Engliſh Treaſon to cut French Crownes, and to morrow the King himſelfe will be a Clipper.

Vpon the King, let vs our Liues, our Soules, Our Debts, our carefull Wiues, Our Children, and our Sinnes, lay on the King: We muſt beare all. O hard Condition, Twin-borne with Greatneſſe, Subiect to the breath of euery foole, whoſe ſence No more can feele, but his owne wringing. What infinite hearts-eaſe muſt Kings neglect, That priuate men enioy? And what haue Kings, that Priuates haue not too, Saue Ceremonie, ſaue generall Ceremonie? And what art thou, thou Idoll Ceremonie? What kind of God art thou? that ſuffer'ſt more Of mortall griefes, then doe thy worſhippers. What are thy Rents? what are thy Commings in? O Ceremonie, ſhew me but thy worth. What? is thy Soule of Odoration? Art thou ought elſe but Place, Degree, and Forme, Creating awe and feare in other men? Wherein thou art leſſe happy, being fear'd, Then they in fearing. What drink'ſt thou oft, in ſtead of Homage ſweet, But poyſon'd flatterie? O, be ſick, great Greatneſſe, And bid thy Ceremonie giue thee cure. Thinks thou the fierie Feuer will goe out With Titles blowne from Adulation? Will it giue place to flexure and low bending? Canſt thou, when thou command'ſt the beggers knee, Command the health of it? No, thou prowd Dreame, That play'ſt ſo ſubtilly with a Kings Repoſe. I am a King that find thee: and I know, 'Tis not the Balme, the Scepter, and the Ball, The Sword, the Maſe, the Crowne Imperiall, The enter-tiſſued Robe of Gold and Pearle, The farſed Title running 'fore the King, The Throne he ſits on: nor the Tyde of Pompe, That beates vpon the high ſhore of this World: No, not all theſe, thrice-gorgeous Ceremonie; Not all theſe, lay'd in Bed Maieſticall, Can ſleepe ſo ſoundly, as the wretched Slaue: Who with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, Gets him to reſt, cram'd with diſtreſſefull bread, Neuer ſees horride Night, the Child of Hell: But like a Lacquey, from the Riſe to Set, Sweates in the eye of Phebus; and all Night Sleepes in Elizium: next day after dawne, Doth riſe and helpe Hiperio to his Horſe, And followes ſo the euer-running yeere With profitable labour to his Graue: And but for Ceremonie, ſuch a Wretch, Winding vp Dayes with toyle, and Nights with ſleepe, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a King. The Slaue, a Member of the Countreyes peace, Enioyes it; but in groſſe braine little wots, What watch the King keepes, to maintaine the peace; Whoſe howres, the Peſant beſt aduantages. Enter Erpingham. Erp. My Lord, your Nobles iealous of your abſence, Seeke through your Campe to find you. King. Good old Knight, collect them all together At my Tent: Ile be before thee. Erp.

I ſhall doo't, my Lord.

Exit. King. O God of Battailes, ſteele my Souldiers hearts, Poſſeſſe them not with feare: Take from them now The ſence of reckning of th' oppoſed numbers: Pluck their hearts from them. Not to day, O Lord, O not to day, thinke not vpon the fault My Father made, in compaſſing the Crowne. I Richards body haue interred new, And on it haue beſtowed more contrite teares, Then from it iſſued forced drops of blood. Fiue hundred poore I haue in yeerely pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold vp Toward Heauen, to pardon blood: And I haue built two Chauntries, Where the ſad and ſolemne Prieſts ſing ſtill For Richards Soule. More-will I doe: Though all that I can doe, is nothing worth; Since that my Penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. Enter Glouceſter. Glouc.

My Liege.

 King. My Brother Glouceſters voyce? I: I know thy errand, I will goe with thee: The day, my friend, and all things ſtay for me. Exeunt. Enter the Dolphin, Orleance, Ramburs, and Beaumont. Orleance.

The Sunne doth gild our Armour vp, my Lords.

 Dolph.

Monte Cheual: My Horſe, Ʋerlot Lacquay: Ha.

 Orleance.

Oh braue Spirit.

 Dolph.

Viales swes & terre.

Orleance.

Rien puis le air & f • .

Dolph. Coin, Couſin Orleance. Enter Conſtable. Now my Lord Conſtable? Conſt.

Hearke how our Steedes, for preſent Seruice neigh.

 Dolph. Mount them, and make inciſion in their Hides, That their hot blood may ſpin in Engliſh eyes, And doubt them with ſuperfluous courage: ha. Ram. What, wil you haue them weep our Horſes blood? How ſhall we then behold their naturall teares? Enter Meſſenger. Meſſeng.

The Engliſh are embattail'd, you French Peeres.

 Conſt. To Horſe you gallant Princes, ſtraight to Horſe. Doe but behold yond poore and ſtarued Band, And your faire ſhew ſhall ſuck away their Soules, Leauing them but the ſhales and huskes of men. There is not worke enough for all our hands, Scarce blood enough in all their ſickly Veines, To giue each naked Curtleax a ſtayne, That our French Gallant • ſhall to day draw out, And ſheath for lack of ſport. Let vs but blow on them, The vapour of our Valour will o're-turne them. 'Tis poſitiue againſt all exceptions, Lords, That our ſuperfluous Lacquies, and our Peſants, Who in vnneceſſarie action ſwarme About our Squares of Battaile, were enow To purge this field of ſuch a hilding Foe; Though we vpon this Mountaines Baſis by, Tooke ſtand for idle ſpeculation: But that our Honours muſt not. What's to ſay? A very little little let vs doe, And all is done: then let the Trumpets ſound The Tucket Sonnance, and the Note to mount: For our approach ſhall ſo much dare the field, That England ſhall couch downe in feare, and yeeld. Enter Graundpree. Grandpree. Why do you ſtay ſo long, my Lords of France? Yond Iland Carrions, deſperate of their bones, Ill-fauoredly become the Morning field: Their ragged Curtaines poorely are let looſe, And our Ayre ſhakes them paſſing ſcornefully. Bigge Mars ſeemes banqu'rout in their begger'd Hoaſt, And faintly through a ruſtie Beuer peepes. The Horſemen ſit like fixed Candleſticks, With Torch-ſtaues in their hand: and their poore Iades Lob downe their heads, dropping the hides and hips: The gumme downe roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouthes the Iymold Bitt Lyes foule with chaw'd-graſſe, ſtill and motionleſſe. And their executors, the knauiſh Crowes, Flye o're them all, impatient for their howre. Deſcription cannot ſute it ſelfe in words, To demonſtrate the Life of ſuch a Battaile, In life ſo liueleſſe, as it ſhewes it ſelfe. Conſt. They haue ſaid their prayers, And they • ay for death. Dolph. Shall we goe ſend them Dinners, and freſh Sutes, And giue their faſting Horſes Prouender, And after fight with them? Conſt. I ſtay but for my Guard: on To the field, I will the Banner from a Trumpet take, And vſe it for my haſte. Come, come away, The Sunne is high, and we out-weare the day. Exeunt. Enter Glouceſter, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham with all his Hoaſt: Salisbury, and Weſtmerland. Glouc.

Where is the King?

 Bedf.

The King himſelfe is rode to view their Battaile.

 Weſt.

Of fighting men they haue full threeſcore thouſand.

 Exe.

There's fiue to one, beſides they all are freſh.

 Salisb. Gods Arme ſtrike with vs, 'tis a fearefull oddes. God buy' you Princes all; Ile to my Charge: If we no more meet, till we meet in Heauen; Then ioyfully, my Noble Lord of Bedford, My deare Lord Glouceſter, and my good Lord Exeter, And my kind Kinſman, Warriors all, adieu. Bedf. Farwell good Salisbury, & good luck go with thee: And yet I doe thee wrong, to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firme truth of valour. Exe.

Farwell kind Lord: fight valiantly to day.

 Bedf He is as full of Valour as of Kindneſſe, Princely in both. Enter the King. Weſt. O that we now had here But one ten thouſand of thoſe men in England, That doe no worke to day. King. What's he that wiſhes ſo? My Couſin Weſtmerland. No, my faire Couſin: If we are markt to dye, we are enow To doe our Countrey loſſe: and if to liue, The fewer men, the greater ſhare of honour. Gods will, pray thee wiſh not one man more. By Ioue, I am not couetous for Gold, Nor care I who doth ſeed vpon my coſt: It yernes me not, if men my Garments weare; Such outward things dwell not in my deſires. But if it be a ſinne to couet Honor, I am the moſt offending Soule aliue. No 'faith, my Couze, wiſh not a man from England: Gods peace, I would not looſe ſo great an Honor, • one man more me thinkes would ſhare from me, • r the beſt hope I haue. O, doe not wiſh one more: • ther proclaime it (Weſtmerland) through my Hoaſt, • at he which hath no ſtomack to this fight, • t him depart, his Paſport ſhall be made, A • d Crownes for Conuoy put into his Purſe: We would not dye in that mans companie, That feares his fellowſhip, to dye with vs. This day is call'd the Feaſt of Criſpian: He that out-liues this day, and comes ſafe home, Will ſtand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rowie him at the Name of Criſpian. He that ſhall ſee this day, and liue old age, Will yeerely on the Vigil feaſt his neighbours, And ſay, to morrow is Saint Criſpian. Then will he ſtrip his ſleeue, and ſhew his skarres: Old men forget; yet all ſhall be forgot: But hee'le remember, with aduantages, What feats he did that day. Then ſhall our Names, Familiar in his mouth as houſehold words, Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury and Glouceſter, Be in their flowing Cups freſhly remembred. This ſtory ſhall the good man teach his ſonne: And Criſpine Criſpian ſhall ne're goe by, From this day to the ending of the World, But we in it ſhall be remembred; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers: For he to day that ſheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother: be he ne're ſo vile, This day ſhall gentle his Condition▪ And Gentlemen in England, now a bed, Shall thinke the • ſelues accurſt they were not here; And hold their Manhoods cheape, whiles any ſpeakes, That fought with vs vpon Saint Criſpines day. Enter Salisbury. Sal. My Soueraign Lord, beſtow your ſelfe with ſpeed: The French are brauely in their battailes ſet, And will with all expedience charge on vs. King.

All things are ready, if our minds be ſo.

 Weſt.

Periſh the man, whoſe mind is backward now.

 King.

Thou do'ſt not wiſh more helpe from England, Couze?

 Weſt. Gods will, my Liege, would you and I alone, Without more helpe, could fight this Royall battaile. King. Why now thou haſt vnwiſht fiue thouſand men: Which likes me better, then to wiſh vs one. You know your places: God be with you all. Tucket. Enter Montioy. Mont. Once more I come to know of thee King Harry, If for thy Ranſome thou wilt now compound, Before thy moſt aſſured Ouerthrow: For certainly, thou art ſo neere the Gulfe, Thou needs muſt be englutted. Beſides, in mercy The Conſtable deſires thee, thou wilt-mind Thy followers of Repentance; that their Soules May make a peacefull and a ſweet retyre From off theſe fields: where (wretches) their poore bodies Muſt lye and ſeſter. King.

Who hath ſent thee now?

 Mont.

The Conſtable of France.

 King. I pray thee beare my former Anſwer back: Bid them atchieue me, and then ſell my bones. Good God, why ſhould they mock poore fellowes thus? The man that once did ſell the Lyons skin While the beaſt liu'd, was kill'd with hunting him. A many of our bodyes ſhall no doubt Find Natiue Graues: vpon the which, I truſt Shall witneſſe liue in Braſſe of this dayes worke. And thoſe that leaue their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buryed in your Dunghills, They ſhall be fam'd: for there the Sun ſhall greet them, And draw their honors reeking vp to Heauen, Leauing their earthly parts to choake your Clyme, The ſmell whereof ſhall breed a Plague in France. Marke then abounding valour in our Engliſh: That being dead, like to the bullets craſing, Breake out into a ſecond courſe of miſchiefe, Killing in relapſe of Mortalitie. Let me ſpeake prowdly: Tell the Conſtable, We are but Warriors for the working day: Our Gayneſſe and our Gilt are all beſmyrcht With raynie Marching in the painefull field. There's not a piece of feather in our Hoaſt: Good argument (I hope) we will not flye: And time hath worne vs into ſlouenrie. But by the Maſſe, our hearts are in the trim: And my poore Souldiers tell me, yet ere Night, They'le be in freſher Robes, or they will pluck The gay new Coats o're the French Souldiers heads, And turne them out of ſeruice. If they doe this, As if God pleaſe, they ſhall; my Ranſome then Will ſoone be leuyed. Herauld, ſaue thou thy labour: Come thou no more for Ranſome, gentle Herauld, They ſhall haue none, I ſweare, but theſe my ioynts: Which if they haue, as I will leaue vm them, Shall yeeld them little, tell the Conſtable. Mont. I ſhall, King Harry. And ſo fare thee well: Thou neuer ſhalt heare Herauld any more. Exit. King.

I feare thou wilt once more come againe for a Ranſome.

 Enter Yorke. Yorke.

My Lord, moſt humbly on my knee I begge The leading of the Vaward.

 King. Take it, braue Yorke. Now Souldiers march away, And how thou pleaſeſt God, diſpoſe the day. Exeunt. Alarum▪ Excurſions. Enter Piſtoll, French Souldier, Boy. Piſt.

Yeeld Curre.

 French.

Ie penſe que vous eſtes le Gentilhome de bon qualitee.

Piſt.

Qualtitie calmie cuſlure me. Art thou a Gentleman? What is thy Name? diſcuſſe.

 French.

O Seigneur Dieu.

Piſt.

O Signieur Dewe ſhould be a Gentleman: perpend my words O Signieur Dewe, and marke: O Signieur Dewe, thou dyeſt on point of Fox, except O Signieur thou doe giue to me egregious Ranſome.

 French.

O prennes miſerecordie aye pitez de moy.

Piſt.

Moy ſhall not ſerue, I will haue fortie Moyes: for I will fetch thy rymme out at thy Throat, in droppes of Crimſon blood.

 French.

Eſt il impoſſible d'eſchapper le force de ton bras.

Piſt.

Braſſe▪ Curre? thou damned and luxurious Mountaine Goat, offer'ſt me Braſſe?

 French.

O perdonne moy.

Piſt.

Say'ſt thou me ſo? is that a Tonne of Moyes? Come hither boy, aske me this ſlaue in French what is his Name.

 Boy.

Eſcoute comment eſtes vous appelle?

French.

Mounſieur le Fer.

Boy.

He ſayes his Name is M. Fer.

Piſt.

M. Fer: Ile fer him, and firke him, and ferret him: diſcuſſe the ſame in French vnto him.

 Boy.

I doe not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firke.

 Piſt.

Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.

 French.

Que dit il Mounſieur?

 Boy.

Il me commande a vous dire que vous faite vous proſt, car ce ſoldat icy est diſpoſee tout aſture de couppes voſtre gorge.

Piſt.

Owy, cuppele gorge permafoy peſant, vnleſſe thou giue me Crownes, braue Crownes▪ or mangled ſhalt thou be by this my Sword.

 French.

O Ie vous ſupplie pour l'amour de Dieu: ma pardonner, Ie ſuis le Gentilhome de bon maiſon, garde ma vie, & Ie vous donneray deux cent eſcus.

Piſt.

What are his words?

 Boy.

He prayes you to ſaue his life, he is a Gentleman of a good houſe, and for his ranſom he will giue you two hundred Crownes.

 Piſt.

Tell him my fury ſhall abate, and I the Crownes will take.

 Fren.

Petit Monſieur que dit il?

Boy.

Encore qu il et contra ſon Iurement, de pardonner aucune priſonner: neant-mon • pour les eſcues que vous layt a promets, il eſt content a vous donnes lo liberie le franchiſement.

Fre.

Sur mes genoux ſe vous donnes milles remercious, et Ie me eſtime heurex que Ie intombe, entre les main. d'vn Cheualier Ie peuſe le plus brane valiant et tres diſtinie ſignieur d' Anglererre.

Piſt.

Expound vnto me boy.

 Boy.

He giues you vpon his knees a thouſand thanks, and he eſteemes himſelfe happy, that he hath falne into the hands of one (as he thinker) the moſt braue, valorous and thrice-worthy ſigneur of England.

 Piſt.

As I ſucke blood, I will ſome mercy ſhew. Follow mee.

 Boy.

Saaue vous lo grand Capitaine? I did neuer know ſo full a voyce iſſue from ſo emptie a heart: but the ſaying is true. The empty veſſel makes the greateſt ſound, Bardolſe and Nym had tenne times more valour, then this roaring diuell i' th olde play, that euerie one may payre his nayles with a woodden dagger, and they are both hang'd, and ſo would this be, if hee durſt ſteale any thing adueuturouſly. I muſt ſtay with the Lackies with the luggage of our camp, the French might haue a good pray of vs, if he knew of it, for there is none to guard it but boyes.

Exit. Enter Conſtable, Orleance, Burbon, Dolphin, and Ramburs. Con.

O Diable.

Orl.

O ſigneur le iour et perdia, toute et perdie.

Dol. Mor Dieu ma vie, all is confounded all, Reproach, and euerlaſting ſhame Sits mocking in our Plumes. A ſhort Alarum. O meſchante Fortune, do not runne away. Con.

Why all our rankes are broke.

 Dol. O perdurable ſhame, let's ſtab our ſelues: Be theſe the wretches that we plaid at dice for? Orl.

Is this the King we ſent too, for his ranſome?

 Bur. Shame, and eternall ſhame, nothing but ſhame, Let vs dye in once more backe againe, And he that will not follow Burbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand Like a baſe Pander hold the Chamber doore, Whilſt a baſe ſlaue, no gentler then my dogge, His faireſt daughter is contaminated. Con. Diſorder that hath ſpoyl'd vs, friend vs now, Let vs on heapes go offer vp our liues. Orl. We are enow yet liuing in the Field, To ſmother vp the Engliſh in our throngs, If any order might be thought vpon. Bur. The diuell take Order now, Ile to the throng; Let life be ſhort, elſe ſhame will be too long. Exit. Alarum. Enter the King and his trayne, with Priſoners. King. Well haue we done, thrice-valiant Countrimen, But all's not done, yet keepe the French the field. Exe.

The D. of York commends him to your Maieſty

 King. Liues he good Vnckle: thrice within this houre I ſaw him downe; thrice vp againe, and fighting, From Helmet to the ſpurre, all blood he was. Exe. In which array (braue Soldier) doth he lye, Larding the plaine: and by his bloody ſide, (Yoake-fellow to his honour-owing-wounds) The Noble Earle of Suffolke alſo lyes. Suffolke firſt dyed, and Yorke all hagled ouer Comes to him, where in gore he lay inſteeped, And takes him by the Beard, kiſſes the gaſhes That bloodily did yawne vpon his face. He cryes aloud; Tarry my Coſin Suffolke, My ſoule ſhall thine keepe company to heauen: Tarry (ſweet ſoule) for mine, then flye a-breſt: As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our Chiualrie. Vpon theſe words I came, and cheer'd him vp, He ſmil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, And with a feeble gripe, ſayes: Deere my Lord, Commend my ſeruice to my Soueraigne, So did he turne, and ouer Suffolkes necke He threw his wounded arme, and kiſt his lippes, And ſo eſpous'd to death, with blood he ſeal'd A Teſtament of Noble-ending-loue: The prettie and ſweet manner of it forc'd Thoſe waters from me, which I would haue ſtop'd, But I had not ſo much of man in mee, And all my mother came into mine eyes, And gaue me vp to teares. King. I blame you not, For hearing this, I muſt perforce compound With mixtfull eyes, or they will iſſue to. Alarum But hearke, what new alarum is this ſame? The French haue re-enforc'd their ſcatter'd men: Then euery ſouldiour kill his Priſoners, Giue the word through. Exit
Actus Quartus. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Flu.

Kill the poyes and the luggage, 'Tis expreſſely againſt the Law of Armes, tis as arrant a peece of knauery marke you now, as can bee offert in your Conſcience now, is it not?

