h 111 If THE PLAYS 0¥ SHAKESPEARE, IN NINE VOLUMES, VOL. m. ■LONDON: WILLIAM PICKERING, CHANCEBV LANE. MDCCCXXV. 5N SHAKESPEARE. VOL. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, TAMING OF THE SHREW. WINTER'S TALE. AS YOU LIKE IT. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. JJUKE, livint; in exile. FREDERICK, brother to the Dake, and usurper of his dominions, AMIENS, / Lords attending upon the Duke in his JAQUES, ( banishment. LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick. CHARLES, his wrestler. OLIVER, JAQUES, L sons of sir Rowland de Bois. ORLANDO, 3 ADAM, / . . rtv DENNIS \ servants to Oliver. TOUCHSTONE, a clown. SIR OLIVER MAR-TEXT, a vicar. CORIN, ( I, T. J SYLVIUS, \ shepherds. WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey. A person representing Hynien. ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke. CELIA, daughter to Frederick. PHEBE, a shepherdess. AUDREY, a country wench. Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other Attendants. The Scene lies,Jirst, near Oliver's house; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the forest of Arden. AS YOXJ LIKE IT. ACT I. SCENE I. An orchard^ near Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Orl, As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me : By will, but a poor thou- sand crowns ; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept: For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox 1 His horses are bred better ; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth ; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this no- thing, that he so plentifully gives me, the somer thing, that nature gave me, his countenance seems to take from me : he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my fa- ther, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude : I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Enter OLIVER. ^dam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Oli, Now, sir ! what make you here? 4 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 1. Ort. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. Oti. What mar you then, sir? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that ^vhich God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness 1 Oil. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught awhile . Ort. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury ? Oli. Know you where you are, sir ? Orl. O, sir, very well, here in your orchard. Oli. Know you before whom, sir ? Orl. Ay, better than he, I am before, knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me : The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first bom; but the same tradition taktjs not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my father in me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming before me ia pearer to his reverence. Oli. What, boy ! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain T Orl. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois ; he was my father; and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so ; thou hast railed on thyself. yidam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your fa- ther's remembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till 1 please : you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it ; therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will «o buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is Spent? W^Ui sirj get you iu : I will not long Sc. 1. A3 YOU LIKE IT. 5 troubled with you : you shall have some part of your will : I pray you, leave me. Ofl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. OH. Get you with him, you old dog Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. — God be -with my old master ! he would not have spoke such a word. Orlando and Adam. OH. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I will physick your rankness, and yet give noi thousand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis ! Enter DENNIS. Den. Calls your worship? OH. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, hers to speak with me t Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. OH. Call him in. {Eaii Dennh.]—"Tv:\\l be a good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. OH. Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new news at the new court? Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news : that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke ; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke ; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. OH. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? Cha. O, no ; for the duke*s daughter, her cousin, so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred to- gether, — that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court), and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter ; and never two ladies loved as they do. OH. Where will the old duke live? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest 0.1 Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England; they say many young gentlemen flock to him evacy « AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 1. day ; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden ivorld. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke ? Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a dispoaition to come in disguis'd against ma to try a fall : To-morrow, sir, 1 wrestle for my credit ; and he, that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender ; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my o^vn honour, if he come in : therefore, out of ray love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal ; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into ; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will. OH. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it ; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of France ; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous con- triver against me his natural brother ; therefore use thy discretion ; 1 had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger : And thou wert best look to't ; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some trea- cherous device, and never leave thee, till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other : for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one eo young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him ; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you ; If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment : If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more : And so, God keep your worship! \_Ea'ii. Oli. Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir this gamester : I hope I shall see an end of him ; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned ; full of noble device ; of all sorts enchantingly beloved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own peo- ple, who best know him, that I am altogether mis- prised : but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler shall clear all : nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Ea-it. SCENE II. j4 lawn be/ore the Duke's palace. Enter ROSALIND ond CELIA. Cel. Ipray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn rae how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. You 'know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have ; and, truly, when he dies, thou shah be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection ; by mine honour, I will ; and. when I break that oath, let me turn monstei' : therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports : let me see ; "What think you of falling in love ? . ^ - Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, tn make sport withal : but love no man in good earnest ; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may*st in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then ? Cel. Let us sjt and mock the good housewife : Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hence- forth be bestowed equally. Ros. I would we could do so ; for lier benefits 8 AS YOU LIKE IT, Actl. are miglitily misplaced : and the bountiful blind woman doth, most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true : for those, that she makes fair, she scai-ce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favouredlv- Ros. Nay, now ihou goest from fortune's office to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE. Ctl. No ? When nature hath made a fair crea- ture, may she not by fortune fall into the five ?— Though nature hath given us wit to flout at for- tune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature ; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter oft" of nature's wit. Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's ; who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone ; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How now, wit? whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cfl/. Were you made the messenger ? Touch. No, by mine honour ; hut I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool ? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught : now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good ; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cei. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge ? Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke youv chinn, and swear by your beards, that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were : but, if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any : or, if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pan- cakes or that mustard. Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 9 rd Pr'vthee, who is't, that thou niean'st? 0.16, that old Frederick, your father, loves. ?w Siy fa her's love is enough to honour h.m E,;;ugh!%eak no n,ore of him, you'll be wh.p d >»ay not speak ->S^-^t^^>usS^rl^e:^rg.e*^ little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little fMler "that wise men have, makes a great show. Hete comes Monsieur Le Beau. Enter LE BEAU. »os With his mouth full of news. ai. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed '''««7°rhln shall we lie news-cramm'd. C [■ All the better ; we shall "e the more^^ar- ketahle. Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau. What s Fair princess, you have lost much good "^Tei. Sport! Of what colour ! ic Beau. What colour, madam » How shall l answer you ? . «ot As wit and fortune will. Tmirh Or as the destinies decree. Sr Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel. Toich. Nay, if I Iteep ",»« my rank, Ro!. Thou'losest thy old smell. ic Seoa You amaze me, ladies : 1 would Baj^e toli you of good wrestling, which you have lost the "$os° Yet tell us the manner of the ™ii«tog. Le Beau I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyshimf you may see the end ; for fhe besl is ye. to So ; and here where you are, they are coming to perform It. Cet. Well,— the beginning, that is tteau There comes an old man, and his thre. '"arHould match this beginning with an old lale LeBeai. Three proper young men, of excellent wKs Vn~;^eir necks,-^ U uala alt men hy these presents, 10 AS YOU LIKE IT. Aiy I. Charles, the duke's wrestler j which Charles in a n,oment threw hi™, a.,d broke three of his Abs! that there rs I.ttle hope of life in him : so he served the second, and so the third: Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such nitifnl ao le over then,, that all the beholder! take hiCar With weeping. 3 jjan, Ros. Alas ! lad^rLvt'losT^* " ^P"-'- ^■fBenu. Why, this that I speak of. Jouch. Thus men may grow wiser every day < it is the first time, that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. s >" Cel. Or I, I promise thee Has, But is there any else longs to see this broken musick in his sides ? is there yet another dotes raus°in7 " ' "° wrestling, _ UBem. You must, if you stay here : for here IS the place appointed for the wrestling, and thev are readjr to perfoi-m it. ^ Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : Let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Eater Duke FREDERICK, Lank OR- LANDO, CHARLES, anil Attendants. DuheF. Come: on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. HQS. Is yonder the man ? Le Beau. Even he, madam. fuUy'' "'° ■ y"-^" '""'"s success- Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin » are you crept hither to see the wrestling I f>"; ^y, my liege : so please you give us leave. Duke F You w,ll take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men : In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, iadies; see if you can move him. Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DukeF. Do so; I'll not be by. [Dtcke goes apart . Umi. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 11 Bos. Young man, have you challenged Charles ^Orf'^NoT fair princess; he is the general chal- lenger : 1 come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Cel Youn" gentleman, your spn'its are too boil for your years : You have seen cruel proof of this mai's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your ,,udgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give oyer ''"soj"™!^' young sir ; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go ior- ""orf I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guiity, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. Hut let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial : wherein if f be foiled, «''?;■ V.?,''?' i" , shamed, that was never gracious ; if killed, but one dead, that is willing to be so : I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me , the world no injury, for in it 1 have nothing ; only in the world I fill np a place, which maybe better supplied when I have made it empty. Was. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. . , Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you. , . , Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. , Oia. Come, where is this young gallant, that is EO desirous to lie with his mother earth . 0,1. Ready, sir ; but his will hath m it a more modest working. Huie F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, 1 warrant your grace ; you sha,ll not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily ^T.'You"meant"mo*c'kme after; yon should not have mocked me before : but come your ways^ Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man^ Crl I would I were invisible, to catch the strong felfow iy the leg. iCkarles and Orlando roresile. 12 AS YOU LIKE IT. Actl. ^os. O excellent young man ! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. n„t-. c- ICAarles is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. weuielSd. ' ™ ■">' ZJa-tfl How dost thou, Charles ? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. flai-s F Bear him away. ICkarles is dome out. What IS thy name, young man? Orl. Orlando, ray liege ,■ the youngest son of sir Kowland de Bois. Dute F . I would thou hadst been son to some man else. The world esteem'd thy father honourable, ^ut I did find him still mine enemy : Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. «ut fare thee well : thou art a gallant youth • I tvould, thou hadst told me of another father. r. , S^'""" Ouke Fred. Train, and U Beau. Lei Were I my father, coz, would I do this ' Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, His youngest son and would not change that calling. To be adopted heir to Frederick. Ros. My father lo-r'd sir Rowland as his soul. And all the world was of my father's mind : Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties', *.re he should thus have ventur'd. T . , , Gentle cousin, l^et us go thank him, and encourage him : My father's rough and envious disposition itioks me at heart.— Sir, you have well deserv'd • It you do keep your promises in love. But justly, as you have exceeded promise, lour mistress shall be happy. Gentleman, \Givxng him a chain from her neck. wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune, lhat could give more, but that her hand lacks means. — Shall we go, coz ? Cel. Ay :— Fare you well, fair gentleman. Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. .13 Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parts Are allthrown down; and that,which here stands up. Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. . Ros. He calls us back : My pride fell with my fortunes: ' n - 1 I'll ask him what he would :■— Did you call, sir?"— Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthro-svn More than your enemies. Ce/. Will you go, coz ? Ros. Have with you :— Fare you well. \_Exeunt Rosalind ana telta. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue 1 r I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. Re-enter LE BEAU. O poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown ; Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel yoo To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd High eommendtttion, true applause, and love. Yet such is now the duke's condition. That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous ; what he is, indeed. More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. Orl. I thaaik you, sir : and, pray you, tell me this; Which of the two was daughter of the duke. That here was at the wrestling ? -,1, Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners ; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter : The other is daughter to the hanish'd duke. And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company ; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you, that of late this duke Hath la'en displeasure *gainst his gentle neice ; Groxmded upon no other argument. But that the people praise her for her virtues. And pity her for her good father's sake ; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth.— Sir, fare you well ; Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well. [Eait Le Bean- Thus must I fwm Uie smoke into the smother \ 14 AS YOU LIKE IT, Act I . From tyrant dulce, unto a tyrant brother : — But heavenly Rosalind ! [Exit. SCENE HI. ^ room in the palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind : — Cupid have mercy ! — Not a word ? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons. Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when, the one should be lamed \vith reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : O, how full of briars is this working-day world ! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it possible on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son ? Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly ? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not 1 doth he not deserve well Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love him, because I do : — Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Sc. 3. AS YOU LIKE IT. 15 Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords. Ditke'F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court. Ro$. Me, uncle? Duke F. You, cousin : Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our publick court as twenty miles. Thou diest for it. Ros. I do beseech your grace, Let me the Icnowledge of my fault bear with me : If with myself I hold intelligence. Or have acquaintance with mine o^vn desires ; If that I do not dream, or be not franticlc, (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle. Never, so much as in a thought unborn. Did I offend your highness. Duke F. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: — Lst it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Ros. So was I, when your highness took his dukedom j So was I, when your highness banished him : Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me ? my father was no traitor : Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much. To think my poverty is treacherous. Cel.: Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DukeF. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake. Else had she with her father raug'd along. Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay : It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; I was too young that time to value her, But now 1 know her : if flhe be a traitor, Why so am I ; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans. Still we went coupled, and inseparable. Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her smoothaess. 16 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 1. Her very silence, and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous. When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege; I cannot live out of htr company. Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide yourself; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. \^Kaeuat Duke Frederick and Lords. Cel. O my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou go ? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. \ charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. £os. I have more ca\ise. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not the duke Hath banish'd me his daughter? Mos, That he hath not. CeL No 1 hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee, that thou and I am one : Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl? No ; let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me, how we may fly. Whither to go, and what to bear with, us : And do not seek to take your change upon you» To hear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale» Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. Ros. Why, whither shaU we go ? Cel. To seek my uncle. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us. Maids as we are, to travel forth so fa^ ? Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CeL I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,. And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; The like do you ; so shall we pass along. And never stir assailants. Ros. Were it not better, Becau,se that I am more than common tall. That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-ax u.poa my thigh, A boar-sp^ar ia my bjmd ; and ^in my heart Sc. 1. AS YOU LIKE IT. 17 Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,) We'll have a swashing and a martial outside ; As many other mannish cowards have. That do outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee, wlien thou art a man 7 Eos. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, And therefore look you call me Ganymede. B«t what -will you be call'd ? Cel. Something that hath a reference to lay state ; No longer Celia, but Alieiaa. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away. And get our jewels and our wealth together ; ]>evise the fittest time, and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight ; New go we in content. To liberty, and not to banishment. \_Ea'eunt. ACT ir. SCENE I. 7 he Forest of At den. Enter DuTce senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, ia the dress of Foresters. Duke S. Now, my co-tnates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these w^oods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors. That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous. Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from publick haunt. Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace. That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into t-> quiet and so sweet a style. 43 19 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 2. D,uke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — Being native burghers of thjs desert city, — Should, in their o\yn confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaqu.es grieves at that ; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you. To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, pid steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, -whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook, that brawls along this wood : To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. That from the hunters' aim had la'en a hurt. Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord. The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase : thus the hairy fool. Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the eitremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. j)uke S. But what said Jaques t Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament To thai which had too much : Then, bemg ajone. Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; *Tis right, quoth he ; this misery doth part Thejiux of company : Anon, a careless herd. Full of the pasture, jumps along by him. And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques, Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 'Tis just the fashion : therefore do you look Upon that poor and hrokeii bankrupt there f Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court. Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse. To fright the animals, and to kill them up, jin their assign'd and native dwelling place. Puke S. And did you leave him m this poutenoi- thy sum of more Sc. 3. AS YOU LIKE IT. 19 2 Lord. We did,iny lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place ; I love to cope him in these sullen fits. For then he's full of matter, 2 Lord. 1*11 bring you to Mm straight. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. ^ room in the paiace. Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants. Duke F. Can itbe possible, that no man saw tham? It cannot be : some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this, J Lord. I cannot hear 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 untreasur'd of their mistress. 2 J,ord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your gra're was went to laugh, is also missing. Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman. Confesses, that she secretly o'er-heard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler, That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; And she believes, wherever they are gone. That youth is surely in their company. Duke F. Send to his brother; letch that gallant hither ; If he be absent, bring hJs brother to me, I'll make him find him : do this suddenly; And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish nmaways. {^Exeunt. SCENE III. Before Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. Orl. Who's there ? Adam. What ! my young master O, my gentle master, O, my sweet master, O you memory Of old sir Rowland ? why, what make you here ? Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bony priser of the humoroua diike ? 20 AS you LIKE IT. Act 2. Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies ? No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master. Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. Oj what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it ! Orl. Why, what's the matter ? Adam. O unhappy youth. Come not within these doors ; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives : Your brother — [no, no brother; yet the sou- Yet not the son ; — I will not call him son — Of him I was about to call his father,) — Hath heard your praises ; and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie. And you within it : if he fail of that. He ivjU have other means to cut you off : I overheard him, and his practices. This is no place, this house is but a butchery ; Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come hot here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ? Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce A thievish living on the common road ? This I must do, or know not what to do : Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not so : I have five hundred croAvns, The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father. Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse. When service should in my old limba lie lame. And unregarded age in corners thrown ; Take that : and He, that doth the ravens feed. Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; All this I give you : Let me be your servant ; Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; Ngr did not with unbashful foi-ehead woo The means of weakness and debility ; Therefore my age is as a lusty ■(vinter^ Sc. 4. AS YOU LIKE IT. 21 Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you j I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. Orl, O' good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world. When service sweat for duty, not for meed I Thou art not for the fashion of these times. Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree. That cannot So much as a blossom yield. In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry : But come thy ways, we'll go along together ; And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. We'll light upon some settled low content. ^dam. Master, go on ; and I will follow thee-. To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; But at fourscore, it is too late a week : Yet fortune cannot recompense me better. Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. \Ea;eu&t- SCENE IV. lilt Forest of Ardm. Enter ROSALIND in hoy's clothes, CELIA drest like a Shepherdess, and TOUCHSTONE. Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. Ros. I could find In my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must coBofort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat : therefore, courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; T caimot go no further. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have no money iu your • purse. Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fael 22 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 2. I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but ti-avellers must be content. Ros, Ay, be so, good Touchstone : — Look yoU/ who comes here ; a young man, and. an old, in solemn talk. Enter CORIN CTirfSILVIUS. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But, if thy love were ever like to mine, (As sure I think did never man love so,) How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Cor. Into a thousand, that I have forgotten. SiL Of thou didst then ne'er love so heartily : If thou remember'st not the slightest folly. That ever love did make thee run into. Thou hast not lov'd : Or, if thou hast not sat as I do now. Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise. Thou hast not lov'd : Or, if thou hast not broke from company, Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. Thou hast not lov'd : O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! \_E2-it Silvius. Ros . Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own, Thuck. And I mine : I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile : and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd : and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her ; from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears, ff'ear these fur my Sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Has. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. Sc. 4. AS YOU LIKE IT. 33 Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale ivith me. Cel. 1 pray you, one of you question yond man. If he for gold will give us any food ; I faint almost to death. Touch. Holla; you, clown ! Ros. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman. Cor. Who calls T I Touch. Your betters, sir. I Car. Else are they very wretched. Ros. Peace, I say : — Good even to you, friend. Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and tt> you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd,, if that love, or gold^ Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd. And faints for succour. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. And wish for her sake, more than for mine own. My fortunes were more able to reliere her : But 1 am shepherd to another man. And do not sheer the fleeces, that 1 graze ; My master is of churlish disposition. And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality : Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed. Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now. By reason of his absence, there is nothing. That you will feed on ; but what is, come se^ And in my voice most welcome shail you be. Ros. What is he, that shall buy his flock and pasture T Cor. That young swain, that you s^aw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty. Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock. And thou shall have to pay for it of us. 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, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be, And buy it with your gold right suddenly. AS YOU LIKE IT. SCENE V. The same. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others . SONG. Ami. Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me. And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither ; Here shall he see No enemy, - But winter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs : More, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged ; I know, I cannot please you. ^ Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do de- sire you to sing: Come, more; another stanza: Call you them stanzas X Ami, What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe me nothing : Will you sing? Ami. More at your request, than to please my- self. ' Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that, they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes ; and, when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing ; and you that will not, hold your tongues. Ami. Well, I'll end the song.— Sirs, cover the while ; the dake will drink under this tree : — he iath been all this day to look you. c/a^. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too displjtable for my company : 1 think of as many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, and naake no boast of them. Come, wavblcj come. Sc. 6. AS YOU LIKE IT. 25 SONG. Who doth ambition shun, l/iH together here. And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets. Come hither, come hither, come hither I Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jag. I'll give you a verse to this note, that X made yesterday in spite of my invention. yfrni. And I'll sing it. J(tq. Thus it goes : If it do come to pass, That any man turn ass. Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, DucdJime, ducdfime, ducdime ; Here shall he see Gross fools as he. An if he will come to Ami. ^mi What's that ducdame? Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Ecypt. ^mi. And I'll go seek the duke ; his banquet is prepared. [^Ea'eunt severally. SCENE VI. 7'he same. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. ^Farewell, kind master. Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a little : If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable ; hold death awhile at the arm's end : I will here be with thee presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! thou look'st cheerily : and I'll be with thee 26 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 2. quickly. — Yet thou liest in the bleak air : Come, I will bear thee to some shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good AdamI [_Edeuni. SCENE VII. The same. A table set out. Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, Lords, and others. Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; For 1 can no where find him like a man. 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song. Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in die spheres : — Go, seek him j tell him, I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES. 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. DukeS. Why, how now, monsieur: what a life is this. That your poor friends must woo your company ? W^hat ! you look merrily, Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool I' the forest, A motley foolj — a miserable world ! — As I do live by food, I met a fool ; Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun. And rail'd on lady Fortune in goad temns, In good set lerms^ — and yet a motley fool. Good morrow, fool, quoth 1 : No, sir, quoth he. Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me Jbrtuae: And then he drew a dial from his poke; And looking on it with lack-lustre eye. Says, very wisely, ft is ten o'clock: Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world K(igs : 'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine; j4nd after an hour more, 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, j4nd theji, from hour to hour, we rot, and rot, And thefeby hangs a tale. When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time. My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh, sans intermission. An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! A worthy fool I Motley's the only wear. ISc. 7. AS YOU LIKE IT. 37 Duke S. What fool is this ? Jaq. O worthy fool !— One, that hftth been a courtier ; And says, if ladies he but young, and fair. They have the gift to know it : and in his brain,— Which is as dry as the remainder hisltet After a voyage,-^he hath strange places cramin'3. With observation, the which he vents In mangled forma :— O, that I were a fool ! I am ambitious for a motley coat. Duke S. Thou shalt have one. jgq_ It is my only suit;-' Provided, that you weed your better judgmeots Of all opinion, that grows rank in them. That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind. To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : And they, that are most galled with my folly. They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so? The wht/ is plain as way to parish church : He, that a fool doth very wisely hit. Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the boh : if not. The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squandring glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley ; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. If they will patiently receive my medicine. Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thoir I wouldst do. i Jag. What, for a counter, would I do, but good? Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine. As sensual as the brutish fiting itself ; And all the embossed sores, and headed evils. That thou with licence of free foot hast caught> Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride. That can therein tax any private party ? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the very very means do ebb ? What woman in the city do I name. When that I say. The city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? Who can come in, and say, that I mean h&r. When such a one as she, such is h« neighbour ? 28 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 2. Or what is he of basest function. That says, his bravery is not on my cost, (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech ? There then ; How, what then ? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right. Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free. Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here 7 Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn. Orl. Foibear, and eat no move. •^og. Why, I have eat none yet. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress ,- Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? Orl. You touch'dmy veinatfirst J the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred, And k-now some nurture: Hut forbear, I say; He dies, that touches any of this fruit, Till I and my affairs are answered. Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness shall force. More than your force move us to gentleness. Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. Dukt S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here ; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment: Kut whate'er you are. That in this desert inaccessible. Under the shade of melancholy boughs. Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; If ever you have looked on better days ; If ever been, where bells have knoll'd to church ; If ever sat at any good man's feast ; If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. Sc. 7. AS YOU LIKE IT. 29 Duke S. True is it, that we have seen better days; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church ; And sat at good men's feasts ; and wip'd our eyes Of drops, that sacred pity hath engender'd : And therefove sit you down in gentleness, And take upon command what help we have, That to jowv wanting may be ministred. Orl. 'I hen, but forbear your food a little while. Whiles, like a 'doe, I go to find my fawn. And give it food. There is an old poor man. Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love ; till he be hrst suffic'd, — Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,— ^ I will not touch a bit. Duke S. Go find him out. And we ivill nothing waste, till you return. Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good comfort ! [£j'tf. Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than this scene. Wherein we play in, Jaq. All the world's a stage. And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits, and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts. His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant. Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel. And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier j Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ; With eyes severe, and beard of formal cui. Full of wise saws and modern instances. And so he plays his part : the sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippec^ pantaloon ; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whisUes in his sound: Last scene of all. In fair round belly, with good 30 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 2. That ends this strange eventful history. Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. He-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM. DukeS. Welcome: Set down your venerabl* ljurden. And let him feed. /Irl. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need ; I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. Duke S. Welcome, fall to : I will not trouble y« As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — iOiTe as some musick ; and, good -cousin, sing. AMIENS sings. SONG. I. Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is nqt so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. 'Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : ^ost friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh, ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. IL Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky_. That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend lemember'd not. 'Heigh, ho ! aing, heigh, ho ! &c. Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's son, — As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were; And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, — 3e truly welcome hither : I am the duke, yh^t^ov'd youi father ! The jesidue of jouxfortunfl, Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 31 Go to my cave and tell me, — Good old man. Thou art right welcome as thy master is : Support him by the arm, — Give me your hand. And let me all your fortunes imderstand. \_Ea.'eunt, ACT IIL SCENE I. A room in the palace. Enter DuU FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords, and Attendants . DuktF. Not see him sinice ? Sir, sir, that cannot be : But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Qi my revenge, thou present : But look to it j Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is ; Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or living. Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory, Thy lands, and all things, that thou dost call thine, Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands ; Till thou can'st quit thee by thy brother's mouth. Of what we think agaipst thee. Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this ( 3 never lov'd my brother in my life. Dukt F. More villain thou.n-Well, push hijn cut of doors ; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent tipon his house and lands : Po this expediently, and turn him going. SCENE IL The forest, renter ORLANDO, with a paper. 4)rl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above. Thy huntress' nanie^ that my full life doth sway» iO Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books. And in their barks my thoughts rll character; That every eye, which in this forest looks, Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando ; oarve, on every tree, jTJi^ f^r^ the chaste^ and unerpressive she. ^^:Ht. 32 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3. Enter CORIN ajid TOUCHSTONE. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone? Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itsejf, it is a good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is npt ill the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Cot. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, ajid fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat sheep ; and that a great cause ot the night, is lack of the sun : Tliat he, that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd ? Cor. No, truly. Touch. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope, Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd ; like an ill- roasted egg, all on one side. Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if t>ou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation; i Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone: those, that are! good manners at the court, are as -ridiculous in the! country, as the behaviour of the countiy is moati mockable at the court. You told me, you salute] not at the court, but you kiss your hands; tha(j courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cot. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and their fells, you know, are greasy. Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat! ^(i is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome u Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 33 the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow : A better instance, I say; come, / Cot. Besides, our hands are hard. 7'ouch.yonY lips will feel them the sooner. Shal- low, again: A more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep ; And would you have us kiss tar 1 The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh : Indeed ! — Leara of the wise, and perpend : Civet is of a baser birth, than tar; the veiy uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. Cot. You have loo courtly a wit for me ; I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd ? God help thee, shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou art raw. Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat; get that I wear; owe no man hate; envy no man's happiness ; glad of other men's good ; con- lent with my harm ; and the greatest of my pride is, to see ray ewes grAze, and my lambs suck. 7'ouch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she- lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou, be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds ; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. JSnier ROSALIND, reading a paper. Ros. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Tkrouek all the world bears Rosalind. ^11 the pictures, fairest lin'd, ^re but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Rosalind. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together j dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right batter- woman's rank to market. 46 34 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3 Ros. Out, fool ! Touch. For a taste : If a hart do lack a MnH, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind. So, be sure, will Rosalind, Pf^inter- garments must be lin'd. So must slender Rosalind. Theif that reap must sheaf and bind; ITien to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind. Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find. Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you infect yourself with them ? Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a tree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graft it -with you, and then I shall graft it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit in the country : for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and tliat's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, reading a paper. Ros. Peace ! Here comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. Cel. ^'hy should this desert silent bef For it is unpeopled ? Ao ; Tongues I'll hang on every tree. That shall civil sayings show. ^ Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage; That the stretching of a spun Buckles in his sum of age. Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend; Bui upon the fairest boughs. Or at every sentence' end. Will I Rosalinda write ; Teaching all, that read, to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 35 Thtrtfort heaven nature charged, That one body should be JilVd fVith all graces vide enlare'd: Nature presenile distilt'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart i Cleopatra's majesty ; ^talanta's belter part ; Sad Lucretia's modesty. 7'hus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devis'd; Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven ipouid that she these gifts should have. And I to live and die her slave. Bos. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people.' Cel. How' now ! back friends ; — Shepherd, go off a little : — Go with him, siirali. 7buch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour- able retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet with sciip and scrippage. {^Jixeiint Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses 7 Hos. O, yes, 1 heard them all, and more too ; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Jios. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verses, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these trees ? Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you came ; for look here what I found on a palm-tree : I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? Ros. Is it a man ? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour? Ros. I pr'ytbee, who? Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends 36 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3. to meet ; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Bos. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible ? Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- ful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping ! Ros. Good my complexion i dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off discovery. 1 pr'y- thee, tell me, wlio is it? quickly, and speak apace; 1 would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed 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 pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard f Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his ehin. Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp d up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking ; speak sad 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 and hose?— What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he t What makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when shalt thou see him again f Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua*3 mouth ' first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. But doth he know, that I am in this forest. Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 37 and in man's apparel ? Loolcs he as fresh as he did the day he wrestled 7 Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions of a lover: — but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good ob- servance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay he, stretch 'd along, lilce a wounded knit^ht. Ro":. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla ! to thy tongue, I pi'ythee ; it curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. Cel I would sing my song without a burden : thou bring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES. Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he no^ here? Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him. [Celin and Rosalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, I had as )ief have been myself alone. Orl. And so had I ; but yet for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be iWth you ; let's meet as little as we can. - Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers, Jaq, I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their bavks. Orl. I pray you, mav no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rosalind is your lovers name ? Orl. Yes, lust- Jaq, I do not like her name. Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd. Jaq, What stature is she of? Orl, Just as high as my heart. 58 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3. Jnq, You are full of pretty answers : Have you not been acquainted «-iih goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings ? Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two ^vill rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery, Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I koow most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in love. Orl. *Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you, Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and you shall see him. Jnq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you : farewell, good fiignior love. Ort. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good monsieur melancholy- \_Exit Jaques. — Celia and Rosalind come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and imder that habit play the knave with him.— Do you hear, forester; Orl. Very well ; What wo»ild you ? Ros. I pray, what is't a clock? Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; tliere's no clock in the forest. Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, ■would detect the la7.y foot of time, as well as a clock. Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not that been as proper? Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons : I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who tiraa gallops withal, and he who stands still withal. Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized : if the interim be but ase'noight, time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years. Sc. 2. AS VOU LIKE IT. 33 Orl. Who ambles time withal ? Has. "With a priest, that lacks Latin, and a rich man, that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study ; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury ; These time ambles withal. Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? fios. With a thief to the gallows : for though he goes as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. Orl. Wno stays it still withal? Hos. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep between term and term, and then they, per- ceive not how time moves. Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? Hos. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orl. Are you native of this place ? Jios. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer than you can purchase in so removed a dwelling. /tos. I have been told ao of many : but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man ; one, that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it ; and I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touched with fio many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, that he laid to the charge of women? . Ao^.. There were none principal ; they were all like one another, as half-pence are : every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. Jios. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odss upon haw- thorns, and elegies on brambles : all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the q_uotidiaa of love upon him- 40 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3 Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked ; I pray you, tell me your remedy. ' Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : he taught me how to know a raan in love ; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orl. What were his marks ? Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an un- questionable spirit ; which you have not : a heard neglected; which you have not : — but I pardon you for that ; for, simply, your having a beard is a younger brother's revenue : — Thenjyour hose should be ungarter'd, and your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man ; you are rather point- device in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, lhan seeming the lover of any other. Or!. Fair youth, 1 would 1 could make thee be- lieve I love. Hos. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it ; which, ] warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does : that is one of the points, in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he, that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ? Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. J Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad- i men do : and tlie reason why they are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordi- , nary, that the whippers are in love too : Yet I , profess curing it by counsel- or/. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him every day to woo me : At which time would I, being bot a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and lilting ; proud, fantastical, upish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of Sc. 3. AS VOU LIKE IT. 41 smiles ; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing/ as boys and women are fov the most part cattle of this colour : would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now weep for him, then spit at him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness ; which was, to forswear the full strearn of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastick : And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep*s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. Orl. I would oOt be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will ; tell me where it is. Ros. Go with me to it, and 111 show it you : and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live : Will you go ? Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind: — Come, I sister, will you go? [Faeunt. i SCENE III. Kfiier TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY ; JAQUES at a distance, observing them. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey ; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you ? Aud. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what features ? . Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Juq, O knowledge ill-inhabited ! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house ! \^Aside. Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room : — Truly, I would the gods bad made thee poetical. Aud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest in deed and word 7 Is it a true thing ? 42 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3. Touch. No, truly; for the truest poeti7 is the most feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign. ^ud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical t Touch. I do, truly : for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. j^ud. Would you not have me honest? Touch. No, truly, unless thou wen hard-favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar. Ja^. A m~aterial fool ! [^stde. Aud. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest! Touch . Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. ^ud. I am not a slut, though I thaiJ< the gods I am foul. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may he, I will marry thee ; and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village ; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. \^Aside. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though ? Courage ! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, — Many a man knows no end of his goods : right : many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, , that is the dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his own getting, Horns? Even so: Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed ? No : as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the have brow of a bachelor : and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Enter Sir OLIVER MAR-TEXT. Here comes sir Oliver: — Sir Oliver Mar-text, yoa S#.3. AS YOU LIKE IT. 43 are ^ell met : Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? 5tV OH. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir OH. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- riage is not lawful. Jaq. {Discovering Mmsel/.} Proceed, proceed ; I'll give her. Touch. Good even, good master /Vkat ye cafft: How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild you for your last company : I am very glad to see you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir : — Nay ; pray, be cover 'd. Jaq. Will you be married, motlej-? Touch. As the or bath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon lier bells, so man hath his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a beggar ? Get you to church, and have a good priest, that can tell you wliat marriage is : this fellow will but join you together as they loin wainscot ; then one of you will prove a shrunk' pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another : for he is not like to marry me well ; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. [Aside. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ; We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good master Oliver ! Not — O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behi* thee ; But — Wind away. Begone, I say, I will not to wedding wi' thee. {^EAtunt Jaques, Touchstone, ana Audrey. Sir on. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave 9f them all shall flout me out of my calling. \Exeunt. 44 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3. SCENE IV. Th& same. Before a cottage. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA, Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the gi-ace to consider, that tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep I Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there- fore weep. Ros. His \-e-ry hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. I'faith his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever the only colour. Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli- giously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes nut 1 Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. Ros. Do you think so ? Cel. Yes : I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet, or a worm- eaten nut. Ros, Not true in love ? Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downrightjlie was. Cel. fV IS is not is : besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings : He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question witli him ; He asked me, of what parentatfe I was ; I told him, of as good as he ; so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando ? Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs Sc. 5. AS YOU LIKE IT. 45 his horse but on one side, breaks his staff lilce a noble goose : but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides ; — Who comes here ? EnUr CORIN. Cor. Misti-ess, and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd, that complain'd of love ; "Who you saw sitliug by me on the tui-f, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess. That was his mistress, Ctl. Well, and what of him T Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd. Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you. If you will mark it. has. O, come, let us remove ; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — Bring us imto this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. \Exeunt. SCENE V. Another part of the forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, Phebe; Say, that you love roe not ; but say not so In bitterness : The common executioner. Whose heart the accustomed sight of death makes hard. Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck. But first begs pai'don ; Will you steraer be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, nnd CORIN, at a distance. Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; 1 fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye ; 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, — that are the frail'st and softest things^ Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! Now do I frown on thee with all my heart ; . And, if mine eyes cau wound, now let them kill thee ; 46 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 3. Now counterfeit to swoon ; why now fall down; Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie nor, to say mine eyes are mui-derers. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee : Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains j Some scav of it ; lean but upon a rush, ' The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes, "Which I have darted at theei hurt tbee not; Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Sil. O dear Phebe, If ever, (as that ever may be near,) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible. That love's keen arrows make. Phe. But, till that time, Come not thou near me : and, when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. Jios. And why, I pray you? [Advaadng .'] Who[ might be your mother, | That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched ? What though you have more beauty, (As, by my faith, I see no move in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,) Must you be therefore proud and pitiless / Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me! 1 see no more in you, than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work : — Od's ray little life ! I think, she means to tangle my eyes too : — No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it ; 'Tis not your inky brows, your black-silk hair, Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship, — , You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? | You are a thousand times a propeier man. Than she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you, That make the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her ; And out of you she sees herself more proper. Than any of her lineaments can show her. — But, mistress, know yourself; down on your kneel, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's loveii For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — Sc. 5. AS YOU LIKE IT. 47 Sell wien you can ; you are not for all marlcets : Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer; Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So, take her to thee, shepherd; — fare you well. Phe. Sweet' youth, I pray you chide a year to- gether ; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger : If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words.— Why look you so upon me ? Phe. For no ill will I bear you. Jtos, I pi-ay you, do not fall in love with me. For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not : If you will know my house, *Ti8 at the tuft of olives, here hard by : — Will you go, sister r— Shepherd, ply her hard :— Come, sister : — Shepherdess, look on him better. And be not proud : though all the world could see. None could be so abus*d in sight as he. Come, to our flock. {Ea-euTit Rosalind, Celia, and Covin. Pke. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ; fVho et>er lov'd. that lov'd not at first iieht 9 Sil. Sweet Phebe,— P^e- Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius ? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Pke. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; If you do sorrow at my grief in love. By giving love, youi- sorrow and my gfrief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my lore ; Is not that neighbourly? Sil, I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I bear thee love : But since that thou canst talk of love so well. Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure ; and I'll employ thee too : But do not look for further recompense, Than thine own gladness, that thou art employ'd. Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, Ajid I in such a poverty of gra^ie. 48 AS you LIKE IT. Act 3. That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man, ■That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then A seatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while ? Sit. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old cavlot once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy -.—yet he talks well ; — But what care I for words ? yet words do well, "When he that speaks them, pleases those, that hear. It is a pretty youth : — not veiy pretty : — But, sure, he*s proud ; and yet his pride becomes him : He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not tall ; yet for his years he's tall : His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : There was a pretty redness in his lip ; A little riper and more lusty red Tlian that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the dif- ference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, SilviUs, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him : but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate him not : and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him : For what had he to do to chide at me? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : I marvel, why I answer'd not again : But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very tauntinjf letter. And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius ? Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. Phe. I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head, and in my heart : I will be bitter with him, and passing short : Go with me, Silvius. lExeunt. Sc. 1. AS YOU LIKE IT. 4» ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES.. Jaq. I pi-'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better Kcquaintea with ihee. Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so ; I do love it^etter than laughing. Ros. Those, that aie in extremity of either, are abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every modem censure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lau'yer's, which is politiclt ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melan- choly of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich, eyes and poor bands. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Enter ORLANDO. Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than expe- rience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [^E.vlt. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you Hsp, and wear strange"suits ; disable all the bene- fits of your own country ; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are ; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. — Why, how now, Orlando ! where have you been all this while ? 50 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 4, You a lover? — An yoa serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ? He, that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minutQ in the affairs of love, ^t may be said of him, that □upid had clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I war- rint him heart-whole. Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in ray sight ; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Otl. Of a snail Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman : Besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orl. AVhat's that? Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for : but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you, Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough lo consent : — What would you say to me now, an 1 were your very very Rosalind? Orl. 1 would kiss, before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when tliey are out, they will spit ; and for lovers, lacking {God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to; kiss. Orl. How if the kiss be denied ? Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and ther« begins new matter. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress ; or t sliould think my honesty ranker (han my wit. QvU What, of my suit? Sc. 1. AS YOU LIKE IT. 51 Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? Orl. I taVe some joy to say you are, because X would be talking of her. Jios. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have you. Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor woi-ld is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus bad his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before ; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer nif^ht i for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men Iiave died from time to time, and worms have eaten tnem, but not for love. Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Jios. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition ; and ask me what you- will, I -tvill grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. ' Ros. Yes, faith wiW I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. Orl. And wilt thou have me? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Orl. What say'st thou? Ros> Are you not good? Orl. I hope so. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a j good thing? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, I and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : — ' What do you say, sister? Orl. Pray thee, marry us. Cel. I cannot say the words. Ros. You must begin, ff^ill you, Orlando, — i Cel. Go to ; Will you, Orlando, have to wift f this Rosalind? I Orl. I %vill. Ros. Ay, but when I Li 52 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 4. Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say, — / take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, — I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : There a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a wo- man's thought runs before her actions. Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her? Orl, For ever, and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Or- lando ; men are April when they woo, December when they wed ; maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jcEtlous of thee than a Barbai-y eock- pigeon over his hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more giddy in niy desires than a monkey : I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a byen^and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?' Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise. Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : the wiser,, the waywarder : Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case- ment ; shut that, and *twill out at the key-hcle; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney . Orl. A man, that had a wife with such a wit» he might say, — /fif, whither wilt ? Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Orl. And what wit could ivit have to excuse that? Ros, Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her an- swer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman, that cannot make her fault her hus- band's occasion,, let her never nurse her child her- self, for she will breed it like a fool. Orl. For these two hours,. KosaJiud, I will leave thee. Sc.l. AS YOU LIKE IT. 53 Jtas. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl, 1 must attend the duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I will be with thee again. Has. Ay, go your ways, go your ways I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less :— that iiattering tongue of yours won me :— 'tis but one cast away, and so, — come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour? Or/. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By ray troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths, that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. Or!. With no less religion, than if thou wert in- deed my Rosalind: So, adieu. Ros. Well, time is the old jtistice, that examines all such offenders, and let lime try : Adieu I lEaii Orlando. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in loTc ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Por- tugal. Cel. Or rather bottomless ; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and bom of madness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, iet him be judge, how deep I am in love: — I'll tell thee, Alieua, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come . Cel. And I'll sleep. [Eieunt. L 54 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 4. SCENE II, Another part of the forest. Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the kabit of Foresters. Jag. Which is he, that killed the deer? 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. Jftq. Let's present him to the duVe, like a Roman conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory:— Have you no song, forester, for this purpose 1 2 Lord. Yes, air. Jag. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. 1 . What shall he have that kill'd the deer ? 2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 1. Then sing him home : rf^//. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn. Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. \_Ea-eunt. SCENE nr. 7%tf forest . Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock ? and here much Orlando ! Cel. 1 warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and aiTOWs, and is gone forth — to sleep : Look, who comes here. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ; — My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : [Giving a letter. I know not the contents ; but, as I guess. By the stem brow, and waspish action, "VVhich she did use as she was writing it, \t bears an angry tenour : pardon me, I am but as a guiltless messenger. Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter. And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : SONG. Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ; It was a crest ere thou wast born. 1 . Thy father's father wore it ; 2. And thy father bore it : 7'/ie rest / shall bear I this bur- 5 den. Enter SILVIUS. Sc. 3, AS YOU LIKE IT. 55 She says, I am not fair, that I lack ■manners; She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love m« Were man as rare as phoenix; Od's my will! Her love is not the hare, that I do hunt : Why writes she so to me ? — Well, shepherd, well. This is a letter of your own device. Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; Phebe did write it. Jtos. Come, come, you are a fool» And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand,_ A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think. That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a huswife's hand : but that's no matter : I say, she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention, and his hand. Sil. Sure, it is hers. Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, A style for challengers ; why, she defies me. Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-mde invention. Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance :— Will you heai- the letter T Sil. Sr please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Jtos. She Phebe's me : Mark how the tyrant writes. ^rt thoa god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads. That a maiden's heart hath burrt'd? Can a woman rail thus 7 Sil. Call you this railing? Ras. If 'hi/, thy godhead laid apart. /J'arr^st "thou with a woman's heart f Did you ever hear such railing ? — Whites the eye of man did woo me, 7'hat could do no vengeance to me. — Meaning me a beast. — If tJie scorn of t/our bright et/ne Hm>e power to raise such love in mine, j4lnck, in me what stranpe e^fect Would they work in mild aspect f fVkiles you chid me, I did loi>e; How then might your prayers movef AS YOU LIKE IT. Actl. He, that brings this love to tkee, Little knows this lot^e in me: And by him seal up thy mind : Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me, and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, -t4nd the?! I'll study how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! Mos. Do you pity him 1 no, he deserves no pity. —Wilt thou love such a woman? — What; to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee ! not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her ; — That if she love me, I charge her to love thee : if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word ; for here comes more company. ^Eait Silvius. Enter OLIVER. OH. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if yoa know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees f Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream. Left on your right hand, brings you to the place : But at this hour the house doth keep itself. There's none within. Oli. It* that an eye may profit by a tongue. Then I should know you by description ; Such garments, and such years : 7 he boy is fair. Of female famxtr, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: but the woman low, j4nd browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire 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, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin ; Are you he ? Hos. I am : AVhat must we understand by this 1 Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me W'hat man I am, and hoiv, and why, and wbertt This handkerchief was stain'd. Sc. 3. AS YOU LIKE IT. ST f^^j I pray you, tell it. Oti. When last the young Orlando parted from you. He left a promise to return again Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest. Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside. And, mark, what object did present itself! Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age. And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown mth hair, JLay sleeping ou his back ; about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach 4 The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. And with intended glides did slip away Into a bush ; under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike -watch, ■When that the sleeping man should stir ; for as The royal disposition of that beast. To prey on nothing, that doth seem as dead : This seen, Orlando did approach the man. And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O, 1 have heard him speak of that same brother ; And he did render him the most unnatural. That liy'd "mongst men. . And well he might so do , For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando ;— Did he leave him there. Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ! on. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos d so ; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. And nature, stronger than his just occasion. Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awak*d. Ce/. Are you his brother? ;j„s. ' Was it you, he reseu d ? Cel ' Was't you, that did so oft contrive to kill him? OH. "Twas I ; but 'tis not I ; I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing 1 am. /tos. But, for the bloody napkin ! on By. by. 58 AS YOU LIKE IT, Act 4, When from the first to last, hetwixt us two, tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd As, how I came into that desert place ixr ^'^^ gentle duke. Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, ^^mmittmg me unto my brother's love : Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm the lioness had torn some flesh away. Which all this while had bled i and now he fainted. And cry d, in fainting, upon Rosalind. .Enef, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; And, after some small space, being strong at heart. Me sent me hither, stranger as I am. To tell this story, that you might excuse His promise, and to give this napkin, IJy'd in this blood, unto the shepherd youth. That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cil. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Gany- mede ? {Rosalind faints. VII. Many will swoon, when they do look on (id. blond. Cel. There is more in it :— Cousin—Ganymede ! Oh. Look, he recovers. „, , , ' would I were at home. Ce!. We'll lead you thither :— I pray you, will you take him by the arm ! OH. Be of good cheer, youth ; — You a man !— Xou lack a man's heart. Sos. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited : ! pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho! O/i. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. Jios. Counterfeit, I assure you. on. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. Ros. So I do : but, i'faith I should have been a woman by right. Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, draw homewards :— Good sir, go with us. Oli. That will I, for T must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something : But I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him;— Will you t" ■ iEieunt. Sc. 1. AS YOU LIKE IT. 59 ACT V. SCENE I. The same. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. nuclt. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, Kentle Audrey. v r ii j^itd. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. Tmt-h. Pl most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. Jud Ay, I tnow who 'tis ; he hath no mterest in me in the world : here comes the man you mean. Enter WILLIAM. Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : By my troth, we, that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall he floutmg ; we cannot hold. WUl. Good even, Audrey. And. God ye good even, William. mU. And good even to you, sir. Touch. Good even, gentle friend : Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, he covered. How old are you, friend \ mil. Five and twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name William ! mil. William, sir. ., , , , , Touch, k fair name : Wast horn i' the forest here ! mil. Ay, sir, I thank God. . Touch. Thank Gurf;— a good answer : Art rich I mil. 'Faith, sir, so, so. Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excel- lent good:— and yet it is not; it is hut so so. Art thou wise ? mm. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well. 1 do now re- memher a saying ; The fool doth think he ,sw:se, lul the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The hea- then philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips, when he put it into his mouth; meaning therehy, that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid ? mm. I do, sir. , Touck. Give me your hand ; Art thou learned '■ ■m AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 5. No, sir. '"^i" °' ™; To have, is to have: tor it is a figure m thctorick, that drink, being po.ired out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: For all your writers for I°^'h'e ' """^ mil. wiiich he, sit 1 Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman : Jherefore, you clown, abandon,— which is in the vulgar, leave,— the society,— which in the boorish !S, company, of this female,— which in the common IS,— woiuan, which together is, abandon the society ot this female ; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest ; to wit, I Idll thee make thee away, translate thy life into death, thv liberty mto bondage : I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy wnh thee in faction ; I will o'er-run thee witt policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways : therefore tremble, and depart. ^ud. Do, good WiUiam. Wilt. God rest you merry, sir. \_EA'it. Enter CORIN. Cor. Our master and mistress seek you : come, away, away. Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey j— I attend I [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER. Ort. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that, but seeing, you should love her? and, loving, woo ? and wooing, she should grant ? and will yon perstver to enjoy her' Oil. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting ■ but say with me, I love Aliena ; say with her that she loves me ; consent with both, that we may enjoy each other : it shall be to your good ,■ for my ather s house, and all the revenue that was old sir Kowland s, will I estate upon you, and here liv» and die a shepherd. Sc. 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. 61 Enttr ROSALIND. Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow : thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers : Go you, and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my RosaMnd. Hus. God save you, brother. Oli, And you, fair sister. Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! Orl. It is aiy ai'm. /fos. I thought thy heart had been wounded wilh. the claws of a lion. OrL Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Ros. Did your brother tell yon how I counter- feited to swoon, when he showed me your hand- kerchief? Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of— I ctme,. saw, and overcame : For your brother and my sister no sooner met, but they looked ; no soonet, looked, but they loved ; no sooner loved, but they- sighed ; no sooner sighed,, but they asked one ano- ther the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the- remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage : they are in the very wrath of love, and' tiiey ^vill together ; clubs cannot part them. Or/- They shall be married to-morrow; and I ■will bid the duke to the nuptials. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through, another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the lieight of he art -heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy, in having what he ^vishes for. Ros^ Why then, to-morrow I oaanot serve your turn for Rosalind ? Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. Ros. 1 will weary you no longer then with idle talking. Know of me then, (for now I speak to- some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this, that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, 1 know you are ; neither do I labour for a greater esteem, than may in. sMue little- measure 62 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 5. draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things : I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most pro- found in this art, and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries AHena, shall you maiTy her ; I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set lier before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger. Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings ? Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, though I say 1 am a magician : Therefore, put you in your best array, bid your friends ; for if you will be married to morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, if you will. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Pke. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : You are there foUow'd by a faithful shepherd ; Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service;— And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; All adoration, duly and observance. All humbleness, all patience, and impatience. All purity, all trial, all observance ; — And s,o. am I for Phebe. Pke. And so am I for Ganymede. Sc. 3. AS YOU LIKE IT. 63 Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Jios. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [To Rosalind. Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [To Phebe. Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Ros. Who do you speak to, lofi^ blame you me to love you ? Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you, no more of this; *tis like the howling of Irish wolres against the moon. — I will help you, [7i> SilviHS.'] if I can , — I would love you [7b PkebeS] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all together. — I will marry you. {To Pkebe.l rf ever I many woman, and I'll be married to-mor- row : — I will satisfy you, [To Orlando.'] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: — I will content you [To Silvius.] if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-mor- row. — As you r7'o. Orl<indo.'\ love Rosalind, meet; — as you [7b Stlvius.'] love Phebe. meet j And as I love no woman, 1*11 meet.— So, fare you well; I have left you commands. Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. Phe. Nor I, Orl. Nor I. [Ea-eunf. SCENE III. 7'/te same. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; t0-morro%v will we be married. ^ud. I do desire it with all my heart : and I hope it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the ba- nished duke's pages. Enter two Pages. 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Touch. By my troth, well met; Come, sit, sit, and a song. 2 Page. We are for you : sit i'lhe middle. I Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, ivithout gawking, or spitting, or saying, we are hoarse i ivliich are the only prologues to a bad voice J 64 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 5^ 2 Page. T'faith, ifaith ; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. I. It was a lover, and his lass. With a hey,, and a ho,, and a hey nonino. That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty rank time,. When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring. II. Between the acres of the rye. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,. These pretty country folks would lie,. In spring time, &c. in. This carol they beean that hour. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time,. &i,C: IV. And therefore take the present time. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time,, &c. Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there- was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. 1 Page. You are deceived, sir ; we kept time,, we lost not our time. Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be with you^ and God mead your voices. — ^Jome, Audrey. {^Exeunt. SCENE IV. .Another part of the forest. Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, OR- LANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA. Duke S. Dost thou believe,. Orlando, that the bo; can do all that he hath promised t Sc. 4. AS YOU LIKE IT. 65 Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometiines do not ; As those, that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd : You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, lou will bestow her on Orlando here? Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ^05. And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? [Ti, Orlando. Vrl. I hat would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?. Phe. That will I, should I die the hour^afS-^^'^* Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me. You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd r Phe. So is the bargain. Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she c... ^P- Silvias, iiii. I hough to have her aud death were both oue thing. ^os. I :iave promis'd to make all this matter even. Keep you your word,Oduke,to give your daughter:— You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:— Keep your word, Phebe, tliat you'll marry me ; Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd: — Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, if she refuse me :— and from hence I go. To make these doubts all even. p T J [E.reu7it Rosalind and Celia. Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. Orl. My lord, the first time that 1 ever saw him, Wethought he was a brother to your daughter ; But, my good lord, tJiis boy is forest-born; And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many despe:ate studies by his uncle, ^'hom he reports to be a great magician. Obscured m the circle of this forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. J(tq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and liese couples are coming to the ark! Here comes a 48 66 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 5. pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all? Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome : This is the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest : ^He hath been a courtier, he swears. 7'ouch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure ; I have flattered a lady^ I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone three tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? Totich. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. Jaq. How seventh cause?— Good my lord, like this fellow. Duke S. I like him very well. Touch. God'ild you, sir ; I desire ynu of the like, I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear ; accordmg as marriage binds, and blood breaks A poor ■virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that, that no man else will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a pour house; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sen- tentious . Tyuch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause ? Touch. Upon a lie seven limes removed Bear your body more seeming, Audrey :— as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was : this is called the Retort courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please himself; This is called the Quip modest. If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judg- ment : This is called the Bepii/ churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This is called the Heproo/ valiant. If aca"." k was lifrt well cut, he wo»ld say, I lie : Tliis w Sc. 4. AS YOU LIKE IT. 67 called the Countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the Lie prcumstanthd, and fhe Lie direct. Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut \ Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie cir- cumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct; and so we measured swords, and parted. Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie ? Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners : 1 will name you the detjrees. The first, the Retort courteous ; the second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct ; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew, when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the pasties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an //', as, 1/ you said so. then I Said so ; and they shook hands, and swore bro- thers. Your //is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If. Jaq. Ts not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing, and yet a fool. Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, leeiding ROSALIND iii woman's clothes; awrf CELIA. Still Musick. Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven. When earthly things made even ^tone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter. Hymen from heaven brought her. Yea, broueht her hither: That thou might'st join her hand with his^ /f'hose heart within her dot-om is. Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. T . [ToM-eS, lo you i give myself, for I am yours. n ( o Tr 1 C^'^ Orlando. iJuHe ii. It there be truth iu sight, you are my daughter. ' ■ €8 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act 5, Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa- lind. PTie. If sight and shape be true. Why then, — my love adieu ! Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he DukeS. I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — [To Orlando. Nor ne'er wed woman, if you "be not sKe. [7o Phehs. Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : *Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events : Here's eight that must take hands. To ioin ill Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part : [7'o Orlando and Rosalind. You and you are heart in heart : [ 7'o Oliver and Celia. You [To PheHe.l to his love must accord. Or have a woman to your lord ; — You and you are sure together, [7b Touchstone and yliidrei^. As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish. How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown ; O bleseed bond of board and bed ! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; High wedlock then be honoured : Honour, hi(;h honour and renown. To Hymen, god of every town [ Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me; Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. ^ [7'o Silmus. £n«r JAQUES DE BOIS. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word, or two ; Sc. 4. AS YOU LIKE IT. I am the second son of old sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly:—. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest,. Address'd a mighty power ; which were on foot. In his own conauct, purposely to take His brother here, and put him to the sword : And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; Where, meeting with an old religious man. After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise, and from the world ; His crown bequeaihmg to his banish'd brother. And ail their lands restored to them again. That were with him exil'd : This to be true, I do engage my life. Dukz ■S'^ Welcome, young man ; Thou oifer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one, his lands with-held ; and to the other, A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends. That here were well begun, and well begot : And after, every of this happy number. That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us. Shall share the good of our returned fortune. According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. And fall into our rustic revelry :— Play, musick; — and you brides and bridegrooms all. With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. Jaq, Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly. The duke hath put on a religious life. And thrown into neglect the pompous court? Jaq. de B. He hath. Juq. To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and leam'd. — You to your former honour I bequeath* [ To Duke S. Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it ;— You \'/o Orlando.'] to a love, that your true faith doth merit : — You [7'o Oliver.] to your land, and love, and great allies : — You [7b Silvias.'] to a long and well deserved bed ; — And you {To Touchstone.] to wrangling; for thy loving voyage AS YOC LIKE IT. Act 5. Is but for two months victual'd So ta your pleasures ; I am for other than for dancing measures. Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. Jaq. To see no pastime, I : — what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [^E.iit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites. And we do trust theyll end in true delights. '\^A dmice. EPILOGUE. Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue : but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs no busk, 'tis true, that a good play needs no epilogue : Yet to good wine they do use good bushes ; and good plays paove the better by tlie help of good epilogues. What a case am 1 in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play ? I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me : my way is to coniuve you ; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please them : and so I charge you, O men, tor the love you bear to women, (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that between you and the women, the play may please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not : and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good ; faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, I when I make curt'sy, bid me farewell. \_Exeunt. i ALL'S WELL THAT EKDS WELL. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA- King of France. Duke of Florence. BERTRAM, count of Rousillon. LAFEU, an old lord. PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram. Several young French lords, that serve with Ber- tram in the Florentine war. Steward, i gg^vants to the coontesa of Rousillon. Clown, \ A Page. Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram. HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the countesi. An old widow of Florence. DIANA, daughter to the widow. VIOLENTA, I neighbours and friends to the MARIANA, S widow. Lords, attending on the King; OJfxcers, Soldiers, ^c. French and FloTentine. Scene,— partlp in France, and partly in Tuscan;). ■ * iULIL'S W]E]C]D, TTHtA.ir EKf IBS WJFJUC, . Act L. Sc- 3. l^ibSsUpcUivmrkkMiuji-.aiLiiKolTisIiiuIiclJajajS. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT I. SCENE I. Rozesillon. A room in the Countess's palace. Enter BERTRAM, the Countess of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, in mourning. Count. In delivering my son from me I bury a second husband. Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my fa- ther's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subiectiou. Lnf. You shall find of the Hng a husband, ma- dam ;-;-you, sir, a father : He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where it . wanted, rather than lack it where there is such .abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment ? Lnf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ; under whose praciices he hath persecuted time with hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. 'Count. 'Ijiis young gentlewoman had a father, (O, that had / how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would for the king's sake, he were living ! I think, it would be the death of the king's disease. Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam ? Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon, 74 ALL'S WELL Act 1. Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam ; the king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mouni- ingly ; he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- guishes of % Lttf. A fistula, my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious. — Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises : her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there com- mendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too ; in her they are the better for their simpleness ; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Lnf. Your commendations, madam, get trom her tears. Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this. Helena, go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. Mel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Laf. How understand we that Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father , , . ^ la manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue. Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy Rather in power, than use ; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence. But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will. That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down. Fall on thy head! Farewell.— My lord, 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord. Sc. 1. THAT ENDS WELL. 75 Advise him. La/. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. [E.rie Countess. Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your thoughts, [^To Helena.'] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : You must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and'Lafeu. Htl. O, were that all ! — I think not on my father ; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Thau those I shed for him. What jvas he like? ' I have forgot him : my imagination Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's. I am undone ; there is no living, none. If Bertram be away. It were all one. That I should love a bright particular star. And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind, that would be mated by the lion. Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague. To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls. In our heart's table ; heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Musi sanctify his relicks. Who comes here ? Enter PAROLLES. One, that goes with liim : I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar. Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; Yet these fix'd evils sit so lit in him. That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. Pnr. Save you, fair queen. Hel. And you, monarch. Par. No. Htl. And no. Pot. Are you meditating on virginity ? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you j 76 ALL'S WELL Act 1. let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir- ginity ; how may we barricade it against him ? Pur. Keep him out. HtL But he assails ; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak : unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none ; man^ sitting dawn before you, will undermine ymi, and blow you up. Hel, Bless our poor virginity from undemiiners, and blowers up !-^ls there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men / Put. Virginity, being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up : marry, in blowing him down again with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase ; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is metal to make vii-gins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found : by being ever kept, it is ever lost : *tis too cold a companion; away with it. Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. Par. There's little can be said in'tj 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- ginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a virgin : virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding its own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't : Out with't : within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a good increase ; and the principal itself not much the worse : Away with't ! Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking ? Par, Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him, that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth; off with't, while 'tis vendible : answer the time of re- quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears kdr Sc. 1. THAT ENDS WELL. cap out of fasTiion ; richly suited, bat unsuitable : just like the brooch and tooth-pick, which wear not now ; Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, thaa in your cheek : And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears ; it looks ill, it eats dryly ; marry, 'tis a wi- thered pear ; it was formerly better ; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear : Will you any thing with it 1 Hel. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother, and it mistress, and a friend, A phoinix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; His humble ambition, proud humility. His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet. His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he 1 know not what he shall ; — God send him well ! — The court's a learning-place and he is one Par. What one, i'faith? Bel. That I wish well.— 'Tis pity Par. What's pity ? Hel. That wishing well had not a l>ody in't. Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born. Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes. Might with effects of them follow our friends. And show what we alone must think ; which never Returns us thanks. Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. {E^'it Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Par. Why under Mars 7 Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so 7 Hel, You go so much backward, when you fight. -.78 ALL'S WELL Actl. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety : But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good and 1 like the wear well. Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely : I will return perfect courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee else thou diest in thine unthankful ness, and thine ignorance makes thee away : farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remember thy friends : get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee : so farewell. \^Bi'U. Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie. Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky Gives us free scope : only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so hi£[h ; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join'like likes, and kiss like native thin^js. Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose. What hath been cannot be : Who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love ? The king's disease— my proiect may deceive me. But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. SCENE II. Pari':. A room in the King's palnce. Flourish of cornets. Enter the Ktne of Franct, with letters I Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys are bj^ the earsj Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lord. So 'lis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive il A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin .\ustria> With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend Pre.iudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv*d so to your majesty, may plead Sc. 2. THAT ENDS WELL. 70 For amplest credence. Ain^. He hath arm'd our answer. And Florence is denied before he comes : Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. 2 Lord. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. Kiii^. What's he comes here ? Enter BERTRAM, LAFJCU, and PAROLLES- 1 Lord, It is the count Rousillon, my good lord. Young Bertram. King. Y'outh, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste. Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral pai-ti{ ilay'st thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. Ber, My thanks and duty are your majesty's. King. I would I had that corporal soundness now. As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First try'd our soldiership ! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest : he lasted Isng ; But on us both did haggish age steal on. And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father : In his youth He had the wit, which I can well observe To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest. Till their own scorn return to them unnoted. Ere they can hide their levity in honour. So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were. His equal had awak'd them ; and his honour. Clock to itself, knew the true minute, when Exception bid him speak, and, at this time. His tongue ohey'd his hand : who were below him He us'd as creatures of another place ; And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Makiag them proud of his humility, -In their pool- praise he liumbled : Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times ; Which follow'd well, wuuld d&monstrate them now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir. Lies richer In youv thoughts, than on lus tomb ; So in approof lives not liis epitaph. 80 ALL'S WELL Actl. As in your royal speech. Jdng. 'Would I were with him ! He would always say, (Methinks, I hear him now ; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. To grow there and to bear,) — Let me not iive, Thus his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he, ^fter mtf _^nme lacks oil, to be the snujf Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses ylll but new thines disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies Expire before their fashio?is : This he wish'd : I, after him, do after him wish too. Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive. To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir ; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. Aing. I fill a place, I know't.— How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died ? He was much fam'd. Her. Some six months since, my lord. A'ing. If he were living, I would tiy him yet ; — Lend "me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out With several applications : — nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; My son's no dearer. Jier. Thank your majesty. [Eaeunt. Flourish, SCENE IIL Rousillon. A room in the Countess's palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. Count. 1 will now hear : wliat say you of this gentlewoman ? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours ; for then we wound our mo- desty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah : The complaints, I have heard of you, i do uot all believe ; 'Us my slowness, that i da Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 81 not : for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knave- ries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. No, raadam, 'tis not so well that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned : But, if 1 may have your ladyship's f^ood will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and 1 will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs he a beggar ? Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. Count. In what case? Clo. In label's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body ; for, they say, beams are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor bodyj madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh ; and he roust needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them ? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. do. 1 am out of friends, madam j and I hope to Have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am arweary of. He that eai-s my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop : if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge : He, that comforts njy wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood ; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend : ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage ; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns togethei;, like any deer i' the herd. 82 ALL'S WELL Act I Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd a:id calumnious knave ? do. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth the next way : For I the ballad will repeat. Which men full true shall find ; Your marriage comes by destiny. Your cuckoo sings by kind. Count: Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon, Sieic. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak. Count. Sinah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean. Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, [Singing. Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? Fond done, done fond, Was this king Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood. And gave this sentence then ; Among nine bad if one be good. Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten? you con-upt the song, sirrah. C'o. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is a purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year ! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if 1 were the parson : One in ten, | quoth a' I an we might have a good woman born ' but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould I mend the lottery well ; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you ? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! — Though honesty be iii> puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a bii; heart. — I am going, forsooth : the business is for Helen to come hither. {Eaii Clown. Count. Well, now. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 83 Steto. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do : her father bequeathed her to me ; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds : there is more owing her, than is paid ; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. Steto. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me : alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates ; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities weie level; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterward : This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty, speedily to ac- quaint you withal ; silhence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep it to yourself : many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt : Pray you, leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care : I will speak with you further anon. \E.vit Steward, Enter HELENA. Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young : If we are nature's, these are ours ; this thora Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; Our blood to us, this to our blood is bom ; It is the show and seal of nature's truth. Where love's strong passion is impressed in youth'; By our remembrances of days foregone. Such were our faults ; — or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't ; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? Count. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. J^el. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay, a mother; 84 ALL'S WELL Act 1 Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent : What's in mother. That you start at it? I say, I am your motbwr; And put you in the catalogue of those. That were euworabed rnrne : Tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds : You ne'er oppresa'd me with a mother's groan^ Yet I express to you a mother's care : — God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood. To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this dietemper'd messenger of wet. The many colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ? Why ?— — .that you are my daughter ? HeL That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. Het. Pardon, madam j The count Rousillon cannot be my brother; I am from humble, he from honour'd name ; No note upon my parents, his all noble ; My master, my dear lord ha is ; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die : He must not be my brother. Count. Nor I your mother? Hel. You are my mother,madam; ' VVould you weie (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,} Indeed, my mother! — or, were you both our motherSt I care no more for, than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister : Can't no other, But, I your dauj^hter, he must be my brother ? Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- in-law ; God shield, you mean it not ! daughter, and mother, So strive upon, your pulse : What, pale again [ My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross, You love my son ; invention is asham'd. Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say, thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; But, tell me then, 'tis so; — for, took, thy cheeks Confess it, one to the other ; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours. That in their kind they speak it : only sin " And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue. That truth should ha suspected : Speak, is't s&I If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue j 1 Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 85 If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge thee. As heaven shall work in me for thine avail. To tell me truly. Hel. Good madam, pardon me f Count. Do you love my son ? Hel. Your pai'don, noble nustresi Count. Love you my son i Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond. Whereof the world takes note ; come, come, disclose The state of your affeetion ; for your passions Have to the mil appeach'd. Hel. TKen, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, ^ That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son : — . My friends >vere poor, but honest ; so*s my lova r ' Be not offended; for it hurts not him. That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not By any token of pret,um[)tuous suit; Nor would I have him, till 1 do deser%'e him; Yet never know how that desert should be. 1 know I love in vain, strive against hope ; Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, I still p lur in the waters of my love. And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper. But knows of him no more. My dearest madam^ Let not your hate encounter with my love, For loving where you do : Imt, if yourself, ^\'hose aged honour cites a virtuous youth. Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love ; O then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; That seeks not to find that her search implies. But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly. To CO to Paris? ^ _Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. \ ou know, my f.ither left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd efl'ects, such as his reading, Aiid manifest experience, bad collected Hel. Count. Madam, i had. Wherefore? tell true. 86 ALL'S WELL Act 3. For general sovereignty j and that he will'd mo In heedfuUest reservAtion to bestow them. As notes, whose faculties inclusive were. More than they were in note : amongst the rest. There is a remedy, approv'd, set down. To cure the desperate languishes, whereof The king is render'd lost. Count. TTiis w-as your motive For Paris, was it 1 speak. Hel. My lord your son made me to think of tliia ; £1se Paris, and the medicine, and the king. Had, from the conversation of my thoughts. Haply, been absent then. Count. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid. He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him. They, that they cannot help : How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? Hel. There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall, for my legary, be sanctified yiy the luckiest stars in heaven ; and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'd venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure. By such a day, and hour. Count. Dost thou believe't? Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leare^ and love. Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court; 111 stay at home, And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. \_Exeunt. ACT 11. SCENE I. Paris. A room in the King's palace. Flourish. Enter Kine, with youn^ Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTKAM, PA- ROLLES, and Attendants. £"[11^. Farewell ,youny lord,these warlike principles Scl. THAT ENDS WELL. 87 Do not throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare- well : — Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all. The tfift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both, 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir. After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. King, No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart Will not confess, he owes the malady That doth my life besieRe. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, he you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,) s*e, that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when The bravest questant shrinVs, find what you seek. That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your ma- jest j* ! King. Ihose prls of Italy, take heed of them ; They say, our French lack language to deny. If they demand : beware of being captives. Before you serve. Both.. Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. [The King retires to a couch. I Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be- hind us ! ' Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with ; Too young, and the ne^i year, and 'tis toa early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry. Till honour be brought up, and no sword worn. But one to dance with t By heaven, I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft. Par. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary ; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 3 Lord, Sweet monsieur Paroll«s ! •2 Lord. 88 ALL'S WELL Act 2. Par. Noble heroes, my sword and youi-s are kin, Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals :— You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, oue captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek ; it was this ver» sword entrenched it : say to him, I live ; and ob- serve his reports for me. 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. Par. Mars dote on you for his noTices ! {_Exeunt Lords.'] What will you do l Ber. Stay ; the king {Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords ; you have restrained yourself within the liat of too cold an adieu : be more expressive to them ; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star ; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to 1m followed : after them, and take a more dilated farewell . Set. And I will do so. Par. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [EiTeune Bertram and ParoUes, Enter LAFEU. La/. Pardon, my lord» [^/Cneeiing for me and for my tidings. King. 1*11 fee thee to stand up. La/. Then here's a man Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would yoa Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; and That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. King. 1 would I had ; so 1 had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. La/. Good faith, across f But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd Of your infirmity / King. No. La/. O, will you eat No grapes, my royal fox I yes^ but you will. My noble grapes, and if my royal fox Could reach them : I have seen a medicine. That's able to bj-eathe life iuto a stone ; Quicken a rock^ and make you dance canarv. With sprightly fire and motion ; whose simple touch Is powerful to arise kinif Pepin, nay. To giv* great Charlemiiia a pea in nis hand, Sc. 1, THAT ENDS WELL. 89 And write to her a love-line. King. What her is this ? l^ij. \Vhy,doctorshe: My Iord,there's one arriv'd. If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honour, ]f seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my li^hi deliverance, I have spoke With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession. Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more Than I dare blame my weakness ; Will you see her (For that is her demand,) and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. King. Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration ; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine. By wondering how thou took'st it. Laf. Nay, I'll fit you. And not be all day neither. \_Exit Lafett. King. Thus he is special, notliing ever prologues. Re-enter L.A.FEU witk HELENA. Laf. Nay, come your ways. Laf. Nay, come your ways ; This is his maiesty, say your mind to him : A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid*s uncle, ■ That dare leave two together ; fare you well. [^Exit. King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? Met. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was 1 My father; in what he did profess, well found. I King. I knew him. ' HeJ. The rather will I spare ray praises towards him ; Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one. Which, as the deares.t issue of his practice. And of his old experience the only darling. He bade me store up, as a triple eye. Safer than mine own two, more dear ; I have so ; And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd With tliat malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 1 come to tender it, and my appliance. With all bound humbleness. King. We thank you, maiden ; But may not be so credulous of cure, — i When our most learned doctors leave us ; aad Kim This haste hath wings indeed. 90 ALL'S WELL Act 2. The congregated college have concluded, That labouring art can never ransome nature From her inaidable estate,— I say, we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To Irapiriclts ; or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. Hel. My duty then shall pay me tor my pains : I will no more enforce mine office on you ; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back again. King. I cannotgive thee less, tobecall'd grateful : Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks I give. As one near death to those, that wish him live : But, what at full I know, thou kuow'st no part ; I knowing all my peril, thou no art. Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try. Since you set up your rest *gainst remedy : He that of greatest works is finisher. Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown. When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown From simple sources ; and great seas have dried, When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there. Where most it promises ; and oft it hits. Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind maid ; Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself he paid : Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : It is not so with Him, that all things knows. As 'tis with us, that square our guess by shows : But most it is presumption in us, when The help of ht-aven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent ; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim ; But know I think, and think I know most sure. My art is not past power, nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident ? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure ? "Cl. The greatest grace lending grace. Sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 91 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring ; Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench 'd his sleepy lamp; Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass ; What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly. Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. * !^ing . Upon thy certainty and confidence. What dar'st thou veature -^s^- Tax of impudence, — A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,— Traduc'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise ; no worse of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended. King, Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak ; His powei-fiii sound, within an organ weak : And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Tliy life is dear; for all, that life can rate ^yorth name of life, in thee hath estimate ; "^ outh, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all That happiness and prime can happy call : Tliou this to hazard, needs must intimate Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 'Sweet practiscr, thy physick I will try; That ministers thine own death, if I die. fiel. If I break time, or flinch in property K)f what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; tAud well deserv'd : Not helping, death's my fee ; iBut, if I help, what do you promise me .' King. Make thy demand. ^isl. But will you make it even J King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. Nei.Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand. What husband in thy power I will command: (Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of Fraace ; (My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state , (But such a one, thy vassal whom 1 know Is free for me to ask. thee to bestow. King. Here is my baud ; the premises observ'd. Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd ; 'So make the choice of thy own time ; for I, Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 92 ALL'S WELL Act 2. More should I question thee, and more I must ; Though, more to know, could not be more to trust ; From^whence thou cam'st, how tended on,~ But rest Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — ■ Give me some help here, ho !— If thou proceed As hi"h as word, my deed shall match thy deed, [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE U. Rousillon. A room in the Countess's palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught : I know my business is but to the court. Count. To the court ! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt T But to the court ! Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it oft" at court : ha that cannot make a leg, put ofPs cap, kiss his hand, and say nothinsi, has neithar leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court : bur, for me, 1 have an an- swer will serve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fata all questions. l Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits ail but- tocks ; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, <h« brawn-buttock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questionsf Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of Mi attorney, as your French crown for your tafiata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom*s fore-finger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, aa a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun s lip to the friar's mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such nt- ness for all questions ? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your constable, it will ftt any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstroui sixe, that must fit all demands. CUi. But a trifle neitliar in good faith, if tbo Sc. 3. THAT KNDS WELL. 93 learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all that belongs to't ; Ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do yon no harm to learn. Count. To be young again, if we could : I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your anewer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ? Clo. 0 Lord, sir, There's a simple putting off; — more, more, a hundred of them. Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours that loves you. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thiclf, thick, spare not me. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay,putme to't,l warrant you. Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think, Clo. O Lord, sir, — Spare not me. Count. Do you cry, O Lord, sir, at your whipping, and spare not me 9 Indeed, your 0 Lord, sir, is very sequent to your whipping ; you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my— O Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not serve ever. Count. I piay the noble housewife with the time, to entertain it so merrily with a fool. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Why, there't serves well again. Count. An end, sir, to your business : Give Helen this. And urge her to a present answer back : Commend me to my kinsman, and my son; This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count, Not much employment for you : You un.- derstand me ? Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs^ Count. Haste you again. [Eaeunt severally. SCENE III. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES, Paris. A room in the King's palace. Laf. They say, miracles are past ; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar things, supernatural and causeless. Henoe is it, that we make trifles of terrors ; ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 94 ALL'S WELL Act: Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that hath shot out in our latter times. Ber. And. so 'tis. Laf. To be relinquished of the artists,— — Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. Laf. Of all the learned and authentick fellows,— Par. Right, so I say. Laf. That gave him out incurable, — Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. Lnf. Not to be helped, — Par. Right : as 'twere a man assured of an— Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said. Laf. I may truly s'ay, it is a novelty to the world. Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in show- ing, you shall read it in, What do you call there? — _ ... Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor, , , Par. That's it I would have said ; the very same. Lnf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier ; 'fore me I spealc in respect Par. Nay, *ti3 strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most facinorous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the io/. Very hand of heaven. Par. Ay, so I say. Lnf. In a most weak Par And debile minister, great nower, great transcendence : which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to be Laf. Generally thankful. Enter King, HELENA, and Mtendants. Par. I would have said it ; you say well : Here comes the king. Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says : I il like » maid the better, whilst I have a tooih m my head : Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. Par. Mort dti finaigre ! Is not this Helen? Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. Kiast. Go, call before me all the lords in court.— * ' {Exit an Attendant. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; And with this healthful hand, whose banish d seusfl Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 96 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promis'd gift. Which but attends thy naming^. Enier several Lords. FEtirmaid, send forth tliine eye : this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowinjj, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice J have to use : thy frank election make ; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsaka. Het. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one ! Laf. I'd give bay Cuvtal, and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys^ And writ as little beard. King. Peruse them well: Not one of those, but had a noble father. Hel. Gentlemen, Heaven hath, through me,restor'd the king to health. We understand it. and thank heaven for you. Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest. That, I protest, I simply am a maid: Please it your majesty, I have done already : The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, PP'e bltishf that thou sk'juld'st choose; but, dere/us*d, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; ff'e'U ne'er come there again. King. Make choice ; and, see, Who shuns thy love, shuns all his lov.e in me. //e/. Now, Dian, from thy altac do I fly; And to imperial Love, that god most high. Do my sighs stream, — Sir^ will you hear my suit ? 1 Lord. And grant it, Hel. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace for ray life. /fel. The honour, sir, that Hames in your fair eyes. Before I speak, too threateningly replies : Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her, that so wishes, and her huml)le love!' 2 Lard. No better, if you please. fiel. My wish receive. Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. Laf. Do all they deny her? An they were soni of mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would send Uieca to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 51 96 ALL'S WELL Act 7. Hel. Be not afraid {To a Lord.'] that I yoar hand should take ; V\\ never do you wrong for your own sake : Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English ; the French ne'er got them, Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good. To make yourself a son out of my blood. 4 Lord. Fair one, 1 think not so. Laf. 'Htere's one grape yet, — I am sure, thy father drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already. Hel. \ dare not say, J take you ; [7i) Bertram.\ but I give Me, and ray service, ever whilst I live. Into your guiding power. — This is the man. King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy wife. Ber. My wife, my liege ! 1 shall beseech your highness. In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me ? Ber. Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I shoukl marry her. King. Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my sickly bed. Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her wellj She had her breeding at my father's charge: A poor physician's daughter my wife ! — Disdain Rather corrupt me ever ! King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which 1 can build up. Strange is it, th^t our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pouv'd all together^ Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In dift'erences so mighty : if she be All, that is virtuous, Csave what thou disUk'st, A poor physician's (laughter,) thou dislik'st Of virtue tor the name : but do not so : From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dicnified by the doer's deed ; Where great additions swell, and virtue none, Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 97 It is a dropsied honour : good alone Is good, without a name ; vileuess is so : The property by what it is should go. Not by the title. She is youug, wise, fair ; And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn. Which challenges itself as honour's born, And is not like the sire : Honours best thrive. When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers : the mere word 's a slave, Debauch'd on every tomb ; on every grave, A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb. Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest : virtue, and she. Is her own dower ; honour and wealth from me. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad; Let the rest go. King. My honour's at the stake ; which to defeat, I must produce my power ; Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love, and her desert ; that canst not dream, W^e, poising us in her defective scale. Shall weigh thee to the beam ; that wilt not know. It is in us to plant thine honour, where We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt: Obey our \v\W, which travails in thy good : Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right. Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ; Of I will throw thee from my care for ever. Into the staggers, and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate, Loosing upon thee in the name of justice. Without all terms of pity : speak ; thine answer. Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit My fancy to your eyes : When I consider. What great creation, and what dole of honour) Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled. Is, as 'twere, born so. In these to nature 98 ALL'S WELL Act 2. ^^g- Take her by the hand, And tell her, she 13 thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, A balance more replete. -Ber. I tatv-e lier hand. King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king. Smile upon this contr&ct ; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the new-bom brief. And he pert'orm'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As ihou lov'st her. Thy love *s to me religious ; elsa, does err. {Exeunt Kijuf, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and ■i^CtencUmts . Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. Par. Your pleasure, sir ? Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. Par. Reeantatiott?— My lord? my master f Laf. Ay ; Is H not a language, I speak ? Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master? Laf. Are you companion, to the count Rousillon ? ^(f - To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man. Laf. 'lo what is count's man; count's master is of another style. Par, You are too oldr sir ; let it satisfy you, you are too old. Lnf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to which title age cannot bring thee. Par. What ! dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. X did think thee, for tw» ordinaries, to he a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarts, and the banneret-;, about thee, did manifoldly dis- suade aie fvom believing thee a vessel of too grent a burden. I have uow found thee ; when \ lose thee again, I care not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou art scarce worth. Par, Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee, Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy tiial ; which if— Lord have mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well ; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Par.My lord,you give me most egregious indignity. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 99 Laf. Ay, witt all my heart ; and thou art worthy of it. Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. La/. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and I tvill not bate thee a scruple. far. Well, I shall be wiser. ■La/, E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou, be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou si;'Alt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or i:3ther my knowledge ; that I may say, in the default, he is a man I know. J'ar. Aly lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. La/. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; as I will by thee, in what motion age wUl give me leave. \_Ej'it. Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- grace off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! — ■ Well, I must be patient ; there is no fettering of authority. Til beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of — I'll beat him,' an if I could but meet him again. •Lqf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's news for you ; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs : He is my good lord : whom I serve above, is my master. La/. Who ? God ? Par. Ay, sir. Z«/. The devil it is, that's thy master. • Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so 1 Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours yoimger, I'd beat thee : methinks, thou art a ge- neral oft'ence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breathe them- selves upon thee. Re-enter LAFEU. undeserved measure, my lord. 100 ALL'S WELL Act 2. Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller : you are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you, \Es.it. Enter BERTRAM. Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, very good ; let it be concealed a while. Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever? Par. What is the matter, sweet heart! Ber. Although before the solemn priest I've sworn, j I will not bed her. j par. What 1 what, sweet heart ? M Ber. O my ParoUes, they have married me :-4 I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more* merits The tread of a man's foot : to the wars I Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the import is, I Itnow not yet. Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, my boy, to the wars ! He wears his honour in a box unseen. That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home ; Spending his manly marrow in her arms. Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed : To other regions! France is a stable ; we, that dwell iu't, jades; Therefore, to the war ! Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house, , Acquaint my mother with my hate to her. And wherefore I am fled ; ^vrite to the king That, which I durst not speak : his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike : War is no strife To the dark house, and the detested wife. Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ? Ber. Go with me to my chamber and advise me. I'll send her straight away : To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise iu it. — ' Tis hard ; A young man, married, is a man, that's marr'd : THAT ENDS "SVELL. 101 Therefore away, and leave hev bravely ; go : Tlie king has done you wroug ; but, hush ! 'tis so. SCENE IV. The same. Another room in the same. Enter HELENA and Clown. Hel. My mother gi-eets me kindly : Is she wellt Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health t she's very merry ; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well, and wants no- thing i' the world ; but yet she is not well. Hel, If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well ? Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things. Hel. What two things? Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly ! the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send Jier quickly ! Enter PAUOLLES. Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! Hel. I hope, sir, 1 have your good-will to have mine own good fortunes. Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; and to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! How does my old lady ? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, aad I her money, I would she did as you say. Ptir. Why, I say nothing. Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing ; To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which is within a very little of nothing. Par. Away, thou'vt a knave. Clo. A'ou should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave ; that is, before me thou art a knave : this had been truth, sir. Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was pro- fitable ; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. 103 ALL'S WELL Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. — Aladam, my lard will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love. Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- ledge -, But puts it off by a compell'd restraint ; M'hose want, and whose delay, is strewed with sweets. Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy. And pleasure drown the brim. JJei. What's his will else ? P(n*. That you will take your instant leave o' the king. And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need. Ael. What more commands he ? Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. Pnr. I shall report it so. Jlei. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. \_/^.veunt. SCENE V. yimthcT room in the same. Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM. Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier. Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. La/. You have it from his own deliverance. Ber. And by other warranted testimony. La/. Then my dial goes not true ; I took tJiis lark for a bunting. Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. La/. I have then sinned against his experience, and transgressed against his valour ; and my siate that way is dangeruus, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES. Par. These things shall be done, sir. [ To Berlrcm. Luf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor So, 5. THAT ENDS WELL. 103 Par. Sir? Laf. 0, I know him well : Ay, sir ; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor. Ber. Is she gone to the king? \_Aside to Parolles. Par. She is. Ber. Will she away to-night? Par. As you'll have her. Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure. Given orders for our horses ; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, — And, ere I do begin, Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner ; but one, that lies three -thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand no- things with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. — God save you, captain. Ber, Is there any unkindness between my lord and youi monsieur? Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him, that leaped into the custard ; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. Lttf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe this of me. There can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence ; 1 have kept of them tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, monsieur ; I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at ray hand ; but we must do good against evil. [Exit. Par. An idle lord, I swear. Ber. I think so. Par. Why, do you not know him ? 5er. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you. Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave For present parting ; only, he desires Some private speech with you. Ber. I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course. Ber. It may bt have mistaken him, my lord. Enter HELENA. 104 ALL'S WELL Act 2. 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 business ; therefore am I found So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you, That presently you take your way for home ; And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you : For my respects are better than they seem ; And my appointments have in them a need, Greater than shows itself, at the first view. To you that know them not. This to my mother : {Giving a letter. 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so I leave you to your wisdom. Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that. Hel. And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that, Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. Ber. Let that : My haste is very great : Farewell ; hie home. Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. Ber. Well, what would you say ? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ; Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. Ber. M'hat would you have ? Hel. Something; and scarce so much : — nothing, indeed. — I would not tell you what I would ; my !ord— 'faith, yes ; — Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. Hel. \ shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?— Farewell. \_E.tit Helena. Go thou toward home ; where I will never come. Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :— Away, and for our flight. Par. Bravely, coragio ! [^Eieunt. Sc.l. THAT ENDS WELL. 105 ACT in. SCENE I. Florence. A room in the Duke's palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; two French lurds, and others. Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war; Whose great decision hath much blood let forth. And more thirsts after. 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful On the opposer. /)?iX;e. Therefore we marvel much, our cougmF ranee Would, in so just a business, shut his hbsom Against our borrowing prayers. 2 Z^rrf. Good my lord. The reasons of our state I cannot yield. But like a common and an outward man. That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion : therefore dare not Say what I think of it ; since I have found Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. Duke. Be it his pleasure. 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature. That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day. Come here for pliysick. Duke. Welcome shall they be ; And all the honours, that can fiy from us. Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; When better fall, for your avails they fell : To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II. Rousillon. A room in the Countes&'s palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her. Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. Count. By what observance, I pray you ? Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing : I know a man that had lee ALL'S WELL Act 3.^ this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for aj song. ; Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he J means to come. \^Openiaf( u letter.] do. I have no mind to Isbel, since"! was at^ court : our old ling and our Isbels o'the country \ are nothing like your old Hug and your Isbels o'ths' court : the brains of my Cupid's knocked out ; and ' I begin to love, as an old man loves money, witK"' no stomach. ■ Count. What have we here ? Clo. E'en that you have there. \_Ea-it.\ Count. [Reads.] / hmie sent you a daughter-\n-^ law : she hutk recovered the king, and undone tne. 0 iuice wedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to mnkt ' the not eternal. Ynu shall hear, I am run awfiy ;' know it, be/ore the report come. If there be breadth.: enough in the joorld, I will hold a long distance. Tt/y, ditty to you, Your unfortunate son, 1 BERTRAM.] This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, Tu fly the favours of so good a king; ■{ To pluck his indignation on thy head, ' By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. j Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, i between two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter? J Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, ] some comfort ; your son will not be killed so sooa as I thought he would. ' Count. Why should he be kill'd ? I Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear ' he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the i loss of men, though it be the getting of children, j Here they come, will tell you more : for my part, { I only hear, your son was run away. \_Ea:it Clonui. 1 Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen. 1 Gen. Save you, good madam^ J!e!. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. ' 2 Gen. Do not say so. < Count. Think upon patience. — 'Fray you, gen- i tlemen,— I i Sc. 2. THAT ENDS WELL. 107 I have felt so many quirVs of joy, and prief. That the first face of neither, on the start. Can woman me unto*t : — Where is my son, I pray you ? 2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to sei-ve the duke of Florence : We met him thitherward ; from thence we came,. And, after some despatch in hand at court. Thither we bend again. /ft?. Look on his letter,madam; here's my passport. [Reads.] fi'/ien thou canft gel the ring upon my finger, which, never shall come o^, and show me a child begotten of my body, that I am fnther to, thm call me husband : but in such a then / write a never. This is a dreadful sentence. Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 1 Gen. Ay, madam; And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine. Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ; But 1 do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence is he? 2 Gen. Ay, madam. Count. And to be a soldier? 2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose : and, believe't. The duke will lay upon him all the honour, That good convenience claims. Count. Return yoU' thither? 1 Gen. Ay, madam,with the swiftest wingof speed. Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no m/e, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. Count. Find you that there ?■ Hel. Ay, madam. 1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which I His heart was not consenting to. Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! There's nothing here, that is too good for him. But only she ; and she deserves a lord, That twenty such rude boys mitjht tend upon. And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him ? 1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. Count. ParoUes, was't not 1 1 Gtn. Ay, my good lady, Iifi. lOS ALL'S WELL Act 3. Couni.Avevy tainted fellow,and fiill of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. 1 Gen. Indeed, good lady. The fellow has a deal of that, too much. Which holds him much to have. Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, I will entreat you, when you see my son. To tell him, that his sword can never win The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. 2 Gen, We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Sot so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near ? [E.veunt Countess and Gentlemen. Hel. Til! I have no ivi'e, ! have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I, That chase thee from thy countiy, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I, That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be tlie mark Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing air. That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord? Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; Whoever charges on his forward breast, X am the caitiff, that do hold him to it ; And, though I kill him nor, I am the cause His death was so effected : better 'twere, I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With shai-p constraint of hunger ; better 'twere That all the miseries, which nature owes. Were mine at once : No, comethouhome, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar. As oft it loses all ; I will be gone : My bemg here it is, that holds thee hence : Shall I stay here to do't ? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels offic'd all : I will be gone ; That pitiful rumour may report my flight, ^ To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day. For, with the dark, poor thief. Til steal away. [6J«- Sc. 4. THAT ENDS WELL. 109 SCENE III. Florence. Be/ore the Duke's palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, BERTRAM, Lords, Officers y Soldiers, and others. Duke. The general of ouv horse thou art ; and we,. Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence. Upon thy promising fortune. Bey. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet We'll strive to bear it fur your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. Duke. Then go thou forth ; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. As thy auspicious mistress ! Bsr. This very day. Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts ; and 1 shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. {^Eaeuni. SCENE IV. Rousillon. A room in the Countess's palace. Enter Countess and Steward. Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her ? Might you not know, she would do as she has dcne^ By sending me a letter? Read it again. Stew. ! am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; Ambitious love hath so in me oj'ended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon. With sainted vow rny faults to have amended. ^Vriie, write, that, from the hloody course of war. My dearest master, your dear son may hie ; Bless him at hotne in peace, whilst I from far. His name with zealous fervour sanctify: Jlis taken labours bid him me forgive ; /, his detpiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to Uve^ JVhere death and danger dog the'^heels of worth: He is too eoad and fair for death and me ; JVkom I myself embrace, to set him free. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words ! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much. no ALL'S WV^Lh Act 3. As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Sietff. Pardon me, madam.; If I had given you this at over-night,. She might havd been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes, Pursuit would he in vain. CouftC. What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to heivc, And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice.— Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife ; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, That he does weigh too light : my greatest grief,. Though little he do feel it, set down shai-ply. Despatch the most convenient messenger : — When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone. He will return ; and hope I may, that she. Hearing so much, will speed her foot again. Led hither by pure love : which of them both Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense To make distinction : — Provide this messenger :— My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; Grief would have tears,, and sorrow bids me speak. SCENE V. mtkout the walls of Florence. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Hldow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens. fFid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. 'Dia. They say, the Fi-ench count has done most honourable service. ff-'id. It is reported that he has taken tlieir greatest commander : and that with his own haiid he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark ! you zoay know by their trumpets. Alar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- selves with the report of it'. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl : the honour/ of a maid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. H^id. 1 have told my neighbour, how you havi WeiL solicited by a geoUeman fais compamoii. Sc. 5. THAT ENDS WELL. Ill Mar. I know' that knave ; hang him ! one Pa- rolles : a filthy officev he is in those suggestions for the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana ; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under ; many a maid hath been seduced by them ; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that ihreaten them. I hope, I need not to &dvise you further ; but, I hope, your o%%'n grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter HELENA, in the dress of a pilgrim, ffid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pil- grim : I know she will lie at my house : thither they send one another : I'll question her. — God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound! Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. V'''here do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? //-^cf. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Hel. Is this the way t They come this way: — If you will tarr)',holy pilgrim. But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall b» lodg'd ; The rather, for, I think, I know you> hostess As ample as myse'f. Hel. Is it yourself? fi'^id. If you shall please so, pilgiim^ Hel. I thank you, and wUl stay upon your leisure. l¥'id. You came, 1 think, from France ? Hel. I did so. Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours. That has done worthy service. Hel. Hts name, I pray you ? Dia. The count Rousillon ; Know you such a one X Hel. But by.th-i ear, that hears most nobly of him : His face I know not. Dia. Whatsoe'er he is. He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking : Think you it is so ? Hel' Ay, surely, mere the "truth ; I know bis lady. [^A march afar q^. 6i! 112 ALL'S WELL Act 3, Dia. There is a gentleman, that sarves the coujit. Reports but coarsely of her. What's his name Dia. Monsieur Parolles. Bei. O, I believe with him, la argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated ; all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examin'd. Dia. Alas, poor lady ! 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife Of a detesting lord. ff'id. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. ffel. How do you meanf May be, the amorous count solicits hev In the unlawful purpose. ff'id. He does, indeed; And brolces with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid ; But she is armM for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defence. Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Flih rentine army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES. Mar. The gods forbid else ! Hid. So, now they come :— That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son. That, Escalus. Hel. Which is the Frenchman 7 Dia. He ; That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; I would lie lov'd his wife : jf he were honesier. He were much goodlier Is't not a b^dsome geilr tleman I Bet- I like him well. Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : Ypnd's that same knave. That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, I'd poison that vile rascal. Hel. Which is he ? Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : Why is h* l^lancholy ? Btl. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. Sc. 6. THAT ENDS WELL. 113 Par. Lose our drum ! well. Afar. He's shrewdly vexed at something : Look, he has spied us. H'id. Marry, hang you ! Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! [Ka-eunt Bertram, Paroles, Officers, and Soldiers. H'id. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host : of eiijoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound. Already at my house. .^f'* I humbly thank you : Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts on this virgin. Worthy the note. Both. We'll take your offer kindly. \Eaeunt. SCENE VL Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM, and the two French lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; let hnn have his way. 2 Z,orrf. K your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him ? 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly-promise- breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. 3 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposinjj too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might" at some great and trusty business, in a main dan- ger, fail you. Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to try him. ? Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently ujider- take to do. 1 Lord. 1, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- denly surprise him ; such I will have, whom, I am 114 ALL'S WELL Acta. sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will hind and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer o£ the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents : Be but your lordship present at his examination ; if he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 2 Lord. O for the love of laughter, let hin:\ fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't : when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLLES. 1 Lord, O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour of his design ; let him fetch off his dinim in any hand. Ber. How now, monsieur ? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; *tis but a drum. Par. But a drum ! Is't but a di-um ? A drum 30 lost ! — There was an excellept command ! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiars. 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that Caesar iiimself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- cess : some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum ; hut it is not to be recovered. Par. It might have been recovered. Ber. It might, but it is not now. Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact perfoiTOer, I would have that drum or another, or hie jacet. Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour agmn into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I v»-ill grace the attempt for a worthy exploit; Sc. 6. THAT ENDS WELL. 115 if you speed well in it, the dulce shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your wor- thiness . Par. By the hand of a soldier, 1 will undertake it. Jier. But you must not now slumber iu it. Par. 1*11 about it this evening : and I will pre- sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepa- ration, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it ? Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord ; but the attempt I vow. Ber. I know thou art valiant ; and, to the pos- sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. Par. I love not many words. [^Exit. 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is not this a strange fellow, my lord ? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned than to do't. 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do : certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries : but when you find him out, you have him ever after. Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed « at all of this, that so seriously he dees address himself unto ? 1 Lard. None in the world ; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies : but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his fall to-night ; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect. 2 Lord. We'll make you some sport wth the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what Fi sprat you shall find him ; which you shall see this very night. 1 Lord, I must go look my twigs; he shall be caugh t . Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 1 Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll leave you. \_ExU. lie ALL'S WELL Acts, Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. 2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest. Ber. That's all the fault : I spoke with her but once, And found hev wondrous cold ; but I sent to her. By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind. Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; And this is all I have done : She's a fair creature; Will you go see her T 2 Lord. With all my heart, ray lord. SCENE VII. Florence. A room in the ff'idow^s Jtouse, Enter HELENA and Widow. Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further. But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. IVid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born. Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. Hel. Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband ; And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken. Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot. By the good aid that I of you shall bon'ow. Err in bestowing it. IVid. I should believe you ; For you have show'd me that, which well approves You are great in fortune. Hel. Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay, and pay again. When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter. Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty. Resolves to carry her ; let her, in fine, consent> As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand : A ring the county wears. That downward hath succeeded in his house. From son to son, some four or five descents. Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds Sc. 7. THAT ENDS WELL. 117 In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle fire. To buy his will, it would uot seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Wid. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. Hel. You see H lawful then : It is no more. But that your daughter, ere she seems as won. Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; In fine, delivers me to fill the time. Herself most chastely absent: after this. To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is past already. W'lrf I have yielded ; Instruct my daughter how she shall persfever. That time and place, with this deceit so lawful. May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us, after this,. To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists. As if his life lay on't. Net. Why then, to-night Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed. And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact : But let*s about it. \^Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. fVithout the Florentine camp. Enter ^rst Lord, with five or sU' soldiers in ambush. 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this hedge' comer : When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will ; though you un- derstand it not yourselves, no matter : for we must not seem to tmderstand him ; unless some one among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him ? knows he not thy voice ? 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 1 Lord. But what liiisy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again ? 1 Sola. Even such as you speak to me. 1 Lord. He must think us seme band of strangers i'the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages j therefore we lie ALL'S WELL Act 4. must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to knov;- what we speak one to another ; so we seem to linow, is to know straight our purpose : chough's language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politick. But, couch, ho ! here he comes ; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill te time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it : They begin to smoke me ; and dis- graces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find, my tongue is too fool-hardy ; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, »ot daring the reports of my tongue. 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. \_Asi(ie. Par. What the devil should move me to under- take the recovery of this dmm ; being not ignorant of the impossibilitj', and knowing I had no such fui-pose ? 1 must give myself some hurts, and say, got them in exploit : Yet slight ones will not carry it : They will say. Came you off with so little 7 ana great ones I dare not give. Wherefore ? what's the instanct! ? Tongue, I must put you into a butter- woman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is ? \^Aside. Par, I would the cutting of my gai-ments would serve the turn ; or the bi-eaking of my Spanish sword. 1 Lord. We caimot afford you so. \^Aside. Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it was in stratagem. 1 Lord. 'Twould not do. [Aside. Par. Or to drown my clothes, and Bay, 1 was stripped. Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel I Lord. How deep ? \A^de. Par. Thirty fathom. 1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that Enter PAROLLES. \}% believed. Sc. 1. THAT ENDS WELL. 119 Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I recovered it. 1 Lord. "You shall hear one anon. \_Aside. Par. A drum now of the enemies ! [Alarum within. \ Lord. Tkroca tnovousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, vUlianda pur corbo^ cargo. Par. O ! raiisome, ransome : — Do not hide mine eyes. [7"*^ seize him and blindfold him. I Sold. Boshos thromuldo boskos. Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. And 1 shall lose my life for want of language : If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me, I will discover that, which shall undo The Florentine. 1 Sold. Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : - KcrelyboTito : Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards Are at thy bosom. Par. Oh ! 1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. Mankn revania dulcke. 1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos jvlivorca. 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; And, hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee : haply, thOu may'st inform Something to saue thy life. Par. O, let me live. And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes : nay, I'll speak that, Which you will wonder at. 1 Sold. Hut \vilt thou f^thfuUy ? Par. If I do not, damn me. 1 Sold. Acordo linla. Come on, thou art granted space. [Ea-it, with Parolles guarded. 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Kousillon, and my brother. We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled. Till we do hear from them. 2 Sold. Captain, I will. _ 1 Lord, He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — Inform 'em that. 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 120 ALL'S WELL Act 4. 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd. {Exeunt. SCENE II. Florence. A room in the If'idow's house. Enter BERTRAM avd DIANA. Ber. They told me that your name was FoiitibcU. Dia, No, my good lord, Diana. ^er. Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul. In your fine frame hath love no quality? If the quick five of youth light not your mind, \ You are no maiden, but a monument : When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; | And now you should be as your mother was, ' When your sweet self was got. Dia. She then was honest. Ber. So should you be. Dia. No- My mother did but duty ; sueh, my lord. As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more of that ! "I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : I was compell'd to her : but I love thee ' By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all riglits of service. Dia. Ay, so you serve us, Till we serve you : but when you have our roses, Vou barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves. And mock ns with our bareness . Ber. How have I sworn? Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by. But take the Highest to witness : Then, pray you, i tell me, ' If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When 1 do love you ill f this has no holding. To swear by him, whom I protest to love. That I will work against him : Therefore, your oatis Are words, and poor conditions ; but unseal'd ; At least, in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change itj Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; lSc.2. THAT ENDS WELL. 121 And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts. That you do charge men with : Stand no more off, iBut give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover : say, thou art mine, and ever My love, as it begins, shall so perstver. Dia. I see, that men make hones, in such affairs. That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BtT. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power To give it from me. iJia. Will you not, my lord I Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, : Bequeathed down from many ancestors: Which were the greatest obloquy i'thc world In me to lose. Din. Mine honour's such a ring : My chastity's the jewel of our house. Bequeathed down from many ancestors : AVhich were the greatest obloquy in the world In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion honour on my part. Against your vain assault. Jfer. Here, take my ring : My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine. And I'll be bid by thee. Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- ber window ; ni order take, my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth. When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed. Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me : My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them. When back again this ring shall be deliver'd : And on your finger, in the night, I'll put Another ring ; that, what in time proceeds. May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then ; then, fail not : You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and me ! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo. As if she sat in his heart ; she says, all men Have the like oaths : he had sworn to marry me. When his u-ife's d«ad ; therefore I'll lie with himj ALL'S WELL Act 4. When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry, that will, I'll live and die a maid: Only, in this disguise, F think*t no sin To cozen him, that would unjustly win. \_ExU. SCENE III. Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers. 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter ? 2 Lord. I have delivered it an hour since : there is something in't, that stings his nature ; for, on the readin^it, he chan<<ed almost into anotJier man, 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred thz everlast- ing displeasure of the Jang, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 1 Lord. When you have spoken it 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florenre^ of a most -chaste renown, and this night he I'.-ishes his will in the spoil of her honour : he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste compo- sition. 1 iorrf. Now, God delay our rebellion ; as are ourselves, what things are we ! 2 Lord. jMerely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends ; so he, that in this action contrives agaiiis: his own nobility, in his proper stream overflows himself. 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to he trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We shall not then have his company to-night? 2 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted to his hour. I Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly have him see his company anatomized ; that he might take a measure of his own judgments, where- &i so curiously he had set this counterfeit. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 123 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him, till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. 1 Lord. In the mean time, what heax- you of these wars ? 2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then 1 will he travel higher, or retui-n ayain into France? 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I he a great deal of his act. 1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house ; her pretence is a pilgrimags to Saint Jaques le Grand ; which holy undertalcing, with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished : and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 2 Lord. How is this justified 1 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own let- ters ; which makes her story true, even to the point of her death : her death itself, which could not be her office to say, is come, was faithfully con6niied by the rector of the place. 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence? 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 2 Lord. 1 am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this. 1 Lord. Hov mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses ! 2 Lord, And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would despair, if they were not eherish'd by our virtues. — ■ Enter a Servant. How now? where's your master ? ' Sera. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave ; his lordship will 134 ALL'S WELL Act 4. next rooming for Prance. The duke hath oflfered liim letters of commendations to the Icing. 2 I^rd. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend, 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my lord, is't not after midnight/ Ber. I have to night despatched sixteen busi- nesses, a month's lenyth-a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have conge'd with the duke, done my. adieu with his nearest ; buried a wife, mouraed for her ; writ to my lady mother, I am returning ; entertained my convoy; and, between these main parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs ; thtj last was the greatest, but that I have not ended; yet. 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requirei haste of your lordship. Btr. 1 mean, the business is not ended, as fear- ing to hear of it hereafter : But shall we have thi) .dialogue between the fool and the soldier T ■Come, bring forth this counterfeit module ; he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 2 Lord. Bring hira forth : {^E-ieunt Saldiers-'] he has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself T 1 Lord. I have told your lordship already ; the stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would be understood ; he weeps, like a wench that had shed her milk; he hath confessed himself to Mor-j gan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time | of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of liis setting i'the stocks: And what think you hi' hath confessed ? Ber. Nothing of me, has he ? 2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall b* read to his face : if your lordship be in't, as I be- lieve you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Re-enter Soldiers, with PAROLLES. Ber. A plague upon him ! muffied ! he can z^J Enter BERTRAM. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 125 1 Lord. Hoodman comes ! — Porto tnrtarossa. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you say without 'em ? Par. I will confess what I know without consti-aint; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Sold. Boshn chimurcko. 2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco. I Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our general hids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live, 1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong. What say you to that? Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak and unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this ! 1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord ; this is mon- sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own phrase,) that had the whole theorick of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. 2 Aorrf. 1 will never trust a man again, for keep- ing his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every thmg in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. J Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. Five or eix thousand horse, T said, — I will say true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak truth. 1 ^ord. He's very near the truth in this. Ber. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it. Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. I humbly thank you, sir : a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. I Sold. Demand of him t of what strength they are (I'foot. What say you to that? Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this pre- sent hour, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus 60 many, Jaques so many j GuiltiaD^ Cosmo, Lodo- 136 ALL'S WELL Act 1 wick, and Gi-atii, two hundred and fifty each : , mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, j two hundred and fifty each : so that the muster- file, rotten and sound, upon my life amounts not to fifteen thousand poll ; half of which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. Ber. What shall be done to him? 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- mand of him my conditions^ and what credit I have with tlie duke. , , j 1 Soid. Well, that's set down. You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be Vthe camp, a Frenchman : what his repuUUion is with the du':e, what his tialour, honesty, and expertness in wars ; or whether he thinks it were not pos&ible, with well' weighing sums of gold, to corricpl him to a revolt. What say you to this? what do you know ot it I Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the yavxi- cular of the interrogatories : Demand thpm smgiy. 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain? Par. I k-now him : he -.vas a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whi])pe',l for getting the sherift"'8 fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. IDumain lifts up his hand in nngtr. Ber. Nay, by your leave, bold your hands; though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. _ , . , , r n 1 Sold. Well, is this captain m the duke .of Ho- rence s camp ? Par. Upon my knowledge he js, and lousy. 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon ma ; we shall hear of your lordship anon. 1 Sold. What is his reputation wiUi the dukeT Par. The duke knows him for no other h^t a poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day, to turn him out o'the band : I think, I hare ; his letter in my pocket. | 1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either u is there, or" it is upcn i file, with the duke's other lettei-s, in my lent. ^, r j I Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper ; Shall I real it to you T Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no. £er. Our interpreter does it well. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 127 1 Lord. Excellently, 1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and ftiU of gold,— Par. That is not the duVe's letter, sir; that is wi advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to talre heed of the allurement of one count KousiUon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that, very ruttish : I pray yon, sir, put it up again. ' 'S'f^f^- ^«y, I'll read it first, by your favour. . V ''• "ifaning in'i, I protest, was veiy honest in the behalf of the maid : for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy ; who ja a whale to virginity, snd devours up all the fr? »t finds. Ber. Damnable, botli sides rogue ! 1 Sold. H^en. he swears oaths, bid him drop eold, and take it; r a > ■^ter he scores, he never pny.<! the score : Ha^won,is match well made; match, a nd well make U', lie ne'er pays after debts, take it before ! ' And say, a soldier, Dian, fold tkee this. Men are to viell with, boys are not to kiss: Far count of this, the count's k fool, I know it, iVhopays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, us he vow'd to tlite in thine ear, „ „ ^ PAROLLES. per. He shall be whipped through the army, with this rhyme in his forehead. '2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the ma- niiold linguist, and the amiipotent soldier. Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. J,?^^- J P«''ceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. /'nr. My life, sir, in any case : not tliat I am afraid to die ; but that my offences being many, I would repent out the remaiude:- of nature : let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any where, so I may live. 1 iSb/rf. We'll see what may be done, so you con- fess freely ; therefore, once more to thia captain Dumain : you have answered to his reputation witft the duke, and to his valour : what is his honesty ? Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister ; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking them he u stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, w:th d3 ALL'S WELL Act 4. ■uch volubility, that you would think truth were a fool : drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he will be swine-drunk ; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to eay, sir, of his honesty : he has every thing, that an honest man should not have ; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 1 Sold. What say you to his experUiess in war? Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragediims, — to belie him, 1 will not, — and more of his soldiership I know not; except in that country, he had the honour to be the otticer at a 5 lace there called Mile-end, to instruct for the oubling of files : I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. 1 Lord. He hath oui-villained villainy so far, that the rarity redeems him, Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu h^ will sell the fee- simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Dumain ? 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? 1 Sold. What's he ? Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altoge- ther so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother far a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is : In a retreat he outruns any lackey; mai-ry, in coming on he has the cramp. 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine ? Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rousillon. I Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. Par. I'll no more drumming ; a plague of all drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and toj'^" guile the supposition of that lascivious young boy* Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 1J9 the count, have I run into this danger: Yet, who would nave suspected an ambush where 1 was y taken r T Jt '/i 1 SM. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die . the ecneral says, you, that have so trkitorouslv discoverea the secrets of your army, and madj such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the worli for no honest use; therefore ' ■'"'l''™''' off with his defth ! ° ' 1 SoH. That shall you, and take your leave of all your fnends. [UnlnMg Mm. So, look about you; Know you aiiy here? Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. ? f "'j' 9.°^ y""' ^•■'P'ain Parolles. ' f"™- save you, noble captain. l„i I f ,"P?'"' "hat greeting will you to my lord Lafeu ? 1 am for France. „fli^°''''' ""'""^ captain, will you give me a cony ot the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count RousiUon? an 1 were not a very coward 1 d compel It of you : but fare you well. , c. iEieunt Bertram, Lords, 1 Ao«. ^ ou arc undone, captain : all but your scarf, that has a knot on't yet. f"''- Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 1 ioM. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame you might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir ; I am for France, too ; we shall speak of you there. [E^it .T^'"';}'^' ^ ' thankful : if my heart were great,' I would burst at this : Captain I'll be no more • But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft ' As captain shall : simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart. Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass, ITiat every braggart shall be found an ass. Must, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live 7 »afest_in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ' > ihere s place, and means, for every man alive. J 1 11 after them. ^ [Exit. 130 ALL'S WELL Act 4; SCENE IV. Florence. ^ room in the IVidow's house. Enter HELENA, mdovj, md DIANA. Bel. That you may well perceive I have not wroug'd you, One of the greatest in the Chnstian n-orlti Shall be my surety : 'fore whose throne, 'tis needtul. Ere I can perfect mine intents, to taieel : Tim.e was, 1 did him a desired otKce, Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep iottn. And answer, thanks : I duly am inform d, His grace is at Marseilles : to which place We have convenient convoy. You must Itnow, I am supposed dead : the army breakmg, My husband hies him home ; where, hr-ayen aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king. We'll be, before our welcome. I^r.^^ Gentle -madam. You never had a servant, to whose trust Your business was more welcome. j^^l Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love ; doubt not, but heaven Hath brought mc up to be youv daughter s aowei. As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But O strange men ! That can such sweet use malte of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts DeSles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play With what it loaths, for that which is away : But more of this hereafter: You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suiter Something in my behalf. ' Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. Hel Yet, I pray you, But with the word, the time will bring on summer, When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns. And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us ; All's will that ends well: still the fine's the crown, Whate'er the course, the end is the renown^^^^^^ So. 5. THAT ENI>S WELL. 131 SCENE V. RousUlon. A room in t ie Countess's palace. Enter Countess, LAFEU, and Clown. Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled witK a snipt-taffata fellow theve ; whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy f'ouih of a nation in his colour: your da«ghter-in- aw had lieen alive at this hour; and your son here at home, more advanced by the Icing, than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. Count. I would I had not known him ! it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that evev nature had praise for creating; if she had partaken of my flesh, and cost ma the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such, another herb. Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the salad, or, rather, the herb of grace. Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they &re nose-herbs, Clo. 1 am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not much skill in grass. Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave, or a fool ? Clo, A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a Imave at a man's. Laf. Your distinction? ^ Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. Laf. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both knave and fool. Clo. At your service. Laf. No, no, no. Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as (fi-eat a prince as you are. Lnf. Who's that; a Frenchman? Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name ; but his phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. Laf. What prince is that ? 133 ALL'S WELL Act 4. Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of darkness ; alias, the devil. Lt^f. Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thea not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of ; serve him still. Clo. 1 am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world, let his nobility remain iu his court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter i some, that humble themselves, may ; but the many will be too chill and tender ; and they'll be for the flowery ■way, that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. Luf. Go tliy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways ; let my horses be well looked to mihout any tricks. Clo. It 1 put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be lades' tricks ; which are their own right by the law of nature. \_Exit. Lnf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. Count. So he is. My, lord, that's gone, made himself much sport out of him : by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed^ he has no pace, but rvins where he will. Laf. I like him well; 'tis not amiss : and I was about to tell you. Since I heard of the good'lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master, to speak in the behalf of my daughter ; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self- gracious remembrance, did first propose : his high- ness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? Count. With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected. Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ero I die. I have letters, that my aon will be Sc. 1. THAT ENDS WELL. 133 here to-night : 1 shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together. Lr/. Madam, I was thiultiiig, with what manners I might safely be admitted. Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; but I thank my God, it holds yet. Re-enter Clown. Clo. O, madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face : whether there be a scar under it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet; his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. La/, A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so, belike, is that. Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. Lqf. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [SaTwn?. ACT V. SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. Enter HELENA, JVidow, and DIANA, with two Attindants. Ilel. But this exceeding posting, day and night. Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; But, since you have made the days and nights as one To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold, you do so grow in my requital. As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a gentle Astringer. This man may help me to his majesty's ear. If he woold spend his power. — God save you, sir. Gent. And you. Hel. Sir, I nave seen you in the court of France. Gent. I have been sometimes thei-e. Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report, that goes upon your goodness ; And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions. Which lay nice manners by, I put yoa to. i34 ALL'S WELL Act 5. 'ilie use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. , What's your will ? Ilel. That it will please you To give this poor pe'ition to the king; And aid me rt-ith that store of power you have. To come into his presence. Gent. The king's not here. ■^fi^- Not here, sir? „ Not, indeed: ■ He hence remov'd List night, and with more haste Phan is his use. Lord, how- we lose our pains ' Htl. Mi's well that ends well - yet ; Thou2;h time seem so advfrse, and means unfit.— I do beseech you, w'.iithei- is he gone? Oat. Marry, as I take it, to Kousillon ; Whither I am going. ^^l- 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, Bui rather make you thank your pains for it ; I will come after you, with what good speed Our means will make us means, Osni. This 111 do for you. /{el. And you shall find yourself to be well thank 'd, Whate'er falls more — We must to horse again ;— Go, go, provide. {Exeunt. SCENE IL Rausillon. The inner court of the Countess's palace. Enter Clown and PAROLLES. Ptir. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafep. this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'y- thee, allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sirj I spake but by a metaphor. I Sc. 2. THAT ENDS WELL. 133 Clo, Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stinlc, \ will slop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Pr ythee, get thee further. Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away : A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU. Here is a pur of fortune's sir, or of fortune's eat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the un- clean fishpond of her disnleasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal : Pray' you, sir, use the carp as you may J for he looks like a poor, decayed, in- fCenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his dis- tress in my smilea of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. cioii>n. Far. My lord, I am a man, whom Fortune hath cruelly scratched. Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with Fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her ? There's a quart d'ecu for you : Let the justices make you and fortune friends ; J am for other business. Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word. Lttj: You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. Par. My name, my goed lord, is Parolles. La/. You beg more than one word then.— Cor' my passion ! give me your hand How does your drum ? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. La/. Was I, in sooth ? 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. La/. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil ? one bi-ings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. {Trumpets sound.'] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. — sirrah, inquire further fitter me; I had talk of you last night: though I 136 ALL*S WELL Acts. you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you. \Exeunt. SCENE in. The same, A room in the Countess's palace. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, LAFKU, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, ^