 Gow.

Tis certaine, there's not a boy left aliue, and the Cowardly Raſcalls that ranne from the battaile ha' done this ſlaughter: beſides they haue burned and carried away all that was in the Kings Tent, wherefore the King moſt worthily hath caus'd euery ſoldiour to cut his priſoners throat. O 'tis a gallant King.

 Flu. I, hee was porne at Monmouth Captaine Gower: What call you the Townes name where Alexander the pig was borne? Gow.

Alexander the Great.

 Flu.

Why I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, ſaue the phraſe is a litle variations.

 Gower.

I thinke Alexander the Great was borne in Macedon, his Father was called Phillip of Macedon, as I take it.

 Flu.

I thinke it is in Macedon where Alexander is porne: I tell you Captaine, if you looke in the Maps of the Orld, I warrant you ſall finde in the compariſons betweene Macedon & Monmouth, that the ſituations looke you, is both alike. There is a Riuer in Macedon, & there is alſo moreouer a Riuer at Monmouth, it is call'd Wye at Monmouth: but it is out of my praines, what is the name of the other Riuer: but 'tis all one, tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is Salmons in both. If you marke Alexanders life well, Harry of Monmouthes life is come after it indifferent well, for there is figures in all things. Alexander God knowes, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his chollers, and his moodes, and his diſpleaſures, and his indignations, and alſo being a little intoxicates in his praines, did in his Ales and his angers (looke you) kill his beſt friend Clytus.

Gow.

Our King is not like him in that, he neuer kill'd any of his friends.

 Flu.

It is not well done (marke you now) to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finiſhed. I ſpeak but in the figures, and compariſons of it: as Alexander kild his friend Clytus, being in his Ales and his Cuppes; ſo alſo Harry Monmouth being in his right wittes, and his good iudgements, turn'd away the fat Knight with the great belly doublet: he was full of ieſts, and gypes, and knaueries, and mockes, I haue forgot his name.

 Gow.

Sir Iohn Falſtaffe.

Flu.

That is he: Ile tell you, there is good men porne at Monmouth.

Gow.

Heere comes his Maieſty.

 Alarum. Enter King Harry and Burbon with priſoners. Flouriſh. King. I was not angry ſince I came to France, Vntill this inſtant. Take a Trumpet Herald, Ride thou vnto the Horſemen on yond hill: If they will fight with vs, bid them come downe, Or voyde the field: they do offend our ſight. If they'l do neither, we will come to them, And make them sker away, as ſwift as ſtones Enforced from the old Aſſyrian ſlings: Beſides, wee'l cut the throats of thoſe we haue, And not a man of them that we ſhall take, Shall taſte our mercy. Go and tell them ſo. Enter Montioy. Exe.

Here comes the Herald of the French, my Liege

 Glou.

His eyes are humbler then they vs'd to be.

 King. How now, what meanes this Herald? Knowſt thou not, That I haue fin'd theſe bones of mine for ranſome? Com'ſt thou againe for ranſome? Her. No great King: I come to thee for charitable Licenſe, That we may wander ore this bloody field, To booke our dead, and then to bury them, To ſort our Nobles from our common men. For many of our Princes (woe the while) Lye drown'd and ſoak'd in mercenary blood: So do our vulgar drench their peaſant limbes In blood of Princes, and with wounded ſteeds Fret fet-locke deepe in gore, and with wilde rage Yerke out their armed heeles at their dead maſters, Killing them twice, O giue vs leaue great King, To view the field in ſafety, and diſpoſe Of their dead bodies. Kin. I tell thee truly Herald, I know not if the day be ours or no, For yet a many of your horſemen peere, And gallop ore the field. Her.

The day is yours.

 Kin. Praiſed be God, and not our ſtrength for it: What is this Caſtle call'd that ſtands hard by. Her.

They call it Agincourt.

King. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Criſpin Criſpianus. Flu.

Your Grandfather of famous memory (an't pleaſe your Maieſty) and your great Vncle Edward the Placke Prince of Wales, as I haue read in the Chronicles, fought a moſt praue pattle here in France.

 Kin.

They did Fluellen.

Flu.

Your Maieſty ſayes very true: If your Maieſties is remembred of it, the Welchmen did good ſeruice in a Garden where Leekes did grow, wearing Leekes in their Monmouth caps, which your Maieſty know to this houre is an honourable badge of the ſeruice: And I do beleeue your Maieſty takes no ſcorne to weare the Leeke vppon S. Tau • es day.

 King. I weare it for a memorable honor: For I am Welch you know good Countriman. Flu.

All the water in Wye, cannot waſh your Maieſties Welſh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: God pleſſe it, and preſerue it; as long as it pleaſes his Grace, and his Maieſty too.

 Kin.

Thankes good my Countrymen.

 Flu.

By leſhu, I am your Maieſties Countreyman, I care not who know it: I will confeſſe it to all the Orld, I need not to be aſhamed of your Maieſty, praiſed be God ſo long as your Maieſty is an honeſt man.

 King. Good keepe me ſo. Enter Williams. Our Heralds go with him, Bring me iuſt notice of the numbers dead On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. Exe.

Souldier, you muſt come to the King.

 Kin.

Souldier, why wear'ſt thou that Gloue in thy Cappe?

 Will.

And't pleaſe your Maieſty, tis the gage of one that I ſhould fight withall, if he be aliue.

 Kin.

An Engliſhman?

 Wil.

And't pleaſe your Maieſty, a Raſcall that ſwagge • 'd with me laſt night: who if aliue, and euer dare to challenge this Gloue, I haue ſworne to take him a boxe a' th ere: or if I can ſee my Gloue in his cappe, which he ſwore as he was a Souldier he would weare (if aliue) I wil ſtrike it out ſoundly.

 Kin.

What thinke you Captaine Fluellen, is it fit this ſouldier keepe his oath.

 Flu.

Hee is a Crauen and a Villaine elſe, and't pleaſe your Maieſty in my conſcience.

 King.

It may bee, his enemy is a Gentleman of great ſort quite from the anſwer of his degree.

 Flu.

Though he be as good a Ientleman as the diuel is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himſelfe, it is neceſſary (looke your Grace) that he keepe his vow and his oath: If hee bee periur'd (ſee you now) his reputation is as arrant a villaine and a lacke ſawce, as euer his blacke ſhoo trodd vpon Gods ground, and his earth, in my conſcience law

 King.

Then keepe thy vow ſirrah, when thou meet'ſt the fellow.

 Wil.

So, I wil my Liege, as I liue.

 King.

Who ſeru'ſt thou vnder?

 Will.

Vnder Captaine Gower, my Liege.

 Flu.

Gower is a good Captaine, and is good knowledge and literatured in the Warres.

 King.

Call him hither to me, Souldier.

 Will.

I will my Liege.

Exit. King.

Here Fluellen, weare thou this fauour for me, and ſticke it in thy Cappe: when Alanſon and my ſelfe were downe together, I plackt this Gloue from his Helme: If any man challenge this, hee is a friend to Alanſon, and an enemy to our Perſon; if thou encounter any ſuch, apprehend him, and thou do'ſt me loue.

 Flu.

Your Grace doo's me as great Honors as can be deſir'd in the hearts of his Subiects: I would faine ſee the man, that ha's but two legges, that ſhall find himſelfe agreeſd at this Gloue; that is all: but I would faine ſee it once, and pleaſe God of his grace that I might ſee.

 King.

Know'ſt thou Gower?

 Flu.

He is my deare friend, and pleaſe you.

 King.

Pray thee goe ſeeke him, and bring him to my Tent.

 Flu.

I will fetch him.

Exit. King. My Lord of Warwick, and my Brother Gloſter, Follow Fluellen cloſely at the heeles. The Gloue which I haue giuen him for a fauour, May haply purchaſe him a box a' th' care. It is the Souldiers: I by bargaine ſhould Weare it my ſelfe. Follow good Couſin Warwick: If that the Souldier ſtrike him, as I iudge By his blunt bearing, he will keepe his word; Some ſodaine miſchiefe may ariſe of it: For I doe know Fluellen valiant, And toucht with Choler, hot as Gunpowder, And quickly will returne an iniurie. Follow, and ſee there be no harme betweene them. Goe you with me, Vnckle of Exeter. Exeunt. Enter Gower and Williams. Will.

I warrant it is to Knight you, Captaine.

 Enter Fluellen. Flu.

Gods will, and his pleaſure, Captaine, I beſeech you now, come apace to the King: there is more good toward you peraduenture, then is in your knowledge to dreame of.

 Will.

Sir, know you this Gloue?

 Flu.

Know the Gloue? I know the Gloue is a Gloue.

 Will.

I know this, and thus I challenge it.

 Strikes him. Flu.

'Sbl • d, an arrant Traytor as anyes in the Vniuerſall World, or in France, or in England.

 Gower.

How now Sir? you Villaine.

 Will.

Doe you thinke Ile be forſworne?

 Flu.

Stand away Captaine Gower, I will giue Treaſon his payment into plowes, I warrant you.

 Will.

I am no Traytor.

 Flu.

That's a Lye in thy Throat. I charge you in his Maieſties Name apprehend him, he's a friend of the Duke Alanſons.

Enter Warwick and Glouceſter. Warw.

How now, how now, what's the matter?

 Flu.

My Lord of Warwick, heere is, prayſed be God for it, a moſt contagious Treaſon come to light, looke you, as you ſhall deſire in a Summers day. Heere is his Maieſtie.

Enter King and Exeter. King.

How now, what's the matter?

 Flu.

My Liege, heere is a Villaine, and a Traytor, that looke your Grace, ha's ſtrooke the Gloue which your Maieſtie is take out of the Helmet of Alanſon.

Will.

My Liege, this was my Gloue, here is the fellow of it: and he that I gaue it to in change, promis'd to weare it in his Cappe: I promis'd to ſtrike him, if he did: I met this man with my Gloue in his Cappe, and I haue been as good as my word.

 Flu.

Your Maieſtie heare now, ſauing your Maieſties Manhood, what an arrant raſcally, beggerly, lowſie Knaue it is: I hope your Maieſtie is peare me teſtimonie and witneſſe, and will auouchment, that this is the Gloue of Alanſon, that your Maieſtie is giue me, in your Conſcience now.

 King. Giue me thy Gloue Souldier; Looke, heere is the fellow of it: 'Twas I indeed thou promiſed'ſt to ſtrike, And thou haſt giuen me moſt bitter termes. Flu.

And pleaſe your Maieſtie, let his Neck anſwere for it, if there is any Marſhall Law in the World.

 King.

How canſt thou make me ſatisfaction?

 Will.

All offences, my Lord, come from the heart: neuer came any from mine, that might offend your Maieſtie.

 King.

It was our ſelfe thou didſt abuſe.

 Will.

Your Maieſtie came not like your ſelfe: you appear'd to me but as a common man; witneſſe the Night, your Garments, your Lowlineſſe: and what your Highneſſe ſuffer'd vnder that ſhape, I beſeech you take it for your owne fau • t, and not mine: for had you beene as I tooke you for, I made no offence; therefore I beſeech your Highneſſe pardon me.

 King. Here Vnckle Exeter, fill this Gloue with Crownes, And giue it to this fellow. Keepe it fellow, And weare it for an Honor in thy Cappe, Till I doe challenge it. Giue him the Crownes: And Captaine, you muſt needs be friends with him. Flu.

By this Day and this Light, the fellow ha's mettell enough in his belly: Hold, there is twelue-pence for you, and I pray you to ſerue God, and keepe you out of prawles and prabbles, and quarrels and diſſentions, and I warrant you it is the better for you.

 Will.

I will none of your Money.

 Flu.

It is with a good will: I can tell you it will ſerue you to mend your ſhooes: come, wherefore ſhould you be ſo paſhfull, your ſhooes is not ſo good: 'tis a good ſilling I warrant you, or I will change it.

 Enter Herauld. King.

Now Herauld, are the dead numbred?

 Herald.

Heere is the number of the ſlaught'red French.

 King.

What Priſoners of good ſort are taken, Vnckle?

 Exe. Charles Duke of Orleance, Nephew to the King, Iohn Duke of Burbon, and Lord Bouchiquald: Of other Lords and Barons, Knights and Squires, Full fifteene hundred, beſides common men. King. This Note doth tell me of ten thouſand French That in the field lye ſlaine: of Princes in this number, And Nobles bearing Banners, there lye dead One hundred twentie ſix: added to theſe, Of Knights, Eſquires, and gallant Gentlemen, Eight thouſand and foure hundred: of the which, Fiue hundred were but yeſterday dubb'd Knights. So that in theſe ten thouſand they haue loſt, There are but ſixteene hundred Mercenaries: The reſt are Princes, Barons, Lords, Knights, Squires, And Gentlemen of bloud and qualitie. The Names of thoſe their Nobles that lye dead: Charles Delabreth, High Conſtable of France, Iaques of Chatilion, Admirall of France, The Maſter of the Croſſe-bowes, Lord Rambures, Great Maſter of France, the braue Sir Guichard Dolphin, Iohn Duke of Alanſon, Anthonie Duke of Brabant, The Brother to the Duke of Burgundie, And Edward Duke of Barr: of luſtie Earles, Grandpree and Rouſſie, Fauconbridge and Foyes, Beaumont and Marle, Vandemont and Leſtrale. Here was a Royall fellowſhip of death. Where is the number of our Engliſh dead? Edward the Duke of Yorke, the Earle of Suffolke, Sir Richard Ketly, Dauy Gam Eſquire; None elſe of name: and of all other men, But fiue and twentie. O God, thy Arme was heere: And not to vs, but to thy Arme alone, Aſcribe we all: when, without ſtratagem, But in plaine ſhock, and euen play of Battaile, Was euer knowne ſo great and little loſſe? On one part and on th' other, take it God, For it is none but thine. Exet.

'Tis wonderfull.

 King. Come, goe me in proceſſion to the Village: And be it death proclaymed through our Hoaſt, To boaſt of this, or take that prayſe from God, Which is his onely. Flu.

Is it not lawfull and pleaſe your Maieſtie, to tell how many is kill'd?

 King. Yes Captaine: but with this acknowledgement, That God fought for vs. Flu.

Yes, my conſcience, he did vs great good.

 King. Doe we all holy Rights: Let there be ſung Non nobis, and Te Deum, The dead with charitie enclos'd in Clay: And then to Callice, and to England then, Where ne're from France arriu'd more happy men. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Chorus. Vouchſafe to thoſe that haue not read the Story, That I may prompt them: and of ſuch as haue, I humbly pray them to admit th' excuſe Of time, of numbers, and due courſe of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life, Be here preſented. Now we beare the King Toward Callice: Graunt him there; there ſeene, Heaue him away vpon your winged thoughts, Athwart the Sea: Behold the Engliſh beach Pales in the flood; with Men, Wiues, and Boyes, Whoſe ſhouts & claps out-voyce the deep-mouth'd Sea, Which like a mightie Whiffler 'fore the King, Seemes to prepare his way: So let him land, And ſolemnly ſee him ſet on to London. So ſwift a pace hath Thought, that euen now You may imagine him vpon Black-Heath: Where, that his Lords deſire him, to haue borne His bruiſed Helmet, and his bended Sword Before him, through the Citie: he forbids it, Being free from vain-neſſe, and ſelfe-glorious pride; Giuing full Trophee, Signall, and Oſtent, Quite from himſelfe, to God. But now behold, In the quick Forge and working-houſe of Thought, How London doth powre out her Citizens, The Maior and all his Brethren in beſt ſort, Like to the Senatours of th' antique Rome, With the Plebeians ſwarming at their heeles, Goe forth and fetch their Conqu'ring Caeſar in: As by a lower, but by louing likelyhood, Were now the Generall of our gracious Empreſſe, As in good time he may, from Ireland comming, Bringing Rebellion broached on his Sword; How many would the peacefull Citie quit, To welcome him? much more, and much more cauſe, Did they this Harry. Now in London place him. As yet the lamentation of the French Inuites the King of Englands ſtay at home: The Emperour's comming in behalfe of France, To order peace betweene them: and omit All the occurrences, what euer chanc't, Till Harryes backe returne againe to France: There muſt we bring him; and my ſelfe haue play'd The interim, by remembring you 'tis paſt. Then brooke abridgement, and your eyes aduance, After your thoughts, ſtraight backe againe to France. Exit. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Gower.

Nay, that's right: but why weare you your Leeke to day? S. Dauies day is paſt.

 Flu.

There is occaſions and cauſes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you aſſe my friend, Captaine Gower; the raſcally, ſcauld, beggerly, lowſie, pragging Knaue Piſtoll, which you and your ſelfe, and all the World, know to be no petter then a fellow, looke you now, of no merits: hee is come to me, and prings me pread and ſault yeſterday, looke you, and bid me eate my Leeke: it was in a place where I could not breed no contention with him; but I will be ſo bold as to weare it in my Cap till I ſee him once againe, and then I will tell him a little piece of my deſires.

 Enter Piſtoll. Gower.

Why heere hee comes, ſwelling like a Turkycock.

 Flu.

'Tis no matter for his ſwellings, nor his Turkycocks. God pleſſe you aunchient Pistoll: you ſcuruie lowſie Knaue, God pleſſe you.

 Piſt.

Ha, art thou bedlam? doeſt thou thirſt, baſe Troian, to haue me fold vp Parcas fatall Web? Hence; I am qualmiſh at the ſmell of Leeke.

 Flu.

I peſeech you heartily, ſcuruie lowſie Knaue, at my deſires, and my requeſts, and my petitions, to eate, looke you, this Leeke; becauſe, looke you, you doe not loue it, nor your affections, and your appetites and your diſgeſtions doo's not agree with it, I would deſire you to eate it.

 Piſt.

Not for Cadwallader and all his Goats.

 Flu. There is one Goat for you. Strikes him. Will you be ſo good, ſcauld Knaue, as eate it? Piſt.

Baſe Troian, thou ſhalt dye.

 Flu.

You ſay very true, ſcauld Knaue, when Gods will is: I will deſire you to liue in the meane time, and eate your Victuals: come, there is ſawce for it. You call'd me yeſterday Mountaine-Squier, but I will make you to day a ſquire of low degree. I pray you fall too, if you can mocke a Leeke, you can eate a Leeke.

 Gour.

Enough Captaine, you haue aſtoniſht him.

 Flu.

I ſay, I will make him eate ſome part of my leeke, or I will peate his pate foure dayes: bite I pray you, it is good for your greene wound, and your ploodie Coxecombe.

 Piſt.

Muſt I bite.

 Flu.

Yes certainly, and out of doubt and out of queſtion too, and ambiguities.

 Piſt.

By this Leeke, I will moſt horribly reuenge I eate and eate I ſweare.

 Flu.

Eate I pray you, will you haue ſome more ſauce to your Leeke: there is not enough Leeke to ſweare by.

 Piſt.

Qu • et thy Cudgell, thou doſt ſee I eate.

 Flu.

Much good do you ſcald knaue, heartily. Nay▪ pray you throw none away, the skinne is good for your broken Coxcombe; when you take occaſions to ſee Leekes heereafter, I pray you mocke at 'em, that is all.

 Piſt.

Good.

 Flu.

I, Leekes is good: hold you, there is a groat to heale your pate.

 Piſt.

Me a groat?

 Flu

Yes verily, and in truth you ſhall take it, or I haue another Leeke in my pocket, which you ſhall eate.

 Piſt.

I take thy groat in earneſt of reuenge.

 Flu.

If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in Cudgels, you ſhall be a Woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels: God bu'y you, and keepe you, & heale your pate.

Exit Piſt.

All hell ſhall ſtirre for this.

 Gow.

Go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly Knaue, will you mocke at an ancient Tradition began vppon an honourable reſpect, and worne as a memorable Trophee of predeceaſed valor, and dare not auouch in your deeds any of your words. I haue ſeene you gleeking & galling at this Gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, becauſe he could not ſpeake Engliſh in the natiue garb, he could not therefore handle an Engliſh Cudgell: you finde it otherwiſe, and henceforth let a Welſh correction, teach you a good Engliſh condition, fare ye well.

Exit Piſt.

Doeth fortune play the huſwife with me now? Newes haue I that my Doll is dead i' th Spittle of a malady of France, and there my rendeuous is quite cut off: Old I do waxe, and from my wearie limbes honour is Cudgeld. Well, Baud Ile turne, and ſomething leane to Cut-purſe of quicke hand: To England will I ſteale, and there Ile ſteale:

And patches will I get vnto theſe cudgeld ſcarres, And ſwore I got them in the Gallia warres. Exit. Enter at one doore, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwicke, and other Lords. At another, Queene Iſabel, the King, the Duke of Bourgougne, and other French. King. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met; Vnto our brother France, and to our Siſter Health and faire time of day: Ioy and good wiſhes To our moſt faire and Princely Coſine Katherine: And as a branch and member of this Royalty, By whom this great aſſembly is contriu'd, We do ſalute you Duke o • Burgogne, And Princes French and Peeres health to you all. 〈◊〉 . Right ioyous are we to behold your face. Moſt worthy brother England, fairely met, So are you Princes (Engliſh) euery one. Quee. So happy be the Iſſue brother Ireland Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, As we are now glad to behold your eyes, Your eyes which hitherto haue borne In them againſt the French that met them in their bent, The fatall Balls of murthering Baſiliskes: The venome of ſuch Lookes we fairely hope Haue loſt their qualitie, and that this day Shall change all griefes and quarrels into loue. Eng.

To cry A men to that, thus we appeare.

 Quee.

You Engliſh Princes all, I doe ſalute you.

 Burg. My dutie to you both, on equall loue. Great Kings of France and England: that I haue labour'd With all my wits, my paines, and ſtrong endeuors, To bring your moſt Imperiall Maieſties Vnto this Barre, and Royall enterview; Your Mightineſſe on both parts beſt can witneſſe. Since then my Office hath ſo farre preuayl'd, That Face to Face, and Royall Eye to Eye, You haue congreeted: let it not diſgrace me, If I demand before this Royall view, What Rub, or what Impediment there is, Why that the naked, poore, and mangled Peace, Deare Nourſe of Arts, Plentyes, and ioyfull Births, Should not in this beſt Garden of the World, Our fertile France, put vp her louely Viſage? Alas, ſhee hath from France too long been chas'd, And all her Husbandry doth lye on heapes, Corrupting in it owne fertilitie. Her Vine, the merry chearer of the heart, Vnpruned, dyes: her Hedges euen pleach'd, Like Priſoners wildly ouer-growne with hayre, Put forth diſorder'd Twigs: her fallow Leas, The Darnell, Hemlock, and • anke Femetary, Doth too • vpon; while that the Culter ruſts, That ſhould de • acinate ſuch Sauagery: The euen Meade, that erſt brought ſweetly forth The freckled Cowſlip, Burnet, and greene Clouer, Wanting the Sythe, withall vncorrected, ranke; Conceiues by idleneſſe, and nothing teemes, But hatefull Docks, rough Thiſtles, Kekſyes, Burres, Looſing both beautie and vtilitie; And all our Vineyards, Fallowes, Meades, and Hedges, Defectiue in their natures, grow to wildneſſe. Euen ſo our Houſes, and our ſelues, and Children, Haue loſt, or doe not learne, for want of time, The Sciences that ſhould become our Countrey; But grow like Sauages, as Souldiers will, That nothing doe▪ but meditate on Blood, To Swearing, and ſterne Lookes, defus'd Attyre, And euery thing that ſeemes vnnaturall. Which to reduce into our former fauour, You are aſſembled: and my ſpeech entreats, That I may know the Let why gentle Peace Should not expell theſe inconueniences, And bleſſe vs with her former qualities. Eng. If Duke of Burgonie, you would the Peace, Whoſe want giues growth to th' imperfections Which you haue cited; you muſt buy that Peace With full accord to all our iuſt demands, Whoſe Tenures and particular effects You haue enſchedul'd briefely in your hands. Burg. The King hath heard them: to the which, as yet There is no Anſwer made. Eng. Well then: the Peace which you before ſo vrg'd, Lyes in his Anſwer. France. I haue but with a curſelarie eye O're-glanc't the Articles: Pleaſeth your Grace To appoint ſome of your Councell preſently To ſit with vs once more, with better heed To re-ſuruey them; we will ſuddenly Paſſe our accept and peremptorie Anſwer. England. Brother we ſhall. Goe Vnckle Exeter, And Brother Clarence, and you Brother Glouceſter, Warwick, and Huntington, goe with the King, And take with you free power, to ratifie, Augment, or alter, as your Wiſdomes beſt Shall ſee aduantageable for our Dignitie, Any thing in or out of our Demands, And wee'le conſigne thereto. Will you, faire Siſter, Goe with the Princes, or ſtay here with vs? Quee. Our gracious Brother, I will goe with them: Happily a Womans Voyce may doe ſome good, When Articles too nicely vrg'd, be ſtood on. England. Yet leaue our Couſin Katherine here with vs, She is our capitall Demand, compris'd Within the fore-ranke of our Articles. Quee.

She hath good leaue.

Exeunt omnes. Manet King and Katherine. King. Faire Katherine, and moſt faire, Will you vouchſafe to teach a Souldier tearmes, Such as will enter at a Ladyes eare, And pleade his Loue-ſuit to her gentle heart. Kath.

Your Maieſtie ſhall mock at me, I cannot ſpeake your England.

 King.

O faire Katherine, if you will loue me ſoundly with your French heart, I will be glad to heare you confeſſe it brokenly with your Engliſh Tongue. Doe you like me, Kate?

 Kath.

Pardonne moy, I cannot tell wat is like me.

 King.

An Angell is like you Kate, and you are like an Angell.

 Kath.

Que dit il que Ie ſuis ſemblable a les Anges?

 Lady.

Ouy verayment (ſauf voſtre Grace) ainſi dit il.

King.

I ſaid ſo, deare Katherine, and I muſt not bluſh to affirme it.

 Kath.

O bon Dieu, les langues des hommes ſont plein de tromperies.

King.

What ſayes ſhe, faire one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits?

 Lady.

Ouy, dat de tongeus of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de Princeſſe.

 King.

The Princeſſe is the better Engliſh-woman: yfaith Kate, my wooing is fit for thy vnderſtanding, I am glad thou canſt ſpeake no better Engliſh, for if thou could'ſt, thou would'ſt finde me ſuch a plaine King, that thou wouldſt thinke, I had ſold my Farme to buy my Crowne. I know no wayes to mince it in loue, but directly to ſay, I loue you; then if you vrge me farther, then to ſay, Doe you in faith? I weare out my ſuite: Giue me your anſwer, yfaith doe, and ſo clap hands, and a bargaine: how ſay you, Lady?

 Kath.

Sauf voſtre honeur, me vnderſtand well.

 King.

Marry, if you would put me to Verſes, or to Dance for your ſake, Kate, why you vndid me: for the one I haue neither words nor meaſure; and for the other, I haue no ſtrength in meaſure, yet a reaſonable meaſure in ſtrength. If I could winne a Lady at Leape-frogge, or by vawting into my Saddle, with my Armour on my backe; vnder the correction of bragging: be it ſpoken. I ſhould quickly leape into a Wife: Or if I might buffet for my Loue, or bound my Horſe for her fauours, I could lay on like a Butcher, and ſit like a Iack an Apes, neuer off. But before God Kate, I cannot looke greenely, nor gaſpe out my eloquence, nor I haue no cunning in proteſtation; onely downe-right Oathes, which I neuer vſe till vrg'd, nor neuer breake for vrging. If thou canſt loue a fellow of this temper, Kate, whoſe face is not worth Sunne-burning? that neuer lookes in his Glaſſe, for loue of any thing he ſees there? let thine Eye be thy Cooke. I ſpeake to thee plaine Souldier: If thou canſt loue me for this, take me? if not? to ſay to thee that I ſhall dye, is true; but for thy loue, by the L. No: yet I loue thee too. And while thou liu'ſt, deare Kate, take a fellow of plaine and vncoyned Conſtancie, for he perforce muſt do thee right, becauſe he hath not the gift to wooe in other places: for theſe fellowes of infinit tongue, that can ryme themſelues into Ladyes ſauours, they doe alwayes reaſon themſelues out againe. What? a ſpeaker is but a prater, a Ryme is but a Ballad; a good Legge will fall, a ſtrait Backe will ſtoope, a blacke Beard will turne white, a curl'd Pate will grow bald, a faire Face will wither, a full Eye will wax hollow: but a good Heart, Kate, is the Sunne and the Moone, or rather the Sunne, and not the Moone; for it ſhines bright, and neuer changes, but keepes his courſe truly. If thou would haue ſuch a one, take me? and take me; take a Souldier: take a Souldier; take a King. And what ſay'ſt thou then to my Loue? ſpeake my faire, and fairely, I pray thee.

 Kath.

Is it poſſible dat I ſould loue de ennemie of Fraunce?

 King.

No, it is not poſſible you ſhould loue the Enemie of France, Kate; but in louing me, you ſhould loue the Friend of France: for I loue France ſo well, that I will not part with a Village of it; I will haue it all mine: and Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours; then yours is France, and you are mine.

 Kath.

I cannot tell wat is dat.

 King.

No, Kate? I will tell thee in French, which I am ſure will hang vpon my tongue, like a new-married Wife about her Husbands Necke, hardly to be ſhooke off; Ie quand ſur le poſſeſſion de Fraunce, & quand vous aues le poſſeſſion de moy. (Let mee ſee, what then? Saint Dennis bee my ſpeede) Donc voſtre eſt Fraunce, & vous eſtes mienne. It is as eaſie for me, Kate, to conquer the Kingdome, as to ſpeake ſo much more French: I ſhall neuer moue thee in French, vnleſſe it be to laugh at me.

 Kath.

Sauf voſtre honeur, le Francois ques vous parleis, il & melieus que l' Anglois le quel Ie parle.

King.

No faith is't not, Kate: but thy ſpeaking of my Tongue, and I thine, moſt truely falſely, muſt needes be graunted to be much at one. But Kate, doo'ſt thou vnderſtand thus much Engliſh? Canſt thou loue mee?

 Kath.

I cannot tell.

 King.

Can any of your Neighbours tell, Kate? Ile aske them. Come, I know thou loueſt me: and at night, when you come into your Cloſet, you'le queſtion this Gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her diſprayſe thoſe parts in me, that you loue with your heart: but good Kate, mocke me mercifully, the rather gentle Princeſſe, becauſe I loue thee cruelly. If euer thou beeſt mine, Kate, as I haue a ſauing Faith within me tells me thou ſhalt; I get thee with skambling, and thou muſt therefore needes proue a good Souldier-breeder: Shall not thou and I, betweene Saint Dennis and Saint George, compound a Boy, halfe French halfe Engliſh, that ſhall goe to Conſtantinople, and take the Turke by the Beard. Shall wee not? what ſay'ſt thou, my faire Flower-de-Luce.

 Kate.

I doe not know dat.

 King.

No: 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promiſe: doe but now promiſe Kate, you will endeauour for your French part of ſuch a Boy; and for my Engliſh moytie, take the Word of a King, and a Batcheler. How anſwer you. La plus belle Katherine du monde mon treſcher & deuin deeſſe.

Kath.

Your Maieſtee aue fauſe Frenche enough to deceiue de moſt ſage Damoiſcil dat is en Fraunce.

 King.

Now fye vpon my falſe French: by mine Honor in true Engliſh, I loue thee Kate; by which Honor, I dare not ſweare thou loueſt me, yet my blood begins to flatter me, that thou doo'ſt; notwithſtanding the poore and vntempering effect of my Viſage. Now beſhrew my Fathers Ambition, hee was thinking of Ciuill Warres when hee got me, therefore was I created with a ſtubborne out-ſide, with an aſpect of Iron, that when I come to wooe Ladyes, I fright them: but in faith Kate, the elder I wax, the better I ſhall appeare. My comfort is, that Old Age, that ill layer vp of Beautie, can doe no more ſpoyle vpon my Face. Thou haſt me, if thou haſt me, at the worſt; and thou ſhalt weare me, if thou weare me, better and better: and therefore tell me, moſt faire Katherine, will you haue me? Put off your Maiden Bluſhes, auouch the Thoughts of your Heart with the Lookes of an Empreſſe, take me by the Hand, and ſay, Harry of England, I am thine: which Word thou ſhalt no ſooner bleſſe mine Eare withall, but I will tell thee alowd, England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantaginet is thine; who, though I ſpeake it before his Face, if he be not Fellow with the beſt King, thou ſhalt finde the beſt King of Good-fellowes. Come your Anſwer in broken Muſick; for thy Voyce is Muſick, and thy Engliſh broken: Therefore Queene of all, Katherine, breake thy minde to me in broken Engliſh; wilt thou haue me?

 Kath.

Dat is as it ſhall pleaſe de Roy mon pere.

King.

Nay, it will pleaſe him well, Kate; it ſhall pleaſe him, Kate.

Kath.

Den it fall alſo content me.

 King.

Vpon that I kiſſe your Hand, and I call you my Queene.

 Kath.

Laiſſe mon Seigneur, laiſſe, laiſſe, may foy: Ie ne veus point que vous abbaiſſe voſtre grandeus, en baiſant le main d'une nostre Seigneur indignie ſeruiteur excuſe moy. Ie vous ſupplie mon treſ-puiſſant Seigneur.

King.

Then I will kiſſe your Lippes, Kate.

Kath.

Les Dames & Damoiſels pour eſtre baiſee deuant leur nopceſe il net pas le coſtume de Fraunce.

King.

Madame, my Interpreter, what ſayes ſhee?

 Lady.

Dat it is not be de faſhon pour le Ladies of Fraunce; I cannot tell wat is buiſſe en Angliſh.

 King.

To kiſſe.

 Lady.

Your Maieſtee entendre bettre que moy.

King.

It is not a faſhion for the Maids in Fraunce to kiſſe before they are marryed, would ſhe ſay?

 Lady.

Ouy verayment.

King.

O Kate, nice Cuſtomes curſie to great Kings. Deare Kate, you and I cannot bee confin'd within the weake Lyſt of a Countreyes faſhion: wee are the makers of Manners, Kate; and the libertie that followes our Places, ſtoppes the mouth of all finde-faults, as I will doe yours, for vpholding the nice faſhion of your Countrey, in denying me a Kiſſe: therefore patiently, and yeelding. You haue Witch-craft in your Lippes, Kate: there is more eloquence in a Sugar touch of them, then in the Tongues of the French Councell; and they ſhould ſooner perſwade Harry of England, then a generall Petition of Monarchs. Heere comes your Father.

 Enter the French Power, and the Engliſh Lords. Burg.

God ſaue your Maieſtie, my Royall Couſin, teach you our Princeſſe Engliſh?

 King.

I would haue her learne, my faire Couſin, how perfectly I loue her, and that is good Engliſh.

 Burg.

Is ſhee not apt?

 King.

Our Tongue is rough, Coze, and my Condition is not ſmooth: ſo that hauing neyther the Voyce nor the Heart of Flatterie about me, I cannot ſo coniure vp the Spirit of Loue in her, that hee will appeare in his true likeneſſe.

 Burg.

Pardon the frankneſſe of my mirth, if I anſwer you for that. If you would coniure in her, you muſt make a Circle: if coniure vp Loue in her in his true likeneſſe, hee muſt appeare naked, and blinde. Can you blame her then, being a Maid, yet ros'd ouer with the Virgin Crimſon of Modeſtie, if ſhee deny the apparance of a naked blinde Boy in her naked ſeeing ſelfe? It were (my Lord) a hard Condition for a Maid to conſigne to.

 King.

Yet they doe winke and yeeld, as Loue is blind and enforces.

 Burg.

They are then excus'd, my Lord, when they ſee not what they doe.

 King.

Then good my Lord, teach your Couſin to conſent winking.

 Burg.

I will winke on her to conſent, my Lord, if you will teach her to know my meaning: for Maides well Summer'd, and warme kept, are like Flyes at Bartholomew-tyde, blinde, though they haue their eyes, and then they will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on.

 King.

This Morall tyes me ouer to Time, and a hot Summer; and ſo I ſhall catch the Flye, your Couſin, in the latter end, and ſhee muſt be blinde to.

 Burg.

As Loue is my Lord, before it loues.

 King.

It is ſo: and you may, ſome of you, thanke Loue for my blindneſſe, who cannot ſee many a faire French Citie for one faire French Maid that ſtands in my way.

 French King.

Yes my Lord, you ſee them perſpectiuely: the Cities turn'd into a Maid; for they are all gyrdled with Maiden Walls, that Warre hath entred.

 England.

Shall Kate be my Wife?

 France.

So pleaſe you.

 England.

I am content, ſo the Maiden Cities you talke of, may wait on her: ſo the Maid that ſtood in the way for my Wiſh, ſhall ſhew me the way to my Will.

 France.

Wee haue conſented to all tearmes of reaſon.

 England.

Is't ſo, my Lords of England?

 Weſt. The King hath graunted euery Article: His Daughter firſt; and in ſequele, all, According to their firme propoſed natures. Exet. Onely he hath not yet ſubſcribed this: Where your Maieſtie demands, That the King of France hauing any occaſion to write for matter of Graunt, ſhall name your Highneſſe in this forme, and with this addition, in French: Noſtre treſcher filz Henry Roy d' Angleterre Heretere de Fraunce: and thus in Latine; Praeclariſſimus Filius noſter Henricus Rex Angliae & Heres Franciae. France. Nor this I haue not Brother ſo deny'd, But your requeſt ſhall make me let it paſſe. England. I pray you then, in loue and deare allyance, Let that one Article ranke with the reſt, And thereupon giue me your Daughter. France. Take her faire Sonne, and from her blood rayſe vp Iſſue to me, that the contending Kingdomes Of France and England, whoſe very ſhoares looke pale, With enuy of each others happineſſe, May ceaſe their hatred; and this deare Coniunction Plant Neighbour-hood and Chriſtian-like accord In their ſweet Boſomes: that neuer Warre aduance His bleeding Sword 'twixt England and faire France. Lords.

Amen.

 King. Now welcome Kate: and beare me witneſſe all, That here I kiſſe her as my Soueraigne Queene. Flouriſh. Quee. God, the beſt maker of all Marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your Realmes in one: As Man and Wife being two, are one in loue, So be there 'twixt your Kingdomes ſuch a Spouſall, That neuer may ill Office, or fell Iealouſie, Which troubles oft the Bed of bleſſed Marriage, Thruſt in betweene the Pation of theſe Kingdomes, To make diuorce of their incorporate League: That Engliſh may as French, French Engliſhmen, Receiue each other. God ſpeake this Amen. All.

Amen.

 King. Prepare we for our Marriage: on which day, My Lord of Burgundy wee'le take your Oath And all the Peeres, for ſuretie of our Leagues. Then ſhall I ſweare to Kate, and you to me, And may our Oathes well kept and proſp'rous be. Senet. Exeunt. Enter Chorus. Thus farre with rough, and all-vnable Pen, Our bending Author hath purſu'd the Story, In little roome confining mightie men, Mangling by ſtarts the full courſe of their glory. Small time: but in that ſmall, moſt greatly liued This Starre of England. Fortune made his Sword; By which, the Worlds beſt Garden he atchieued: And of it left his Sonne Imperiall Lord. Henry the Sixt, in Infant Bands crown'd King Of France and England, did this King ſucceed: Whoſe State ſo many had the managing, That they loſt France, and made his England bleed: Which oft our Stage hath ſhowne; and for their ſake, In your faire minds let this acceptance take.
FINIS.
The firſt Part of Henry the Sixt.
Actus Primus.
Scoena Prima. Dead March. Enter the Funerall of King Henry the Fift, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloſter, Protector; the Duke of Exeter Warwicke, the Biſhop of Wincheſter, and the Duke of Somerſet. Bedford. HVng be ye heauens with black, yield day to night; Comets importing change of Times and States, Brandiſh your cryſtall Treſſes in the Skie, And with them ſcourge the bad reuolting Stars, That haue conſented vnto Henries death: King Henry the Fift, too famous to liue long, England ne're loſt a King of ſo much worth. Gloſt. England ne're had a King vntill his time: Vertue he had, deſeruing to command, His brandiſht Sword did blinde men with his beames, His Armes ſpred wider then a Dragons Wings: His ſparkling Eyes, repleat with wrathfull fire, More dazled and droue back his Enemies, Then mid-day Sunne, fierce bent againſt their faces. What ſhould I ſay? his Deeds exceed all ſpeech: He ne're lift vp his Hand, but conquered. Exe. We mourne in black, why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead, and neuer ſhall reuiue: Vpon a Woodden Coffin we attend; And Deaths diſhonourable Victorie, We with our ſtately preſence glorifie, Like Captiues bound to a Triumphant Carre. What? ſhall we curſe the Planets of Miſhap, That plotted thus our Glories ouerthrow? Or ſhall we thinke the ſubtile-witted French, Coniurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him, By Magick Verſes haue contriu'd his end. Winch. He was a King, bleſt of the King of Kings. Vnto the French, the dreadfull Iudgement-Day So dreadfull will not be, as was his ſight. The Battailes of the Lord of Hoſts he fought: The Churches Prayers made him ſo proſperous. Gloſt. The Church? where is it? Had not Church-men pray'd, His thred of Life had not ſo ſoone decay'd. None doe you like, but an effeminate Prince, Whom like a Schoole-boy you may ouer-awe. Winch. Gloſter, what ere we like, thou art Protector, And lookeſt to command the Prince and Realme. Thy Wife is prowd, ſhe holdeth thee in awe, More then God or Religious Church-men may. Gloſt. Name not Religion, for thou lou'ſt the Fleſh, And ne're throughout the yeere to Church thou go'ſt, Except it be to pray againſt thy foes. Bed. Ceaſe, ceaſe theſe Iarres, & reſt your minds in peace: Let's to the Altar: Heralds wayt on vs; In ſtead of Gold, wee'le offer vp our Armes, Since Armes auayle not, now that Henry's dead, Poſteritie await for wretched yeeres, When at their Mothers moiſtned eyes, Babes ſhall ſuck, Our Ile be made a Nouriſh of ſalt Teares, And none but Women left to wayle the dead. Henry the Fift, thy Ghoſt I inuocate: Proſper this Realme, keepe it from Ciuill Broyles, Combat with aduerſe Planets in the Heauens; A farre more glorious Starre thy Soule will make, Then Iulius Caeſar, bright— Enter a Meſſenger. Meſſ. My honourable Lords, health to you all: Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loſſe, of ſlaughter, and diſcomfiture: Guyen, Champaigne, Rheimes, Orleance, Paris, Guyſors, Poictiers, are all quite loſt. Bedf. What ſay'ſt thou man, before dead Henry's Coarſe? Speake ſoftly, or the loſſe of thoſe great Townes Will make him burſt his Lead, and riſe from death. Glost. Is Paris loſt? is Roan yeelded vp? If Henry were recall'd to life againe, Theſe news would cauſe him once more yeeld the Ghoſt. Exe.

How were they loſt? what trecherie was vs'd?

 Meſſ. No trecherie, but want of Men and Money. Amongſt the Souldiers this is muttered, That here you maintaine ſeuerall Factions: And whil'ſt a Field ſhould be diſpatcht and fought, You are diſputing of your Generals. One would haue lingring Warres, with little coſt; Another would flye ſwift, but wanteth Wings: A third thinkes, without expence at all, By guilefull faire words, Peace may be obtayn'd. Awake, awake, Engliſh Nobilitie, Let not ſlouth dimme your Honors, new begot; Cropt are the Flower-de-Luces in your Armes Of Englands Coat, one halfe is cut away. Exe. Were our Teares wanting to this Funerall, Theſe Tidings would call forth her flowing Tides. Bedf. Me they concerne, Regent I am of France: Giue me my ſteeled Coat, Ile fight for France. Away with theſe diſgracefull wayling Robes; Wounds will I lend the French, in ſtead of Eyes, To weepe their intermiſſiue Miſeries. Enter to them another Meſſenger. Meſſ. Lords view theſe Letters, full of bad miſchance. France is reuolted from the Engliſh quite, Except ſome petty Townes, of no import. The Dolphin Charles is crowned King in Rheimes: The Baſtard of Orleance with him is ioyn'd: Reynold, Duke of Aniou, doth take his part, The Duke of Alanſon flyeth to his ſide. Exit. Exe. The Dolphin crown'd King? all flye to him? O whither ſhall we flye from this reproach? Gloſt. We will not flye, but to our enemies throats. Bedford, if thou be ſlacke, Ile fight it out. Bed. Gloſter, why doubtſt thou of my forwardneſſe? An Army haue I muſter'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is ouer-run. Enter another Meſſenger. Meſ. My gracious Lords, to adde to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henries hearſe, I muſt informe you of a diſmall fight, Betwixt the ſtout Lord Talbot, and the French. Win.

What? wherein Talbot ouercame, is't ſo?

 3. Meſ. O no: wherein Lord Talbot was o'rethrown: The circumſtance Ile tell you more at large. The tenth of Auguſt laſt, this dreadfull Lord, Retyring from the Siege of Orleance, Hauing full ſcarce ſix thouſand in his troupe, By three and twentie thouſand of the French Was round incompaſſed, and ſet vpon: No leyſure had he to enranke his men. He wanted Pikes to ſet before his Archers: In ſtead whereof, ſharpe Stakes pluckt out of Hedges They pitched in the ground confuſedly, To keepe the Horſemen off, from breaking in. More then three houres the fight continued: Where valiant Talbot, aboue humane thought, Enacted wonders with his Sword and Lance. Hundreds he ſent to Hell, and none durſt ſtand him: Here, there, and euery where enrag'd, he ſlew. The French exclaym'd, the Deuill was in Armes, All the whole Army ſtood agaz'd on him. His Souldiers ſpying his vndaunted Spirit, A Talbot, a Talbot, cry'd out amaine, And ruſht into the Bowels of the Battaile. Here had the Conqueſt fully been ſeal'd vp, If Sir Iohn Falſtaffe had not play'd the Coward. He being in the Vauward, plac't behinde, With purpoſe to relieue and follow them, Cowardly fled, not hauing ſtruck one ſtroake. Hence grew the generall wrack and maſſacre: Encloſed were they with their Enemies. A baſe Wallon, to win the Dolphins grace, Thruſt Talbot with a Speare into the Back, Whom all France, with their chiefe aſſembled ſtrength, Durſt not preſume to looke once in the face. Bedf. Is Talbot ſlaine then? I will ſlay my ſelfe, For liuing idly here, in pompe and eaſe, Whil'ſt ſuch a worthy Leader, wanting ayd, Vnto his daſtard foe-men is betray'd. 3. Meſſ. O no, he liues, but is tooke Priſoner, And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerfor • : Moſt of the reſt ſlaughter'd, or tooke likewiſe. Bedf. His Ranſome there is none but I ſhall pay. Ile hale the Dolphin headlong from his Throne, His Crowne ſhall be the Ranſome of my friend: Foure of their Lords Ile change for one of ours. Farwell my Maſters, to my Taske will I, Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keepe our great Saint Georges Feaſt withall. Ten thouſand Souldiers with me I will take, Whoſe bloody deeds ſhall make all Europe quake. 3. Meſſ. So you had need, for Orleance is beſieg'd, The Engliſh Army is growne weake and faint: The Earle of Salisbury craueth ſupply, And hardly keepes his men from mutinie, Since they ſo few, watch ſuch a multitude. Exe. Remember Lords your Oathes to Henry ſworne: Eyther to quell the Dolphin vtterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoake. Bedf. I doe remember it, and here take my leaue, To goe about my preparation. Exit Bedford. Gloſt. Ile to the Tower with all the haſt I can, To view th' Artillerie and Munition, And then I will proclayme young Henry King. Exit Gloſter. Exe. To Eltam will I, where the young King is, Being ordayn'd his ſpeciall Gouernor, And for his ſafetie there Ile beſt deuiſe. Exit. Winch. Each hath his Place and Function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remaines: But long I will not be Iack out of Office▪ The King from Eltam I intend to ſend. And ſit at chiefeſt Sterne of publique Weale. Exit. Sound a Flouriſh. Enter Charles, Alanſon, and Reigneir, marching with Drum and Souldiers. Charles. Mars his true mouing, euen as in the Heauens, So in the Earth, to this day is not knowne. Late did he ſhine vpon the Engliſh ſide: Now we are Victors, vpon vs he ſmiles. What Townes of any moment, but we haue? At pleaſure here we lye, neere Orleance: Otherwhiles, the famiſht Engliſh, like pale Ghoſts, Faintly beſiege vs one houre in a moneth. Alan. They want their Porredge, & their fat Bul Beeues: Eyther they muſt be dyeted like Mules, And haue their Prouender ty'd to their mouthes, Or pitteous they will looke, like drowned Mice. Reigneir. Let's rayſe the Siege: why liue we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to feare: Remayneth none but mad-brayn'd Salisbury, And he may well in fretting ſpend his gall, Nor men nor Money hath he to make Warre. Charles. Sound, ſound Alarum, we will ruſh on them. Now for the honour of the forlorne French: Him I forgiue my death, that killeth me, When he ſees me goe back one foot, or flye. Exeunt. Here Alarum, they are beaten back by the Engliſh, with great loſſe. Enter Charles, Alarſon, and Reigneir. Charles. Who euer ſaw the like? what men haue I? Dogges, Cowards, Daſtards: I would ne're haue fled, But that they left me 'midſt my Enemies. Reigneir. Salisbury is a deſperate Homicide, He fighteth as one weary of his life: The other Lords, like Lyons wanting foode, Doe ruſh vpon vs as their hungry prey. Alanſon. Froyſard, a Countreyman of ours, records, England all Oliuers and Rowlands breed, During the time Edward the third did raigne: More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samſons and Goliaſſes It ſendeth forth to skirmiſh: one to tenne? Leane raw-bon'd Raſcals, who would e're ſuppoſe, They had ſuch courage and audacitie? Charles. Let's leaue this Towne, For they are hayre-brayn'd Slaues, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their Teeth The Walls they'le teare downe, then forſake the Siege. Reigneir. I thinke by ſome odde Gimmors or Deuice Their Armes are ſet, like Clocks, ſtill to ſtrike on; Elſe ne're could they hold out ſo as they doe: By my conſent, wee'le euen let them alone. Alanſon.

Be it ſo.

 Enter the Baſtard of Orleance. Baſtard.

Where's the Prince Dolphin? I haue newes for him.

 Dolph.

Baſtard of Orleance, thrice welcome to vs.

 Baſt. Me thinks your looks are ſad, your chear appal'd. Hath the late ouerthrow wrought this offence? Be not diſmay'd, for ſuccour is at hand: A holy Maid hither with me I bring, Which by a Viſion ſent to her from Heauen, Ordayned is to rayſe this tedious Siege, And driue the Engliſh forth the bounds of France: The ſpirit of deepe Prophecie ſhe hath, Exceeding the nine Sibyls of old Rome: What's paſt, and what's to come, ſhe can deſcry. Speake, ſhall I call her in? beleeue my words, For they are certaine, and vnfallible Dolph. Goe call her in: but firſt, to try her skill, Reignier ſtand thou as Dolphin in my place; Queſtion her prowdly, let thy Lookes be ſterne, By this meanes ſhall we found what skill ſhe hath. Enter Ioane Puzel. Reigneir.

Faire Maid, is't thou wilt doe theſe wondrous feats?

 Puzel. Reignier, is't thou that thinkeſt to beguile me? Where is the Dolphin? Come, come from behinde, I know thee well, though neuer ſeene before. Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me; In priuate will I talke with thee apart: Stand back you Lords, and giue vs leaue a while. Reigneir.

She takes vpon her brauely at firſt daſh.

 Puzel. Dolphin, I am by birth a Shepheards Daughter, My wit vntrayn'd in any kind of Art: Heauen and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd To ſhine on my contemptible eſtate. Loe, whileſt I wayted on my tender Lambes, And to Sunnes parching heat diſplay'd my cheekes, Gods Mother deigned to appeare to me, And in a Viſion full of Maieſtie, Will'd me to leaue my baſe Vocation, And free my Countrey from Calamitie: Her ayde ſhe promis'd, and aſſur'd ſucceſſe. In compleat Glory ſhee reueal'd her ſelfe: And whereas I was black and ſwart before, With thoſe cleare Rayes, which ſhee infus'd on me, That beautie am I bleſt with, which you may ſee. Aske me what queſtion thou canſt poſſible, And I will anſwer vnpremeditated: My Courage trie by Combat, if thou dar'ſt, And thou ſhalt finde that I exceed my Sex. Reſolue on this, thou ſhalt be fortunate, If thou receiue me for thy Warlike Mate. Dolph. Thou haſt aſtoniſht me with thy high termes: Onely this proofe Ile of thy Valour make, In ſingle Combat thou ſhalt buckle with me; And if thou vanquiſheſt, thy words are true, Otherwiſe I renounce all confidence. Puzel. I am prepar'd: here is my keene-edg'd Sword, Deckt with fine Flower-de-Luces on each ſide, The which at Touraine, in S. Katherines Church-yard, Out of a great deale of old Iron, I choſe forth. Dolph.

Then come a Gods name, I feare no woman.

 Puzel.

And while I liue, Ile ne're flye from a man.

 Here they fight, and Ioane de Puzel ouercomes. Dolph. Stay, ſtay thy hands, thou art an Amazon, And fighteſt with the Sword of Debora. Puzel.

Chriſts Mother helpes me, elſe I were too weake.

 Dolph. Who e're helps thee, 'tis thou that muſt help me: Impatiently I burne with thy deſire, My heart and hands thou haſt at once ſubdu'd. Excellent Puzel, if thy name be ſo, Let me thy ſeruant, and not Soueraigne be, 'Tis the French Dolphin ſueth to thee thus. Puzel. I muſt not yeeld to any rights of Loue, For my Profeſſion's ſacred from aboue: When I haue chaſed all thy Foes from hence, Then will I thinke vpon a recompence. Dolph.

Meane time looke gracious on thy proſtrate Thrall.

 Reigneir.

My Lord me thinkes is very long in talke.

 Alanſ. Doubtleſſe he ſhriues this woman to her ſmock, Elſe ne're could he ſo long protract his ſpeech. Reigneir.

Shall wee diſturbe him, ſince hee keepes no meane?

 Alan. He may meane more then we poor men do know, Theſe women are ſhrewd tempters with their tongues. Reigneir. My Lord, where are you? what deuiſe you on? Shall we giue o're Orleance, or no? Puzel. Why no, I ſay: diſtruſtfull Recreants, Fight till the laſt gaſpe: Ile be your guard. Dolph.

What ſhee ſayes, Ile confirme: wee'le fight it out.

 Puzel. Aſſign'd am I to be the Engliſh Scourge. This night the Siege aſſuredly Ile rayſe: Expect Saint Martins Summer, Halcyons dayes, Since I haue entred into theſe Warres. Glory is like a Circle in the Water, Which neuer ceaſeth to enlarge it ſelfe, Till by broad ſpreading, it diſperſe to naught. With Henries death, the Engliſh Circle ends, Diſperſed are the glories it included: Now am I like that prowd inſulting Ship, Which Caeſar and his fortune bare at once. Dolph. Was Mahomet inſpired with a Doue? Thou with an Eagle art inſpired then. Helen, the Mother of Great Conſtantine, Nor yet S. Philips daughters were like thee. Bright Starre of Venus, falne downe on the Earth, How may I reuerently worſhip thee enough? Alanſon.

Leaue off delayes, and let vs rayſe the Siege.

 Reigneir. Woman, do what thou canſt to ſaue our honors, Driue them from Orleance, and be immortaliz'd. Dolph. Preſently wee'le try: come, let's away about it, No Prophet will I truſt, if ſhee proue falſe. Exeunt. Enter Gloſter, with his Seruing-men. Gloſt. I am come to ſuruey the Tower this day; Since Henries death, I feare there is Conueyance: Where be theſe Warders, that they wait not here? Open the Gates, 'tis Gloſter that calls. 1. Warder.

Who's there, that knocks ſo imperiouſly?

 Gloſt. 1. Man.

It is the Noble Duke of Gloſter.

 2. Warder.

Who ere he be, you may not be let in.

 1. Man.

Villaines, anſwer you ſo the Lord Protector?

 1. Warder. The Lord protect him, ſo we anſwer him, We doe no otherwiſe then wee are will'd. Glost. Who willed you? or whoſe will ſtands but mine? There's none Protector of the Realme, but I: Breake vp the Gates, Ile be your warrantize; Shall I be flowted thus by dunghill Groomes? Gloſters men ruſh at the Tower Gates, and Wooduile the Lieutenant ſpeakes within. Wooduile.

What noyſe is this? what Traytors haue wee here?

 Glost. Lieutenant, is it you whoſe voyce I heare? Open the Gates, here's Gloſter that would enter. Wooduile. Haue patience Noble Duke, I may not open, The Cardinall of Wincheſter forbids: From him I haue expreſſe commandement, That thou nor none of thine ſhall be let in. Gloſt. Faint-hearted Wooduile, prizeſt him 'fore me? Arrogant Wincheſter, that haughtie Prelate, Whom Henry our late Soueraigne ne're could brooke? Thou art no friend to God, or to the King: Open the Gates, or Ile ſhut thee out ſhortly. Seruingmen. Open the Gates vnto the Lord Protector, Or wee'le burſt them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates, Wincheſter and his men in Tawney Coates. Winchest.

How now ambitious Vmpheir, what meanes this?

 Gloſt.

Piel'd Prieſt, doo'ſt thou command me to be ſhut out?

 Winch. I doe, thou moſt vſurping Proditor, And not Protector of the King or Realme. Gloſt. Stand back thou manifeſt Conſpirator, Thou that contriued'ſt to murther our dead Lord, Thou that giu'ſt Whores Indulgences to ſinne, Ile canuas thee in thy broad Cardinalls Hat, If thou proceed in this thy inſolence. Winch. Nay, ſtand thou back, I will not budge a foot: This be Damaſcus, be thou curſed Cain, To ſlay thy Brother Abel, if thou wilt. Gloſt. I will not ſlay thee, but Ile driue thee back: Thy Scarlet Robes, as a Childs bearing Cloth, Ile vſe, to carry thee out of this place. Winch.

Doe what thou dar'ſt, I beard thee to thy face.

 Gloſt. What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face? Draw men, for all this priuiledged place, Blew Coats to Tawny Coats, Prieſt, beware your Beard, I meane to tugge it, and to cuffe you ſoundly. Vnder my feet I ſtampe thy Cardinalls Hat: In ſpight of Pope, or dignities of Church, Here by the Cheekes Ile drag thee vp and downe. Winch.

Gloſter, thou wilt anſwere this before the Pope.

 Gloſt. Wincheſter Gooſe, I cry, a Rope, a Rope. Now beat them hence, why doe you let them ſtay? Thee Ile chaſe hence, thou Wolfe in Sheepes array. Out Tawney-Coates, out Scarlet Hypocrite. Here Gloſters men beat out the Cardinalls men, and enter in the hurly-burly the Maior of London, and his Officers. Maior. Fye Lords, that you being ſupreme. Magiſtrates, Thus contumeliouſly ſhould breake the Peace. Gloſt. Peace Maior, thou know'ſt little of my wrongs: Here's Beauford, that regards nor God nor King, Hath here diſtrayn'd the Tower to his vſe. Winch. Here's Gloſter, a Foe to Citizens, One that ſtill motions Warre, and neuer Peace, O're-charging your free Purſes with large Fines; That ſeekes to ouerthrow Religion, Becauſe he is Protector of the Realme; And would haue Armour here out of the Tower, To Crowne himſelfe King, and ſuppreſſe the Prince. Gloſt.

I will not anſwer thee with words, but blowes.

 Here they skirmiſh againe. Maior. Naught reſts for me, in this tumultuous ſtrife, But to make open Proclamation. Come Officer, as lowd as e're thou canſt, cry: All manner of men, aſſembled here in Armes this day, againſt Gods Peace and the Kings, wee charge and command you, in his Highneſſe Name, to repayre to your ſeuerall dwelling places, and not to weare, handle, or vſe any Sword, Weapon, or Dagger hence-forward, vpon paine of death. Gloſt. Cardinall, Ile be no breaker of the Law: But we ſhall meet, and breake our minds at large. Winch. Gloſter, wee'le meet to thy coſt, be ſure: Thy heart-blood I will haue for this dayes worke. Maior. Ile call for Clubs, if you will not away: This Cardinall's more haughtie then the Deuill. Gloſt.

Maior farewell: thou doo'ſt but what thou may'ſt.

 Winch. Abhominable Gloſter, guard thy Head, For I intend to haue it ere long. Exeunt. Maior. See the Coaſt clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, theſe Nobles ſhould ſuch ſtomacks beare, I my ſelfe fight not once in fortie yeere. Exeunt. Enter the Maſter Gunner of Orleance, and his Boy. M. Gunner. Sirrha, thou know'ſt how Orleance is beſieg'd, And how the Engliſh haue the Suburbs wonne. Boy. Father I know, and oft haue ſhot at them, How e're vnfortunate, I miſs'd my ayme. M. Gunner. But now thou ſhalt not. Be thou rul'd by me: Chiefe Maſter Gunner am I of this Towne, Something I muſt doe to procure me grace: The Princes eſpyals haue informed me, How the Engliſh, in the Suburbs cloſe entrencht, Went through a ſecret Grate of Iron Barres, In yonder Tower, to ouer-peere the Citie, And thence diſcouer, how with moſt aduantage They may vex vs with Shot or with Aſſault. To intercept this inconuenience, A Peece of Ordnance 'gainſt it I haue plac'd, And euen theſe three dayes haue I watcht, If I could ſee them. Now doe thou watch, For I can ſtay no longer. If thou ſpy'ſt any, runne and bring me word, And thou ſhalt finde me at the Gouernors. Exit. Boy. Father, I warrant you, take you no care, Ile neuer trouble you, if I may ſpye them. Exit. Enter Salisbury and Talbot on the Turrets, with others. Salisb. Talbot, my life, my ioy, againe return'd? How wert thou handled, being Priſoner? Or by what meanes got's thou to be releas'd? Diſcourſe I prethee on this Turrets top. Talbot. The Earle of Bedford had a Priſoner, Call'd the braue Lord Ponton de Sautrayle, For him was I exchang'd, and ranſom'd. But with a baſer man of Armes by farre, Once in contempt they would haue barter'd me: Which I diſdaining, ſcorn'd, and craued death, Rather then I would be ſo pil'd eſteem'd: In fine, redeem'd I was as I deſir'd. But O, the trecherous Falſtaffe wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fiſts I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. Salisb.

Yet tell'ſt thou not, how thou wert entertain'd.

 Tal. With ſcoffes and ſcornes, and contumelious taunts, In open Market-place produc't they me, To be a publique ſpectacle to all: Here, ſayd they, is the Terror of the French, The Scar-Crow that affrights our Children ſo. Then broke I from the Officers that led me, And with my nayles digg'd ſtones out of the ground, To hurle at the beholders of my ſhame. My griſly countenance made others flye, None durſt come neere, for feare of ſuddaine death. In Iron Walls they deem'd me not ſecure: So great feare of my Name 'mongſt them were ſpread, That they ſuppos'd I could rend Barres of Steele, And ſpurne in pieces Poſts of Adamant. Wherefore a guard of choſen Shot I had, That walkt about me euery Minute while: And if I did but ſtirre out of my Bed, Ready they were to ſhoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy with a Linſtock. Salisb. I grieue to heare what torments you endur'd, But we will be reueng'd ſufficiently. Now it is Supper time in Orleance: Here, through this Grate, I count each one, And view the Frenchmen how they fortifie: Let vs looke in, the ſight will much delight thee: Sir Thomas Gargraue, and Sir William Glandſdale, Let me haue your expreſſe opinions, Where is beſt place to make our Batt'ry next? Gargraue.

I thinke at the North Gate, for there ſtands Lords.

 Glanſdale.

And 〈◊〉 heere, at the Bulwarke of the Bridge.

 Talb. For ought I ſee, this Citie muſt be famiſht, Or with light Skirmiſhes enfeebled. Here they ſhot, and Salisbury falls downe. Salisb.

O Lord haue mercy on vs, wretched ſinners.

 Gargraue.

O Lord haue mercy on me, wofull man.

 Talb. What chance is this, that ſuddenly hath croſt vs? Speake Salisbury; at leaſt, if thou canſt, ſpeake: How far'ſt thou, Mirror of all Martiall men? One of thy Eyes, and thy Cheekes ſide ſtruck off? Accurſed Tower, accurſed fatall Hand, That hath contriu'd this wofull Tragedie. In thirteene Battailes, Salisbury o' recame: Henry the Fift he firſt trayn'd to the Warres. Whil'ſt any Trumpe did ſound, or Drum ſtruck vp, His Sword did ne're leaue ſtriking in the field. Yet liu'ſt thou Salisbury? though thy ſpeech doth fayle, One Eye thou haſt to looke to Heauen for grace. The Sunne with one Eye vieweth all the World. Heauen be thou gracious to none aliue, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands. Beare hence his Body, I will helpe to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargraue, haſt thou any life? Speake vnto Talbot, nay, looke vp to him. Salisbury cheare thy Spirit with this comfort, Thou ſhalt not dye whiles— He beckens with his hand, and ſmiles on me: As who ſhould ſay, When I am dead and gone, Remember to auenge me on the French. Plantaginet I will, and like thee, Play on the Lute, beholding the Townes burne: Wretched ſhall France be onely in my Name. Here an Alarum, and it Thunders and Lightens. What ſtirre is this? what tumult's in the Heauens? Whence commeth this Alarum, and the noyſe? Enter a Meſſenger. Meſſ. My Lord, my Lord, the French haue gather'd head, The Dolphin, with one Ioane de Puzel ioyn'd, A holy Propheteſſe, new riſen vp, Is come with a great Power, to rayſe the Siege. Here Salisbury lifteth himſelfe vp, and groanes. Talb. Heare, heare, how dying Salisbury doth groane, It irke • his heart he cannot be reueng'd. Frenchmen, Ile be a Salisbury to you. Puzel or Puſſel, Dolphin or Dog-fiſh, Your hearts Ile ſtampe out with my Horſes heeles, And make a Quagmire of your mingled braines. Conuey me Salisbury into his Tent, And then wee'le try what theſe daſtard Frenchmen dare. Alarum. Exeunt. Here an Alarum againe, and Talbot purſueth the Dolphin, and driueth him: Then enter Ioane de Puzel, driuing Engliſhmen before her. Then enter Talbot. Talb. Where is my ſtrength, my valour, and my force? Our Engliſh Troupes retyre, I cannot ſtay them, A Woman clad in Armour chaſeth them. Enter Puzel. Here, here ſhee comes. Ile haue a bowt with thee: Deuill, or Deuils Dam, Ile coniure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a Witch, And ſtraightway giue thy Soule to him thou ſeru'ſt. Puzel.

Come, come, 'tis onely I that muſt diſgrace thee.

Here they fight. Talb. Heauens, can you ſuffer Hell ſo to preuayle? My breſt Ile burſt with ſtraining of my courage, And from my ſhoulders crack my Armes aſunder, But I will chaſtiſe this high-minded Strumpet. They fight againe. Puzel. Talbot farwell, thy houre is not yet come, I muſt goe Victuall Orleance forthwith: A ſhort Alarum: then enter the Towne with Souldiers. O're-take me if thou canſt, I ſcorne thy ſtrength. Goe, goe, cheare vp thy hungry-ſtarued men, Helpe Salisbury to make his Teſtament, This Day is ours, as many more ſhall be. Exit. Talb. My thoughts are whirled like a Potters Wheele, I know not where I am, nor what I doe: A Witch by feare, not force, like Hannibal, Driues back our troupes, and conquers as ſhe liſts: So Bees with ſmoake, and Doues with noyſome ſtench, Are from their Hyues and Houſes driuen away. They call'd vs, for our fierceneſſe, Engliſh Dogges, Now like to Whelpes, we crying runne away, A ſhort Alarum. Hearke Countreymen, eyther renew the fight, Or teare the Lyons out of Englands Coat; Renounce your Soyle, giue Sheepe in Lyons ſtead: Sheepe run not halfe ſo trecherous from the Wolfe, Or Horſe or Oxen from the Leopard, As you flye from your oft-ſubdued ſlaues. Alarum. Here another Skirmiſh. It will not be, retyre into your Trenches: You all conſented vnto Salisburies death, For none would ſtrike a ſtroake in his reuenge. Puzel is entred into Orleance, In ſpight of vs, or ought that we could doe. O would I were to dye with Salisbury, The ſhame hereof, will make me hide my head. Exit Talbot. Alarum, Retreat, Flouriſh. Enter on the Walls, Puzel, Dolphin, Reigneir, Alanſon, and Souldiers. Puzel. Aduance our wauing Colours on the Walls, Reſcu'd is Orleance from the Engliſh. Thus Ioane de Puzel hath perform'd her word. Dolph. Diuineſt Creature, Aſtrea's Daughter, How ſhall I honour thee for this ſucceſſe? Thy promiſes are like Adonis Garden, That one day bloom'd, and fruitfull were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious Propheteſſe, Recouer'd is the Towne of Orleance, More bleſſed hap did ne're befall our State. Reigneir. Why ring not out the Bells alowd, Throughout the Towne? Dolphin command the Citizens make Bonfires, And feaſt and banquet in the open ſtreets, To celebrate the ioy that God hath giuen vs. Alanſ. All France will be repleat with mirth and ioy, When they ſhall heare how we haue play'd the men. Dolph. 'Tis Ioane, not we, by whom the day is wonne: For which, I will diuide my Crowne with her, And all the Prieſts and Fryers in my Realme, Shall in proceſſion ſing her endleſſe prayſe. A ſtatelyer Pyramis to her Ile reare, Then Rhodophe's or Memphis euer was. In memorie of her, when ſhe is dead, Her Aſhes, in an Vrne more precious Then the rich-iewel'd Coffer of Darius, Tranſported, ſhall be at high Feſtiuals Before the Kings and Queenes of France. No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry, But Ioane de Puzel ſhall be France's Saint. Come in, and let vs Banquet Royally, After this Golden Day of Victorie. Flouriſh. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Scena Prima. Enter a Sergeant of a Band, with two Sentinels. Ser. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant: If any noyſe or Souldier you perceiue Neere to the walles, by ſome apparant ſigne Let vs haue knowledge at the Court of Guard. Sent. Sergeant you ſhall. Thus are poore Seruitors (When others ſleepe vpon their quiet beds) Conſtrain'd to watch in darkneſſe, raine, and cold. Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy, with ſcaling Ladders: Their Drummes beating a Dead March. Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whoſe approach, the Regions of Artoys, Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to vs: This happy night, the Frenchmen are ſecure, Hauing all day carows'd and banquetted, Embrace we then this opportunitie, As fitting beſt to quittance their deceite, Contriu'd by Art, and balefull Sorcerie. Bed. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame, Diſpairing of his owne armes fortitude, To ioyne with Witches, and helpe of Hell. Bur. Traitors haue neuer other company. But what's that Puzell whom they tear me ſo pure? Tal.

A Maid, they ſay.

 Bed.

A Maid? And be ſo martiall?

 Bur. Pray God ſhe proue not maſculine ere long: If vnderneath the Standard of the French She carry Armour, as ſhe hath begun. Tal. Well, let them practiſe and conuerſe with ſpirits. God is our Fortreſſe, in whoſe conquering name Let vs reſolue to ſcale their flinty bulwarkes. Bed.

Aſcend braue Talbot, we will follow thee.

 Tal. Not altogether: Better farre I gueſſe, That we do make our entrance ſeuerall wayes: That if it chance the one of vs do faile, The other yet may riſe againſt their force. Bed.

Agreed; Ile to yond corner.

 Bur.

And I to this.

 Tal. And heere will Talbot mount, or make his graue. Now Salisbury, for thee and for the right Of Engliſh Henry, ſhall this night appeare How much in duty. I am bound to both. Sent.

Arme, arme, the enemy doth make aſſault.

 Cry, S. George, A Talbot. The French leape ore the walles in their ſhirts. Enter ſeuerall wayes, Baſtard, Alanſon, Reignier, halfe ready, and halfe vnready. Alan.

How now my Lords? What all vnreadie ſo?

 Baſt.

Vnready? I and glad we ſcap'd ſo well.

 Reig. 'Twas time (I trow) to wake and leaue our beds, Hearing Alarums at our Chamber doores. Alan. Of all exploits ſince firſt I follow'd Armes, Nere heard I of a warlike enterprize More venturous, or deſperate then this. Baſt.

I thinke this Talbot be a Fiend of Hell.

 Reig.

If not of Hell, the Heauens ſure fauour him.

 Alanſ.

Here commeth Charles, I maruell how he ſped?

 Enter Charles and Ioane. Baſt.

Tut, holy Ioane was his defenſiue Guard.

 Charl. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitfull Dame? Didſt thou at firſt, to flatter vs withall, Make vs partakers of a little gayne, That now our loſſe might be ten times ſo much? Ioane. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? At all times will you haue my Power alike? Sleeping or waking, muſt I ſtill preuayle, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improuident Souldiors, had your Watch been good, This ſudden Miſchiefe neuer could haue falne. Charl. Duke of Alanſon, this was your default, That being Captaine of the Watch to Night, Did looke no better to that weightie Charge. Alanſ. Had all your Quarters been as ſafely kept, As that whereof I had the gouernment, We had not beene thus ſhamefully ſurpriz'd. Baſt.

Mine was ſecure.

 Reig.

And ſo was mine, my Lord.

 Charl. And for my ſelfe, moſt part of all this Night Within her Quarter, and mine owne Precinct, I was imploy'd in paſſing to and fro, About relieuing of the Centinels. Then how, or which way, ſhould they firſt breake in? Ioane. Queſtion (my Lords) no further of the caſe, How or which way; 'tis ſure they found ſome place, But weakely guarded, where the breach was made: And now there reſts no other ſhift but this, To gather our Souldiors, ſcatter'd and diſperc't, And lay new Plat-formes to endammage them. Exeunt. Alarum. Enter a Souldier, crying, a Talbot, a Talbot: they ſlye, leauing their Clothes behind. Sould. Ile be ſo bold to take what they haue left: The Cry of Talbot ſerues me for a Sword, For I haue loaden me with many Spoyles, Vſing no other Weapon but his Name. Exit. Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundie. Bedf. The Day begins to breake, and Night is fled, Whoſe pitchy Mantle ouer-vayl'd the Earth. Here ſound Retreat, and ceaſe our hot purſuit. Retreat. Talb. Bring forth the Body of old Salisbury, And here aduance it in the Market-Place, The middle Centure of this curſed Towne. Now haue I pay'd my Vow vnto his Soule: For euery drop of blood was drawne from him, There hath at leaſt fiue Frenchmen dyed to night. And that hereafter Ages may behold What ruine happened in reuenge of him, Within their chiefeſt Temple Ile erect A Tombe, wherein his Corps ſhall be interr'd: Vpon the which▪ that euery one may reade, Shall be engrau'd the ſacke of Orleance, The trecherous manner of his mournefull death, And what a terror he had beene to France. But Lords, in all our bloudy Maſſacre, I muſe we met not with the Dolphins Grace, His new-come Champion, vertuous Ioane of Acre, Nor any of his falſe Confederates. Bedf. 'Tis thought Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Rows'd on the ſudden from their drowſie Beds, They did amongſt the troupes of armed men, Leape o're the Walls for refuge in the field. Burg. My ſelfe, as farre as I could well diſcerne, For ſmoake, and duskie vapours of the night, Am ſure I ſcar'd the Dolphin and his Trull, When Arme in Arme they both came ſwiftly running, Like to a payre of louing Turtle-Doues, That could not liue aſunder day or night. After that things are ſet in order here, Wee'le follow them with all the power we haue. Enter a Meſſenger. Meſſ. All hayle, my Lords: which of this Princely trayne Call ye the Warlike Talbot, for his Acts So much applauded through the Realme of France? Talb.

Here is the Talbot, who would ſpeak with him?

 Meſſ. The vertuous Lady, Counteſſe of Ouergne, With modeſtie admiring thy Renowne, By me entreats (great Lord) thou would'ſt vouchſafe To viſit her poore Caſtle where ſhe lyes, That ſhe may boaſt ſhe hath beheld the man, Whoſe glory fills the World with lowd report. Burg. Is it euen ſo? Nay, then I ſee our Warres Will turne vnto a peacefull Comick ſport, When Ladyes craue to be encountred with. You may not (my Lord) deſpiſe her gentle ſuit. Talb. Ne're truſt me then: for when a World of men Could not preuayle with all their Oratorie, Yet hath a Womans kindneſſe ouer-rul'd: And therefore tell her, I returne great thankes, And in ſubmiſſion will attend on her. Will not your Honors beare me company? Bedf. No, truly, 'tis more then manners will: And I haue heard it ſayd, Vnbidden Gueſts Are often welcommeſt when they are gone. Talb. Well then, alone (ſince there's no remedie) I meane to proue this Ladyes courteſie. Come hither Captaine, you perceiue my minde. Whiſpers. Capt.

I doe my Lord, and meane accordingly.

 Exeunt. Enter Counteſſe. Count. Porter, remember what I gaue in charge, And when you haue done ſo, bring the Keyes to me. Port.

Madame, I will.

Exit. Count. The Plot is layd, if all things fall out right, I ſhall as famous be by this exploit, As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus death. Great is the rumour of this dreadfull Knight, And his atchieuements of no leſſe account: Faine would mine eyes be witneſſe with mine eares, To giue their cenſure of theſe rare reports. Enter Meſſenger and Talbot. Meſſ. Madame, according as your Ladyſhip deſir'd, By Meſſage crau'd, ſo is Lord Talbot come. Count.

And he is welcome: what? is this the man?

 Meſſ.

Madame, it is.

 Count. Is this the Scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, ſo much fear'd abroad? That with his Name the Mothers ſtill their Babes? I ſee Report is fabulous and falſe. I thought I ſhould haue ſeene ſome Hercules, A ſecond Hector, for his grim aſpect, And large proportion of his ſtrong knit Limbes. Alas, this is a Child, a ſilly Dwarfe: It cannot be, this weake and writhled ſhrimpe Should ſtrike ſuch terror to his Enemies. Talb. Madame, I haue beene bold to trouble you: But ſince your Ladyſhip is not at leyſure, Ile ſort ſome other time to viſit you. Count. What meanes he now? Goe aske him, whither he goes? Meſſ. Stay my Lord Talbot, for my Lady craues, To know the cauſe of your abrupt departure? Talb. Marry, for that ſhee's in a wrong beleefe, I goe to certifie her Talbot's here. Enter Porter with Keyes. Count.

If thou be he, then art thou Priſoner.

 Talb.

Priſoner? to whom?

 Count. To me, blood-thirſtie Lord: And for that cauſe I trayn'd thee to my Houſe. Long time thy ſhadow hath been thrall to me, For in my Gallery thy Picture hangs: But now the ſubſtance ſhall endure the like, And I will chayne theſe Legges and Armes of thine, That haſt by Tyrannie theſe many yeeres Waſted our Countrey, ſlaine our Citizens, And ſent our Sonnes and Husbands captiuate. Talb.

Ha, ha, ha.

 Count. Laugheſt thou Wretch? Thy mirth ſhall turne to moane. Talb. I laugh to ſee your Ladyſhip ſo fond, To thinke, that you haue ought but Talbots ſhadow, Whereon to practiſe your ſeueritie. Count.

Why? art not thou the man?

 Talb.

I am indeede.

 Count.

Then haue I ſubſtance too.

 Talb. No, no, I am but ſhadow of my ſelfe: You are deceiu'd, my ſubſtance is not here; For what you ſee, is but the ſmalleſt part, And leaſt proportion of Humanitie: I tell you Madame, were the whole Frame here, It is of ſuch a ſpacious loftie pitch, Your Roofe were not ſufficient to contayn't. Count. This is a Riddling Merchant for the nonce, He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can theſe contrarieties agree? Talb. That will I ſhew you preſently. Winds his Horne, Drummes ſtrike vp, a Peale of Ordenance: Enter Souldiors. How ſay you Madame? are you now perſwaded, That Talbot is but ſhadow of himſelfe? Theſe are his ſubſtance, ſinewes, armes, and ſtrength, With which he yoaketh your rebellious Neckes, Razeth your Cities, and ſubuerts your Townes, And in a moment makes them deſolate. Count. Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuſe, I finde thou art no leſſe then Fame hath bruited, And more then may be gathered by thy ſhape. Let my preſumption not prouoke thy wrath, For I am ſorry, that with reuerence I did not entertaine thee as thou art. Talb. Be not diſmay'd, faire Lady, nor miſconſter The minde of Talbot, as you did miſtake The outward compoſition of his body. What you haue done, hath not offended me: Nor other ſatisfaction doe I craue, But onely with your patience, that we may Taſte of your Wine, and ſee what Cates you haue, For Souldiers ſtomacks alwayes ſerue them well. Count. With all my heart, and thinke me honored, To feaſt ſo great a Warrior in my Houſe. Exeunt. Enter Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, Somerſet, Poole, and others. Yorke. Great Lords and Gentlemen, What meanes this ſilence? Dare no man anſwer in a Caſe of Truth? Suff. Within the Temple Hall we were too lowd, The Garden here is more conuenient. York. Then ſay at once, if I maintain'd the Truth: Or elſe was wrangling Somerſet in th' error? Suff. Faith I haue beene a Traunt in the Law, And neuer yet could frame my will to it, And therefore frame the Law vnto my will. Som.

Iudge you, my Lord of Warwicke, then betweene vs.

 War. Between two Hawks, which flyes the higher pitch, Between two Dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, Between two Blades, which beares the better temper, Between two Horſes, which doth beare him beſt, Between two Girles, which hath the merryeſt eye, I haue perhaps ſome ſhallow ſpirit of Judgement: But in theſe nice ſharpe Quillets of the Law, Good faith I am no wiſer then a Daw. York. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: The truth appeares ſo naked on my ſide, That any purblind eye may find it out. Som. And on my ſide it is ſo well apparrell'd, So cleare, ſo ſhining, and ſo euident, That it will glimmer through a blind-mans eye. York. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and ſo loth to ſpeake, In dumbe ſignificants proclayme your thoughts: Let him that is a true-borne Gentleman, And ſtands vpon the honor of his birth, If he ſuppoſe that I haue pleaded truth, From off this Bryer pluck a white Roſe with me. Som. Let him that is no Coward, nor no Flatterer, But dare maintaine the partie of the truth, Pluck a red Roſe from off this Thorne with me. War. I loue no Colours: and without all colour Of baſe inſinuating flatterie, I pluck this white Roſe with Plantagenet. Suff. I pluck this red Roſe, with young Somerſet, And ſay withall, I thinke he held the right. Vernon. Stay Lords and Gentlemen, and pluck no more Till you conclude, that he vpon whoſe ſide The feweſt Roſes are cropt from the Tree, Shall yeeld the other in the right opinion. Som. Good Maſter Vernon, it is well obiected: If I haue feweſt, I ſubſcribe in ſilence. York.

And I.

 Vernon. Then for the truth, and plainneſſe of the Caſe, I pluck this pale and Maiden Bloſſome here, Giuing my Verdict on the white Roſe ſide. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, Leaſt bleeding, you doe paint the white Roſe red, And fall on my ſide ſo againſt your will. Vernon. If I, my Lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion ſhall be Surgeon to my hurt, And keepe me on the ſide where ſtill I am. Som.

Well, well, come on, who elſe?

 Lawyer. Vnleſſe my Studie and my Bookes be falſe, The argument you held, was wrong in you; In ſigne whereof, I pluck a white Roſe too. Yorke.

Now Somerſet, where is your argument?

 Som. Here in my Scabbard, meditating, that Shall dye your white Roſe in a bloody red. Yorke. Meane time your cheeks do counterfeit our Roſes: For pale they looke with feare, as witneſſing The truth on our ſide. Som. No Plantagenet: 'Tis not for ſcare, but anger, that thy cheekes Bluſh for pure ſhame, to counterfeit our Roſes, And yet thy tongue will not confeſſe thy error. Yorke.

Hath not thy Roſe a Canker, Somerſet?

 Som.

Hath not thy Roſe a Thorne, Plantagenet?

 Yorke. I, ſharpe and piercing to maintaine his truth, Whiles thy conſuming Canker eates his falſehood. Som. Well, Ile find friends to weare my bleeding Roſes, That ſhall maintaine what I haue ſaid is true, Where falſe Plantagenet dare not be ſeene. Yorke. Now by this Maiden Bloſſome in my hand, I ſcorne thee and thy faſhion peeuiſh Boy. Suff.

Turne not thy ſcornes this way, Plantagenet.

York.

Prowd Poole, I will, and ſcorne both him and thee.

 Suff.

Ile turne my part thereof into thy throat.

 Som. Away, away, good William de la Poole, We grace the Yeoman, by conuerſing with him. Warw. Now by Gods will thou wrong'ſt him, Somerſet: His Grandfather was Lyonel Duke of Clarence, Third Sonne to the third Edward King of England: Spring Creſtleſſe Yeomen from ſo deepe a Root? Yorke. He beares him on the place's Priuiledge, Or durſt not for his crauen heart ſay thus. Som. By him that made me, Ile maintaine my words On any Plot of Ground in Chriſtendome. Was not thy Father Richard, Earle of Cambridge, For Treaſon executed in our late Kings dayes? And by his Treaſon, ſtand'ſt not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient Gentry? His Treſpas yet liues guiltie in thy blood, And till thou be reſtor'd, thou art a Yeoman. Yorke. My Father was attached, not attainted, Condemn'd to dye for Treaſon, but no Traytor; And that Ile proue on better men then Somerſet, Were growing time once ripened to my will. For your partaker Poole, and you your ſelfe, Ile note you in my Booke of Memorie, To ſcourge you for this apprehenſion: Looke to it well, and ſay you are well warn'd. Som. Ah, thou ſhalt finde vs ready for thee ſtill: And know vs by theſe Colours for thy Foes, For theſe my friends in ſpight of thee ſhall weare. Yorke. And by my Soule, this pale and angry Roſe, As Cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for euer, and my Faction weare, Vntill it wither with me to my Graue, Or flouriſh to the height of my Degree. Suff. Goe forward, and be choak'd with thy ambition: And ſo farwell, vntill I meet thee next. Exit. Som.

Haue with thee Poole: Farwell ambitious Richard.

Exit. Yorke.

How I am brau'd, and muſt perforce endure it?

 Warw. This blot that they obiect againſt your Houſe, Shall be whipt out in the next Parliament, Call'd for the Truce of Wincheſter and Glouceſter: And if thou be not then created Yorke, I will not liue to be accounted Warwicke. Meane time, in ſignall of my loue to thee, Againſt prowd Somerſet, and William Poole, Will I vpon thy partie weare this Roſe. And here I prophecie: this brawle to day, Growne to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall ſend betweene the Red-Roſe and the White, A thouſand Soules to Death and deadly Night. Yorke. Good Maſter Ʋernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalfe would pluck a Flower. Ver.

In your behalfe ſtill will I weare the ſame.

 Lawyer.

And ſo will I.

 Yorke. Thankes gentle. Come, let vs foure to Dinner: I dare ſay, This Quarrell will drinke Blood another day. Exeunt. Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chayre, and Iaylors. Mort. Kind Keepers of my weake decaying Age, Let dying Mortimer here reſt himſelfe. Euen like a man new haled from the Wrack, So fare my Limbes with long Impriſonment: And theſe gray Locks, the Purſuiuants of death, Neſtor-like aged, in an Age of Care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. Theſe Eyes, like Lampes, whoſe waſting Oyle is ſpent, Waxe dimme, as drawing to their Exigent. Weake Shoulders, ouer-borne with burthening Griefe, And pyth-leſſe Armes, like to a withered Vine, That droupes his ſappe-leſſe Branches to the ground. Yet are theſe Feet, whoſe ſtrength-leſſe ſtay is numme, (Vnable to ſupport this Lumpe of Clay) Swift-winged with deſire to get a Graue, As witting I no other comfort haue. But tell me, Keeper, will my Nephew come? Keeper. Richard Plantagenet, my Lord, will come: We ſent vnto the Temple, vnto his Chamber, And anſwer was return'd, that he will come. Mort. Enough: my Soule ſhall then be ſatisfied. Poore Gentleman, his wrong doth equall mine. Since Henry Monmouth firſt began to reigne, Before whoſe Glory I was great in Armes, This loathſome ſequeſtration haue I had; And euen ſince then, hath Richard beene obſcur'd, Depriu'd of Honor and Inheritance. But now, the Arbitrator of Deſpaires, Iuſt Death, kinde Vmpire of mens miſeries, With ſweet enlargement doth diſmiſſe me hence: I would his troubles likewiſe were expir'd, That ſo he might recouer what was loſt. Enter Richard. Keeper.

My Lord, your louing Nephew now is come.

 Mor.

Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

 Rich. I, Noble Vnckle, thus ignobly vs'd, Your Nephew, late deſpiſed Richard, comes. Mort. Direct mine Armes, I may embrace his Neck, And in his Boſome ſpend my latter gaſpe. Oh tell me when my Lippes doe touch his Cheekes, That I may kindly giue one fainting Kiſſe. And now declare ſweet Stem from Yorkes great Stock, Why didſt thou ſay of late thou wert deſpis'd? Rich. Firſt, leane thine aged Back againſt mine Arme, And in that eaſe, Ile tell thee my Diſeaſe. This day in argument vpon a Caſe, Some words there grew 'twixt Somerſet and me: Among which tearmes, he vs'd his lauiſh tongue, And did vpbrayd me with my Fathers death; Which obloquie ſet barres before my tongue, Elſe with the like I had requited him. Therefore good Vnckle, for my Fathers ſake, In honor of a true Plantagenet, And for Alliance ſake, declare the cauſe My Father, Earle of Cambridge, loſt his Head. Mort. That cauſe (faire Nephew) that impriſon'd me, And hath detayn'd me all my flowring Youth, Within a loathſome Dungeon, there to pyne, Was curſed Inſtrument of his deceaſe. Rich. Diſcouer more at large what cauſe that was, For I am ignorant, and cannot gueſſe. Mort. I will, if that my fading breath permit, And Death approach not, ere my Tale be done. Henry the Fourth, Grandfather to this King, Depos'd his Nephew Richard, Edwards Sonne, The firſt begotten, and the lawfull Heire Of Edward King, the Third of that Deſcent. During whoſe Reigne, the Percies of the North, Finding his Vſurpation moſt vniuſt, Endeuour'd my aduancement to the Throne. The reaſon mou'd theſe Warlike Lords to this, Was, for that (young Richard thus remou'd, Leauing no Heire begotten of his Body) I was the next by Birth and Parentage: For by my Mother, I deriued am From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third Sonne To King Edward the Third; whereas hee, From Iohn of Gaunt doth bring his Pedigree, Being but fourth of that Heroick Lyne. But marke: as in this haughtie great attempt, They laboured, to plant the rightfull Heire, I loſt my Libertie, and they their Liues. Long after this, when Henry the Fift (Succeeding his Father Bullingbrooke) did reigne: Thy Father, Earle of Cambridge, then deriu'd From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of Yorke, Marrying my Siſter, that thy Mother was; Againe, in pitty of my hard diſtreſſe, Leuied an Army, weening to redeeme, And haue inſtall'd me in the Diademe: But as the reſt, ſo fell that Noble Earle, And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, In whom the Title reſted, were ſuppreſt. Rich.

Of which, my Lord, your Honor is the laſt.

 Mort. True; and thou ſeeſt, that I no Iſſue haue, And that my fainting words doe warrant death: Thou art my Heire; the reſt, I wiſh thee gather: But yet be wary in thy ſtudious care. Rich. Thy graue admoniſhments preuayle with me: But yet me thinkes, my Fathers execution Was nothing leſſe then bloody Tyranny. Mort. With ſilence, Nephew, be thou pollitick, Strong fixed is the Houſe of Lancaſter, And like a Mountaine, not to be remou'd. But now thy Vnckle is remouing hence, As Princes doe their Courts, when they are cloy'd With long continuance in a ſetled place. Rich. O Vnckle, would ſome part of my young yeeres Might but redeeme the paſſage of your Age. Mort. Thou do'ſt then wrong me, as yt ſlaughterer doth, Which giueth many Wounds, when one will kill. Mourne not, except thou ſorrow for my good, Onely giue order for my Funerall. And ſo farewell, and faire be all thy hopes, And proſperous be thy Life in Peace and Warre. Dyes. Rich. And Peace, no Warre, befall thy parting Soule. In Priſon haſt thou ſpent a Pilgrimage, And like a Hermite ouer-paſt thy dayes. Well, I will locke his Councell in my Breſt, And what I doe imagine, let that reſt. Keepers conuey him hence, and I my ſelfe Will ſee his Buryall better then his Life. Exit. Here dyes the duskie Torch of Mortimer, Choakt with Ambition of the meaner ſort. And for thoſe Wrongs, thoſe bitter Iniuries, Which Somerſet hath offer'd to my Houſe, I doubt not, but with Honor to redreſſe. And therefore haſte I to the Parliament, Eyther to be reſtored to my Blood, Or make my will th' aduantage of my good. Exit.
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima. Flouriſh. Enter King, Exeter, Gloſter, Wincheſter, Warwick, Somerſet, Suffolk, Richard Plantagenet. Gloſter offers to put vp a Bill: Wincheſter ſnatches it, teares it. Winch. Com'ſt thou with deepe premeditated Lines? With written Pamphlets, ſtudiouſly deuis'd? Humfrey of Gloſter, if thou canſt accuſe, Or ought intend'ſt to lay vnto my charge, Doe it without inuention, ſuddenly, As I with ſudden, and extemporall ſpeech, Purpoſe to anſwer what thou canſt obiect. Glo. Preſumptuous Prieſt, this place cōmands my patiēce, Or thou ſhould'ſt finde thou haſt dis-honor'd me. Thinke not, although in Writing I preferr'd The manner of thy vile outragious Crymes, That therefore I haue forg'd, or am not able Ʋerbatim to rehearſe the Methode of my Penne. No Prelate, ſuch is thy audacious wickedneſſe, Thy lewd, peſtiſerous, and diſſentious prancks, As very Infants prattle of thy pride. Thou art a moſt pernitious Vſurer, Froward by nature, Enemie to Peace, Laſciuious, wanton, more then well beſeemes A man of thy Profeſſion, and Degree. And for thy Trecherie, what's more manifeſt? In that thou layd'ſt a Trap to take my Life, As well at London Bridge, as at the Tower. Beſide, I feare me, if thy thoughts were ſifted, The King, thy Soueraigne, is not quite exempt From enuious mallice of thy ſwelling heart. Winch. Gloſter, I doe defie thee. Lords vouchſafe To giue me hearing what I ſhall reply. If I were couetous, ambitious, or peruerſe, As he will haue me: how am I ſo poore? Or how haps it, I ſeeke not to aduance Or rayſe my ſelfe? but keepe my wonted Calling. And for Diſſention, who preferreth Peace More then I doe? except I be prouok'd. No, my good Lords, it is not that offends, It is not that, that hath incens'd the Duke: It is becauſe no one ſhould ſway but hee, No one, but hee, ſhould be about the King; And that engenders Thunder in his breaſt, And makes him rore theſe Accuſations forth. But he ſhall know I am as good. Glost. As good? Thou Baſtard of my Grandfather. Winch. I, Lordly Sir: for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in anothers Throne? Gloſt.

Am I not Protector, ſawcie Prieſt?

 Winch.

And am not I a Prelate of the Church?

 Glost. Yes, as an Out-law in a Caſtle keepes, And vſeth it, to patronage his Theft. Winch.

Vnreuerent Gloceſter.

Gloſt. Thou art reuerent, Touching thy Spirituall Function, not thy Life. Winch.

Rome ſhall remedie this.

 Warw. Roame thither then. My Lord, it were your dutie to forbeare. Som. I, ſee the Biſhop be not ouer-borne: Me thinkes my Lord ſhould be Religious, And know the Office that belongs to ſuch. Warw. Me thinkes his Lordſhip ſhould be humbler, It fitteth not a Prelate ſo to plead. Som.

Yes, when his holy State is toucht ſo neere.

 Warw. State holy, or vnhallow'd, what of that? Is not his Grace Protector to the King? Rich. Plantagenet I ſee muſt hold his tongue, Leaſt it be ſaid, Speake Sirrha when you ſhould: Muſt your bold Verdict enter talke with Lords? Elſe would I haue a fling at Wincheſter. King. Vnckles of Gloſter, and of Wincheſter, The ſpeciall Watch-men of our Engliſh Weale, I would preuayle, if Prayers might preuayle, To ioyne your hearts in loue and amitie, Oh, what a Scandall is it to our Crowne, That two ſuch Noble Peeres as ye ſhould iarre? Beleeue me, Lords, my tender yeeres can tell, Ciuill diſſention is a viperous Worme, That gnawes the Bowels of the Common-wealth. A noyſe within, Downe with the Tawny-Coats. King.

What tumult's this?

 Warw. An Vprore, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the Biſhops men. A noyſe againe, Stones, Stones. Enter Maior. Maior. Oh my good Lords, and vertuous Henry, Pitty the Citie of London, pitty vs: The Biſhop, and the Duke of Gloſters men, Forbidden late to carry any Weapon, Haue fill'd their Pockets full of peeble ſtones; And banding themſelues in contrary parts, Doe pelt ſo faſt at one anothers Pate, That many haue their giddy braynes knockt out: Our Windowes are broke downe in euery Street, And we, for feare, compell'd to ſhut our Shops. Enter in skirmiſh with bloody Pates. King. We charge you, on allegeance to our ſelfe, To hold your ſlaughtring hands, and keepe the Peace: Pray' Vnckle Gloſter mittigate this ſtrife. 1. Seruing.

Nay, if we be forbidden Stones, wee'le fall to it with our Teeth.

 2. Seruing.

Doe what ye dare, we are as reſolute.

 Skirmiſh againe. Gloſt. You of my houſehold, leaue this peeuiſh broyle, And ſet this vnaccuſtom'd fight aſide. 3. Seru. My Lord, we know your Grace to be a man Iuſt, and vpright; and for your Royall Birth, Inferior to none, but to his Maieſtie: And ere that we will ſuffer ſuch a Prince, So kinde a Father of the Common-weale, To be diſgraced by an Inke-horne Mate, Wee and our Wiues and Children all will fight, And haue our bodyes ſlaughtred by thy foes. 1. Seru. I, and the very parings of our Nayles Shall pitch a Field when we are dead. Begin againe. Gloſt. Stay, ſtay, I ſay: And if you loue me, as you ſay you doe, Let me perſwade you to forbeare a while. King. Oh, how this diſcord doth afflict my Soule. Can you, my Lord of Wincheſter, behold My ſighes and teares, and will not once relent? Who ſhould be pittifull, if you be not? Or who ſhould ſtudy to preferre a Peace, If holy Church-men take delight in broyles? Warw. Yeeld my Lord Protector, yeeld Wincheſter, Except you meane with obſtinate repulſe To ſlay your Soueraigne, and deſtroy the Realme. You ſee what Miſchiefe, and what Murther too, Hath beene enacted through your enmitie: Then be at peace, except ye thirſt for blood. Winch.

He ſhall ſubmit, or I will neuer yeeld.

 Gloſt. Compaſſion on the King commands me ſtoupe, Or I would ſee his heart out, ere the Prieſt Should euer get that priuiledge of me. Warw. Behold my Lord of Wincheſter, the Duke Hath baniſht moodie diſcontented fury, As by his ſmoothed Browes it doth appeare: Why looke you ſtill ſo ſterne, and tragicall? Gloſt.

Here Wincheſter, I offer thee my Hand.

 King. Fie Vnckle Beauford, I haue heard you preach, That Mallice was a great and grieuous ſinne: And will not you maintaine the thing you teach? But proue a chiefe offendor in the ſame. Warw. Sweet King: the Biſhop hath a kindly gyrd: For ſhame my Lord of Wincheſter relent; What, ſhall a Child inſtruct you what to doe? Winch. Well, Duke of Gloſter, I will yeeld to thee Loue for thy Loue, and Hand for Hand I giue. Gloſt. I, but I feare me with a hollow Heart. See here my Friends and louing Countreymen, This token ſerueth for a Flagge of Truce, Betwixt our ſelues, and all our followers: So helpe me God, as I diſſemble not. Winch.

So helpe me God, as I intend it not.

 King. Oh louing Vnckle, kinde Duke of Gloſter, How ioyfull am I made by this Contract. Away my Maſters, trouble vs no more, But ioyne in friendſhip, as your Lords haue done. 1. Seru.

Content, Ile to the Surgeons.

 2. Seru.

And ſo will I.

 3. Seru.

And I will ſee what Phyſick the Tauerne affords.

Exeunt. Warw. Accept this Scrowle, moſt gracious Soueraigne, Which in the Right of Richard Plantagenet, We doe exhibite to your Maieſtie. Glo. Well vrg'd, my Lord of Warwick: for ſweet Prince, And if your Grace marke euery circumſtance, You haue great reaſon to doe Richard right, Eſpecially for thoſe occaſions At Eltam Place I told your Maieſtie. King. And thoſe occaſions, Vnckle, were of force: Therefore my louing Lords, our pleaſure is, That Richard be reſtored to his Blood. Warw. Let Richard be reſtored to his Blood, So ſhall his Fathers wrongs be recompenc't. Winch.

As will the reſt, ſo willeth Wincheſter.

King. If Richard will be true, not that all alone, But all the whole Inheritance I giue, That doth belong vnto the Houſe of Yorke, From whence you ſpring, by Lineall Deſcent. Rich. Thy humble ſeruant vowes obedience, And humble ſeruice, till the point of death. King. Stoope then, and ſet your Knee againſt my Foot, And in reguerdon of that dutie done, I gyrt thee with the valiant Sword of Yorke: Riſe Richard, like a true Plantagenet, And riſe created Princely Duke of Yorke. Rich. And ſo thriue Richard, as thy foes may fall, And as my dutie ſprings, ſo periſh they, That grudge one thought againſt your Maieſty. All.

Welcome high Prince, the mighty Duke of Yorke.

Som.

Periſh baſe Prince, ignoble Duke of Yorke.

Gloſt. Now will it beſt auaile your Maieſtie, To croſſe the Seas, and to be Crown'd in France: The preſence of a King engenders loue Amongſt his Subiects, and his loyall Friends, As it diſ-animates his Enemies. King. When Gloſter ſayes the word, King Henry goes, For friendly counſaile cuts off many Foes. Gloſt.

Your Ships alreadie are in readineſſe.

 Senet. Flouriſh. Exeunt. Manet Exeter. Exet. I, we may march in England, or, in France, Not ſeeing what is likely to enſue: This late diſſention growne betwixt the Peeres, Burnes vnder fained aſhes of forg'd loue, And will at laſt breake out into a flame, As feſtred members rot but by degree, Till bones and fleſh and ſinewes fall away, So will this baſe and enuious diſcord breed. And now I feare that fatall Prophecie, Which in the time of Henry, nam'd the Fift, Was in the mouth of euery ſucking Babe, That Henry borne at Monmouth ſhould winne all, And Henry borne at Windſor, looſe all: Which is ſo plaine, that Exeter doth wiſh, His dayes may finiſh, ere that hapleſſe time. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Pucell diſguis'd▪ with foure Souldiors with Sacks vpon their backs. Pucell. Theſe are the Citie Gates, the Gates of Roan, Through which our Pollicy muſt make a breach. Take heed, be wary how you place your words, Talke like the vulgar ſort of Market men, That come to gather Money for their Corne. If we haue entrance, as I hope we ſhall, And that we finde the ſlouthfull Watch but weake, Ile by a ſigne giue notice to our friends, That Charles the Dolphin may encounter them. Souldier. Our Sacks ſhall be a meane to ſack the City And we be Lords and Rulers ouer Roan, Therefore wee'le knock. Knock. Watch.

Che la.

Pucell. Peaſauns la pouure gens de Fraunce, Poore Market folkes that come to ſell their Corne. Watch.

Enter, goe in, the Market Bell is rung.

 Pucell.

Now Roan, Ile ſhake thy Bulwarkes to the ground.

Exeunt. Enter Charles, Baſtard, Alanſon. Charles. Saint Dennis bleſſe this happy Stratageme, And once againe wee'le ſleepe ſecure in Roan. Baſtard. Here entred Pucell, and her Practiſants: Now ſhe is there, how will ſhe ſpecifie? Here is the beſt and ſafeſt paſſage in. Reig. By thruſting out a Torch from yonder Tower, Which once diſcern'd, ſhewes that her meaning is, No way to that (for weakneſſe) which ſhe entred. Enter Pucell on the top, thruſting out a Torch burning. Pucell. Behold, this is the happy Wedding Torch, That ioyneth Roan vnto her Countreymen, But burning fatall to the Talbonites. Baſtard. See Noble Charles the Beacon of our friend, The burning Torch in yonder Turret ſtands. Charles. Now ſhine it like a Commet of Reuenge, A Prophet to the fall of all our Foes. Reig. Deferre no time, delayes haue dangerous ends, Enter and cry, the Dolphin, preſently, And then doe execution on the Watch. Alarum. An Alarum. Talbot in an Excurſion. Talb. France, thou ſhalt rue this Treaſon with thy teares, If Talbot but ſuruiue thy Trecherie. Pucell that Witch, that damned Sorcereſſe, Hath wrought this Helliſh Miſchiefe vnawares, That hardly we eſcap't the Pride of France. Exit. An Alarum: Excurſions. Bedford brought in ſicke in a Chayre. Enter Talbot and Burgonie without: within, Pucell, Charles, Baſtard, and Reigneir on the Walls. Pucell. God morrow Gallants, want ye Corn for Bread? I thinke the Duke of Burgonie will faſt, Before hee'le buy againe at ſuch a rate. 'Twas full of Darnell: doe you like the taſte? Burg. Scoffe on vile Fiend, and ſhameleſſe Curtizan, I truſt ere long to choake thee with thine owne, And make thee curſe the Harueſt of that Corne. Charles.

Your Grace may ſtarue (perhaps) before that time.

 Bedf.

Oh let no words, but deedes, reuenge this Treaſon.

 Pucell. What will you doe, good gray-beard? Breake a Launce, and runne a-Tilt at Death, Within a Chayre. Talb. Foule Fiend of France, and Hag of all deſpight, Incompaſs'd with thy luſtfull Paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant Age, And twit with Cowardiſe a man halfe dead? Damſell, Ile haue a bowt with you againe, Or elſe let Talbot periſh with this ſhame. Pucell. Are ye ſo hot, Sir: yet Pucell hold thy peace, If Talbot doe but Thunder, Raine will follow. They whiſper together in counſell. God ſpeed the Parliament: who ſhall be the Speaker? Talb.

Dare yee come forth, and meet vs in the field?

 Pucell. Belike your Lordſhip takes vs then for fooles, To try if that our owne be ours, or no. Talb. I ſpeake not to that rayling Hecate, But vnto thee Alanſon, and the reſt. Will ye, like Souldiors, come and fight it out? Alanſ.

Seignior no.

 Talb. Seignior hang: baſe Muleters of France, Like Peſant foot-Boyes doe they keepe the Walls, And dare not take vp Armes, like Gentlemen. Pucell. Away Captaines, let's get vs from the Walls, For Talbot meanes no goodneſſe by his Lookes. God b'uy my Lord, we came but to tell you That wee are here. Exeunt from the Walls. Talb. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or elſe reproach be Talbots greateſt fame. Vow Burgonie, by honor of thy Houſe, Prickt on by publike Wrongs ſuſtain'd in France, Either to get the Towne againe, or dye. And I, as ſure as Engliſh Henry liues, And as his Father here was Conqueror; As ſure as in this late betrayed Towne, Great Cordelions Heart was buryed; So ſure I ſweare, to get the Towne, or dye. Burg.

My Vowes are equall partners with thy Vowes.

 Talb. But ere we goe, regard this dying Prince, The valiant Duke of Bedford: Come my Lord, We will beſtow you in ſome better place, Fitter for ſickneſſe, and for craſie age. Bedf. Lord Talbot, doe not ſo diſhonour me: Here will I ſit, before the Walls of Roan, And will be partner of your weale or woe. Burg.

Couragious Bedford, let vs now perſwade you.

 Bedf. Not to be gone from hence: for once I read, That ſtout Pendragon, in his Litter ſick, Came to the field, and vanquiſhed his foes. Me thinkes I ſhould reuiue the Souldiors hearts, Becauſe I euer found them as my ſelfe. Talb. Vndaunted ſpirit in a dying breaſt, Then be it ſo: Heauens keepe old Bedford ſafe. And now no more adoe, braue Burgonie, But gather we our Forces out of hand, And ſet vpon our boaſting Enemie. Exit. An Alarum: Excurſions Enter Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, and a Captaine. Capt.

Whither away Sir Iohn Falſtaffe, in ſuch haſte?

 Falſt. Whither away? to ſaue my ſelfe by flight, We are like to haue the ouerthrow againe. Capt.

What? will you flye, and leaue Lord Talbot?

 Falſt.

I, all the Talbots in the World, to ſaue my life.

 Exit. Capt.

Cowardly Knight, ill fortune follow thee.

Exit. Retreat. Excurſions. Pucell, Alanſon, and Charles flye. Bedf. Now quiet Soule, depart when Heauen pleaſe, For I haue ſeene our Enemies ouerthrow. What is the truſt or ſtrength of fooliſh man? They that of late were daring with their ſcoffes, Are glad and faine by flight to ſaue themſelues. Bedford dyes, and is carryed in by two in his Chaire. An Alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgonie, and the reſt. Talb. Loſt, and recouered in a day againe, This is a double Honor, Burgonie: Yet Heauens haue glory for this Victorie. Burg. Warlike and Martiall Talbot, Burgonie Inſhrines thee in his heart, and there erects Thy noble Deeds, as Valors Monuments. Talb. Thanks gentle Duke: but where is Pucel now? I thinke her old Familiar is aſleepe. Now where's the Baſtards braues, and Charles his glikes? What all amort? Roan hangs her head for griefe, That ſuch a valiant Company are fled. Now will we take ſome order in the Towne, Placing therein ſome expert Officers, And then depart to Paris, to the King, For there young Henry with his Nobles lye. Burg.

What wills Lord Talbot, pleaſeth Burgonie.

Talb. But yet before we goe, let's not forget The Noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, But ſee his Exequies fulfill'd in Roan. A brauer Souldier neuer couched Launce, A gentler Heart did neuer ſway in Court. But Kings and mightieſt Potentates muſt die, For that's the end of humane miſerie. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter Charles, Baſtard, Alanſon, Pucell. Pucell. Diſmay not (Princes) at this accident, Nor grieue that▪ Roan is ſo recouered: Care is no cure, but rather corroſiue, For things that are not to be remedy'd. Let frantike Talbot triumph for a while, And like a Peacock ſweepe along his tayle, Wee'le pull his Plumes, and take away his Trayne, If Dolphin and the reſt will be but rul'd. Charles. We haue been guided by thee hitherto, And of thy Cunning had no diffidence, One ſudden Foyle ſhall neuer breed diſtruſt. Baſtard. Search out thy wit for ſecret pollicies, And we will make thee famous through the World. Alanſ. Wee'le ſet thy Statue in ſome holy place, And haue thee reuerenc't like a bleſſed Saint. Employ thee then, ſweet Virgin, for our good. Pucell. Then thus it muſt be, this doth Ioane deuiſe: By faire perſwaſions, mixt with ſugred words, We will entice the Duke of Burgonie To leaue the Talbot, and to follow vs. Charles. I marry Sweeting, if we could doe that, France were no place for Henryes Warriors, Nor ſhould that Nation boaſt it ſo with vs, But be extirped from our Prouinces. Alanſ. For euer ſhould they be expuls'd from France, And not haue Title of an Earledome here. Pucell. Your Honors ſhall perceiue how I will worke, To bring this matter to the wiſhed end. Drumme ſounds a farre off. Hearke, by the ſound of Drumme you may perceiue Their Powers are marching vnto Paris-ward. Here ſound an Engliſh March. There goes the Talbot with his Colours ſpred, And all the Troupes of Engliſh after him. French March. Now in the Rereward comes the Duke and his: Fortune in fauor makes him lagge behinde. Summon a Parley, we will talke with him. Trumpets ſound a Parley. Charles.

A Parley with the Duke of Burgonie.

 Burg.

Who craues a Parley with the Burgonie?

 Pucell.

The Princely Charles of France, thy Countrey-man.

 Burg.

What ſay'ſt thou Charles? for I am marching hence.

 Charles.

Speake Pucell, and enchaunt him with thy words.

 Pucell. Braue Burgonie, vndoubted hope of France, Stay, let thy humble Hand-maid ſpeake to thee. Burg.

Speake on, but be not ouer-tedious.

 Pucell. Looke on thy Country, look on fertile France, And ſee the Cities and the Townes defac't, By waſting Ruine of the cruell Foe, As lookes the Mother on her lowly Babe, When Death doth cloſe his tender-dying Eyes. See, ſee the pining Maladie of France: Behold the Wounds, the moſt vnnaturall Wounds, Which thou thy ſelfe haſt giuen her wofull Breſt. Oh turne thy edged Sword another way, Strike thoſe that hurt, and hurt not thoſe that helpe: One drop of Blood drawne from thy Countries Boſome, Should grieue thee more then ſtreames of forraine gore. Returne thee therefore with a floud of Teares, And waſh away thy Countries ſtayned Spots. Burg. Either ſhe hath bewitcht me with her words, Or Nature makes me ſuddenly relent. Pucell. Beſides, all French and France exclaimes on thee, Doubting thy Birth and lawfull Progenie. Who ioyn'ſt thou with, but with a Lordly Nation, That will not truſt thee, but for profits ſake? When Talbot hath ſet footing once in France, And faſhion'd thee that Inſtrument of Ill, Who then, but Engliſh Henry, will be Lord, And thou be thruſt out, like a Fugitiue? Call we to minde, and marke but this for proofe: Was not the Duke of Orleance thy Foe? And was he not in England Priſoner? But when they heard he was thine Enemie, They ſet him free, without his Ranſome pay'd, In ſpight of Burgonie and all his friends. See then, thou fight'ſt againſt thy Countreymen, And ioyn'ſt with them will be thy ſlaughter-men. Come, come, returne; returne thou wandering Lord, Charles and the reſt will take thee in their armes. Burg. I am vanquiſhed: Theſe haughtie wordes of hers Haue batt'red me like roaring Cannon-ſhot, And made me almoſt yeeld vpon my knees. Forgiue me Countrey, and ſweet Countreymen: And Lords accept this heartie kind embrace. My Forces and my Power of Men are yours. So farwell Talbot, Ile no longer truſt thee. Pucell.

Done like a Frenchman: turne and turne againe.

 Charles.

Welcome braue Duke, thy friendſhip makes vs freſh.

 Bastard.

And doth beget new Courage in our Breaſts.

 Alanſ. Pucell hath brauely play'd her part in this, And doth deſerue a Coronet of Gold. Charles. Now let vs on, my Lords, And ioyne our Powers, And ſeeke how we may preiudice the Foe. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter the King, Glouceſter, Wincheſter, Yorke, Suffolke, Somerſet, Warwicke, Exeter: To them, with his Souldiors, Talbot. Talb. My gracious Prince, and honorable Peeres, Hearing of your arriuall in this Realme, I haue a while giuen Truce vnto my Warres, To doe my dutie to my Soueraigne. In ſigne whereof, this Arme, that hath reclaym'd To your obedience, fiftie Fortreſſes, Twelue Cities, and ſeuen walled Townes of ſtrength, Beſide fiue hundred Priſoners of eſteeme; Lets fall his Sword before your Highneſſe feet: And with ſubmiſſiue loyaltie of heart Aſcribes the Glory of his Conqueſt got, Firſt to my God, and next vnto your Grace. King. Is this the Lord Talbot, Vnckle Glouceſter, That hath ſo long beene reſident in France? Glost.

Yes, if it pleaſe your Maieſtie, my Liege▪

King. Welcome braue Captaine, and victorious Lord. When I was young (as yet I am not old) I doe remember how my Father ſaid, A ſtouter Champion neuer handled Sword. Long ſince we were reſolued of your truth, Your faithfull ſeruice, and your toyle in Warre: Yet neuer haue you taſted our Reward, Or beene reguerdon'd with ſo much as Thanks, Becauſe till now, we neuer ſaw your face. Therefore ſtand vp, and for theſe good deſerts, We here create you Earle of Shrewsbury, And in our Coronation take your place. Senet. Flouriſh. Exeunt. Manet Vernon and Baſſet. Vern. Now Sir, to you that were ſo hot at Sea, Diſgracing of theſe Colours that I weare, In honor of my Noble Lord of Yorke Dar'ſt thou maintaine the former words thou ſpak'ſt? Baſſ. Yes Sir, as well as you dare patronage The enuious barking of your ſawcie Tongue, Againſt my Lord the Duke of Somerſet. Ʋern.

Sirrha, thy Lord I honour as he is.

 Baſſ.

Why, what is he? as good a man as Yorke.

Vern.

Hearke ye: not ſo: in witneſſe take ye that.

 Strikes him. Baſſ. Villaine, thou knoweſt The Law of Armes is ſuch, That who ſo drawes a Sword, 'tis preſent death, Or elſe this Blow ſhould broach thy deareſt Bloud. But Ile vnto his Maieſtie, and craue, I may haue libertie to venge this Wrong, When thou ſhalt ſee, Ile meet thee to thy coſt. Vern. Well miſcreant, Ile be there as ſoone as you, And after meete you, ſooner then you would, Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima. Enter King, Gloceſter, Wincheſter, Yorke, Suffolke, Somerſet, Warwicke, Talbot, and Gouernor Exeter. Glo.

Lord Biſhop ſet the Crowne vpon his head.

 Win.

God ſaue King Henry of that name the ſixt.

 Glo. Now Gouernour of Paris take your oath, That you elect no other King but him; Eſteeme none Friends, but ſuch as are his Friends, And none your Foes, but ſuch as ſhall pretend Malicious practiſes againſt his State: This ſhall ye do, ſo helpe you righteous God. Enter Falſtaffe. Fal. My gracious Soueraigne, as I rode from Calice, To haſte vnto your Coronation: A Letter was deliuer'd to my hands, Writ to your Grace, from th' Duke of Burgundy. Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy, and thee: I vow'd (baſe Knight) when I did meete the next, To teare the Garter from thy Crauens legge, Which I haue done, becauſe (vnworthily) Thou was't inſtalled in that High Degree. Pardon me Princely Henry, and the reſt: This Daſtard, at the battell of Poictiers, When (but in all) I was ſixe thouſand ſtrong, And that the French were almoſt ten to one, Before we met, or that a ſtroke was giuen, Like to a truſtie Squire, did run away. In which aſſault, we loſt twelue hundred men. My ſelfe, and diuers Gentlemen beſide, Were there ſurpriz'd, and taken priſoners. Then iudge (great Lords) if I haue done amiſſe: Or whether that ſuch Cowards ought to weare This Ornament of Knighthood, yea or no? Glo. To ſay the truth, this fact was infamous, And ill beſeeming any common man; Much more a Knight, a Captaine, and a Leader. Tal. When firſt this Order was ordain'd my Lords, Knights of the Garter were of Noble birth; Valiant, and Vertuous, full of haughtie Courage, Such as were growne to credit by the warres: Not fearing Death, nor ſhrinking for Diſtreſſe, But alwayes reſolute, in moſt extreames. He then, that is not furniſh'd in this ſort, Doth but vſurpe the Sacred name of Knight, Prophaning this moſt Honourable Order, And ſhould (if I were worthy to be Iudge) Be quite degraded, like a Hedge-borne Swaine, That doth preſume to boaſt of Gentle blood. K. Staine to thy Countrymen, thou hear'ſt thy doom: Be packing therefore, thou that was't a knight: Henceforth we baniſh thee on paine of death. And now Lord Protector, view the Letter Sent from our Vnckle Duke of Burgundy. Glo. What meanes his Grace, that he hath chaung'd his Stile? No more but plaine and bluntly? (To the King.) Hath he forgot he is his Soueraigne? Or doth this churliſh Superſcription Pretend ſome alteration in good will? What's heere? I haue vpon eſpeciall cauſe, Mou'd with compaſſion of my Countries wracke, Together with the pittifull complaints Of ſuch as your oppreſſion feedes vpon, Forſaken your pernitious Faction, And ioyn'd with Charles, the rightfull king of France. O monſtrous Treachery: Can this be ſo? That in alliance, amity, and oathes, There ſhould be found ſuch falſe diſſembling guile? King.

What? doth my Vnckle Burgundy reuolt?

 Glo.

He doth my Lord, and is become your foe.

 King.

Is that the worſt this Letter doth containe?

 Glo.

It is the worſt, and all (my Lord) he writes.

 King. Why then Lord Talbot there ſhal talk with him, And giue him chaſticement for this abuſe. How ſay you (my Lord) are you not content? Tal. Content, my Liege? Yes: But yt I am preuented, I ſhould haue begg'd I might haue bene employd. King. Then gather ſtrength, and march vnto him ſtraight: Let him perceiue how ill we brooke his Treaſon, And what offence it is to flout his Friends. Tal. I go my Lord, in heart deſiring ſtill You may behold confuſion of your foes. Enter Vernon and Baſſit. Ver.

Grant me the Combate, gracious Soueraigne.

 Baſ.

And me (my Lord) grant me the Combate too.

 Yorke.

This is my Seruant, heare him Noble Prince.

 Som.

And this is mine (ſweet Henry) fauour him.

 King. Be patient Lords, and giue them leaue to ſpeak. Say Gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaime, And wherefore craue you Combate? Or with whom? Ver.

With him (my Lord) for he hath done me wrong.

 Baſ.

And I with him, for he hath done me wrong.

 King. What is that wrong, wherof you both complain Firſt let me know, and then Ile anſwer you. Baſ. Croſſing the Sea, from England into France, This Fellow heere with enuious carping tongue, Vpbraided me about the Roſe I weare, Saying, the ſanguine colour of the Leaues Did repreſent my Maſters bluſhing cheekes: When ſtubbornly he did repugne the truth, About a certaine queſtion in the Law, Argu'd betwixt the Duke of Yorke, and him: With other vile and ignominious tearmes. In confutation of which rude reproach, And in defence of my Lords worthineſſe, I craue the benefit of Law of Armes. Ʋer. And that is my petition (Noble Lord:) For though he ſeeme with forged queint conceite To ſet a gloſſe vpon his bold intent, Yet know (my Lord) I was prouok'd by him, And he firſt tooke exceptions at this badge, Pronouncing that the paleneſſe of this Flower, Bewray'd the faintneſſe of my Maſters heart. Yorke.

Will not this malice Somerſet be left?

 Som. Your priuate grudge my Lord of York, wil out, Though ne're ſo cunningly you ſmother it. King. Good Lord, what madneſſe rules in braineſicke men, When for ſo ſlight and friuolous a cauſe, Such factious aemulations ſhall ariſe? Good Coſins both of Yorke and Somerſet, Quiet your ſelues (I pray) and be at peace. Yorke. Let this diſſention firſt be tried by fight, And then your Highneſſe ſhall command a Peace. Som. The quarrell toucheth none but vs alone, Betwixt our ſelues let vs decide it then. Yorke.

There is my pledge, accept it Somerſet.

 Ver.

Nay, let it reſt where it began at firſt.

 Baſſ.

Confirme it ſo, mine honourable Lord.

 Glo. Confirme it ſo? Confounded be your ſtrife, And periſh ye with your audacious prate, Preſumptuous vaſſals, are you not aſham'd With this immodeſt clamorous outrage, To trouble and diſturbe the King, and Vs? And you my Lords, me thinkes you do not well To beare with their peruerſe Obiections: Much leſſe to take occaſion from their mouthes, To raiſe a mutiny betwixt your ſelues. Let me perſwade you take a better courſe. Exet. It greeues his Highneſſe, Good my Lords, be Friends. King. Come hither you that would be Combatants: Henceforth I charge you, as you loue our fauour, Quite to forget this Quarrell, and the cauſe. And you my Lords: Remember where we are, In France, amongſt a fickle wauering Nation: If they perceyue diſſention in our lookes, And that within our ſelues we diſagree; How will their grudging ſtomackes be prouok'd To wilfull Diſobedience, and Rebell? Beſide, What infamy will there ariſe, When Forraigne Princes ſhall be certified, That for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henries Peeres, and cheefe Nobility, Deſtroy'd themſelues, and loſt the Realme of France? Oh thinke vpon the Conqueſt of my Father, My tender yeares, and let vs not forgoe That for a trifle, that was bought with blood. Let me be Vmper in this doubtfull ſtrife: I ſee no reaſon if I weare this Roſe, That any one ſhould therefore be ſuſpitious I more incline to Somerſet, than Yorke: Both are my kinſmen, and I loue them both. As well they may vpbray'd me with my Crowne, Becauſe (forſooth) the King of Scots is Crown'd. But your diſcretions better can perſwade, Then I am able to inſtruct or teach: And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let vs ſtill continue peace, and loue. Coſin of Yorke, we inſtitute your Grace To be our Regent in theſe parts of France: And good my Lord of Somerſet, vnite Your Troopes of horſemen, with his Bands of foote, And like true Subiects, ſonnes of your Progenitors, Go cheerefully together, and digeſt Your angry Choller on your Enemies. Our Selfe, my Lord Protector, and the reſt, After ſome reſpit, will returne to Calice; From thence to England, where I hope ere long To be preſented by your Victories, With Charles, Alanſon, and that Traiterous rout. Exeunt. Manet Yorke, Warwick, Exeter, Vernon. War. My Lord of Yorke, I promiſe you the King Prettily (me thought) did play the Orator.) Yorke. And ſo he did, but yet I like it not, In that he weares the badge of Somerſet. War. Tuſh, that was but his fancie, blame him not, I dare preſume (ſweet Prince) he thought no harme. York. And if I wiſh he did. But let it reſt, Other affayres muſt now be managed. Exeunt. Flouriſh. Manet Exeter. Exet. Well didſt thou Richard to ſuppreſſe thy voice: For had the paſſions of thy heart burſt out, I feare we ſhould haue ſeene decipher'd there More rancorous ſpight, more furious raging broyles, Then yet can be imagin'd or ſuppos'd: But howſoere, no ſimple man that ſees This iarring diſcord of Nobilitie, This ſhouldering of each other in the Court, This factious bandying of their Fauourites, But that it doth preſage ſome ill euent. 'Tis much, when Scepters are in Childrens hands: But more, when Enuy breeds vnkinde deuiſion, There comes the ruine, there begins confuſion. Exit. Enter Talbot with Trumpe and Drumme, before Burdeaux. Talb. Go to the Gates of Burdeaux Trumpeter, Summon their Generall vnto the Wall. Sounds. Enter Generall aloft. Engliſh Iohn Talbot (Captaines) call you forth, Seruant in Armes to Harry King of England, And thus he would. Open your Citie Gates, Be humble to vs, call my Soueraigne yours, And do him homage as obedient Subiects, And Ile withdraw me, and my bloody power. But if you frowne vpon this proffer'd Peace, You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Leane Famine, quartering Steele, and climbing Fire, Who in a moment, eeuen with the earth, Shall lay your ſtately, and ayre-brauing Towers, If you forſake the offer of their loue. Cap. Thou ominous and fearefull Owle of death, Our Nations terror, and their bloody ſcourge, The period of thy Tyranny approacheth, On vs thou canſt not enter but by death: For I proteſt we are well fortified, And ſtrong enough to iſſue out and fight. If thou retire, the Dolphin well appointed, Stands with the ſnares of Warre to tangle thee. On either hand thee, there are ſquadrons pitcht, To wall thee from the liberty of Flight; And no way canſt thou turne thee for redreſſe, But death doth front thee with apparant ſpoyle, And pale deſtruction meets thee in the face: Ten thouſand French haue tane the Sacrament, To ryue their dangerous Artillerie Vpon no Chriſtian ſoule but Engliſh Talbot: Loe, there thou ſtandſt a breathing valiant man Of an inuincible vnconquer'd ſpirit: This is the lateſt Glorie of thy praiſe, That I thy enemy dew thee withall: For ere the Glaſſe that now begins to runne, Finiſh the proceſſe of his ſandy houre, Theſe eyes that ſee thee now well coloured, Shall ſee thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead. Drum a farre off. Harke, harke, the Dolphins drumme, a warning bell, Sings heauy Muſicke to thy timorous ſoule, And mine ſhall ring thy dire departure out, Exit Tal. He Fables not, I heare the enemie: Out ſome light Horſemen, and peruſe their Wings. O negligent and heedleſſe Diſcipline, How are we park'd and bounded in a pale? A little Heard of Englands timorous Deere, Maz'd with a yelping kennell of French Curres. If we be Engliſh Deere, be then in blood, Not Raſcall-like to fall downe with a pinch, But rather moodie mad: And deſperate Stagges, Turne on the bloody Hounds with heads of Steele, And make the Cowards ſtand aloofe at bay: Sell euery man his life as deere as mine, And they ſhall finde deere Deere of vs my Friends. God, and S. George, Talbot and Englands right, Proſper our Colours in this dangerous fight. Enter a Meſſenger that meets Yorke. Enter Yorke with Trumpet, and many Soldiers. Yorke. Are not the ſpeedy ſcouts return'd againe, That dog'd the mighty Army of the Dolphin? Meſſ. They are return'd my Lord, and giue it out, That he is march'd to Burdeaux with his power To fight with Talbot as he march'd along. By your eſpyals were diſcouered Two mightier Troopes then that the Dolphin led, Which ioyn'd with him, and made their march for Burdeaux Yorke. A plague vpon that Villaine Somerſet, That thus delayes my promiſed ſupply Of horſemen, that were leuied for this ſiege. Renowned Talbot doth expect my ayde, And I am lowted by a Traitor Villaine, And cannot helpe the noble Cheualier: God comfort him in this neceſſity: If he miſcarry, farewell Warres in France. Enter another Meſſenger. 2. Meſ. Thou Princely Leader of our Engliſh ſtrength, Neuer ſo needfull on the earth of France, Spurre to the reſcue of the Noble Talbot, Who now is girdled with a waſte of Iron, And hem'd about with grim deſtruction: To Burdeaux warlike Duke, to Burdeaux Yorke, Elſe farwell Talbot, France, and Englands honor. Yorke. O God, that Somerſet who in proud heart Doth ſtop my Cornets, were in Talbots place, So ſhould wee ſaue a valiant Gentleman, By forteyting a Traitor, and a Coward: Mad ire, and wrathfull fury makes me weepe, That thus we dye, while remiſſe Traitors ſleepe. Meſ.

O ſend ſome ſuccour to the diſtreſt Lord.

 Yorke. He dies, we looſe: I breake my warlike word: We mourne, France ſmiles: We looſe, they dayly get, All long of this vile Traitor Somerſet. Meſ. Then God take mercy on braue Talbots ſoule, And on his Sonne yong Iohn, who two houres ſince, I met in trauaile toward his warlike Father; This ſeuen yeeres did not Talbot ſee his ſonne, And now they meete where both their liues are done. Yorke. Alas, what ioy ſhall noble Talbot haue, To bid his yong ſonne welcome to his Graue: Away, vexation almoſt ſtoppes my breath, That ſundred friends greete in the houre of death. Lucie farewell, no more my fortune can, But curſe the cauſe I cannot ayde the man. Maine, Bloys, Poytiers, and Toures, are wonne away, Long all of Somerſet, and his delay. Exit Meſ. Thus while the Vulture of ſedition, Feedes in the boſome of ſuch great Commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loſſe: The Conqueſt of our ſcarſe-cold Conqueror, That euer-liuing man of Memorie, Henrie the fift: Whiles they each other croſſe, Liues, Honours, Lands, and all, hurrie to loſſe. Enter Somerſet with his Armie. Som. It is too late, I cannot ſend them now: This expedition was by Yorke and Talbot, Too raſhly plotted. All our generall force, Might with a ſally of the very Towne Be buckled with: the ouer-daring Talbot Hath ſullied all his gloſſe of former Honor By this vnheedfull, deſperate, wilde aduenture: Yorke ſet him on to fight, and dye in ſhame, That Talbot dead, great Yorke might beare the name. Cap. Heere is Sir William Lucie, who with me Set from our ore-matcht forces forth for ayde. Som.

How now Sir William, whether were you ſent?

 Lu. Whether my Lord, from bought & ſold L. Talbot, Who ring'd about with bold aduerſitie, Cries out for noble Yorke and Somerſet, To beate aſſayling death from his weake Regions, And whiles the honourable Captaine there Drops bloody ſwet from his warre-wearied limbes, And in aduantage lingring lookes for reſcue, You his falſe hopes, the truſt of Englands honor, Keepe off aloofe with worthleſſe emulation: Let not your priuate diſcord keepe away The leuied ſuccours that ſhould lend him ayde, While he renowned Noble Gentleman Yeeld vp his life vnto a world of oddes. Orleance the Baſtard, Charles, Burgundie, Alanſon, Reignard, compaſſe him about, And Talbot periſheth by your default. Som.

Yorke ſet him on, Yorke ſhould haue ſent him ayde.

 Luc. And Yorke as faſt vpon your Grace exclaimes, Swearing that you with-hold his leuied hoaſt, Collected for this expidition. Som. York lyes: He might haue ſent, & had the Horſe: I owe him little Dutie, and leſſe Loue, And take foule ſcorne to fawne on him by ſending. Lu. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now intrapt the Noble-minded Talbot: Neuer to England ſhall he beare his life, But dies betraid to fortune by your ſtrife. Som. Come go, I will diſpatch the Horſemen ſtrait: Within ſixe houres, they will be at his ayde. Lu. Too late comes reſcue, he is tane or ſlaine, For flye he could not, if he would haue fled: And flye would Talbot neuer though he might. Som.

If he be dead, braue Talbot then adieu.

 Lu.

His Fame liues in the world. His Shame in you.

Exeunt. Enter Talbot and his Sonne. Tal. O yong Iohn Talbot, I did ſend for thee▪ To tutor thee in ſtratagems of Warre, That Talbots name might be in thee reuiu'd, When ſapleſſe Age, and weake vnable limbes Should bring thy Father to his drooping Chaire. But O malignant and ill-boading Starres, Now thou art come vnto a Feaſt of death, A terrible and vnauoyded danger: Therefore deere Boy, mount on my ſwifteſt horſe, And Ile direct thee how thou ſhalt eſcape By ſodaine flight. Come, dally not, be gone. Iohn. Is my name Talbot? and am I your Sonne? And ſhall I flye? O, if you loue my Mother, Diſhonor not her Honorable Name, To make a Baſtard, and a Slaue of me: The World will ſay, he is not Talbots blood, That baſely fled, when Noble Talbot ſtood. Talb.

Flye, to reuenge my death, if I be ſlaine.

 Iohn.

He that flyes ſo, will ne're returne againe.

 Talb.

If we both ſtay, we both are ſure to dye.

 Iohn. Then let me ſtay, and Father doe you flye: Your loſſe is great, ſo your regard ſhould be; My worth vnknowne, no loſſe is knowne in me. Vpon my death, the French can little boaſt; In yours they will, in you all hopes are loſt. Flight cannot ſtayne the Honor you haue wonne, But mine it will, that no Exploit haue done. You fled for Vantage, euery one will ſweare: But if I bow, they'le ſay it was for feare. There is no hope that euer I will ſtay, If the firſt howre I ſhrinke and run away: Here on my knee I begge Mortalitie, Rather then Life, preſeru'd with Infamie. Talb.

Shall all thy Mothers hopes lye in one Tombe?

 Iohn.

I rather then Ile ſhame my Mothers Wombe,

 Talb.

Vpon my Bleſſing I command thee goe.

 Iohn.

To fight I will, but not to flye the Foe.

 Talb.

Part of thy Father may be ſau'd in thee.

 Iohn.

No part of him, but will be ſhame in mee.

 Talb.

Thou neuer hadſt Renowne, nor canſt not loſe it.

 Iohn.

Yes, your renowned Name: ſhall flight abuſe it?

 Talb.

Thy Fathers charge ſhal cleare thee from yt ſtaine.

 Iohn. You cannot witneſſe for me, being ſlaine. If Death be ſo apparant, then both flye. Talb. And leaue my followers here to fight and dye? My Age was neuer tainted with ſuch ſhame. Iohn. And ſhall my Youth be guiltie of ſuch blame? No more can I be ſeuered from your ſide, Then can your ſelfe, your ſelfe in twaine diuide: Stay, goe, doe what you will, the like doe I; For liue I will not, if my Father dye. Talb. Then here I take my leaue of thee, faire Sonne, Borne to eclipſe thy Life this afternoone: Come, ſide by ſide, together liue and dye, And Soule with Soule from France to Heauen flye. Exit. Alarum: Excurſions, wherein Talbots Sonne is hemm'd about, and Talbot reſcues him. Talb. Saint George, and Victory; fight Souldiers, fight: The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word, And left vs to the rage of France his Sword. Where is Iohn Talbot? pawſe, and take thy breath, I gaue thee Life, and reſcu'd thee from Death. Iohn. O twice my Father, twice am I thy Sonne: The Life thou gau'ſt me firſt, was loſt and done, Till with thy Warlike Sword, deſpight of Fate, To my determin'd time thou gau'ſt new date. Talb. When frō the Dolphins Creſt thy Sword ſtruck fire, It warm'd thy Fathers heart with prowd deſire Of bold-fac't Victorie. Then Leaden Age, Quicken'd with Youthfull Spleene, and Warlike Rage, Beat downe Alanſon, Orleance, Burgundie, And from the Pride of Gallia reſcued thee. The irefull Baſtard Orleance, that drew blood From thee my Boy, and had the Maidenhood Of thy firſt fight, I ſoone encountred, And interchanging blowes, I quickly ſhed Some of his Baſtard blood, and in diſgrace Beſpoke him thus: Contaminated, baſe, And mis-begotten blood, I ſpill of thine, Meane and right poore, for that pure blood of mine, Which thou didſt force from Talbot, my braue Boy. Here purpoſing the Baſtard to deſtroy, Came in ſtrong reſcue. Speake thy Fathers care: Art thou not wearie, Iohn? How do'ſt thou fare? Wilt thou yet leaue the Battaile, Boy, and flie, Now thou art ſeal'd the Sonne of Chiualrie? Flye, to reuenge my death when I am dead, The helpe of one ſtands me in little ſtead. Oh, too much folly is it, well I wot, To hazard all our liues in one ſmall Boat, If I to day dye not with Frenchmens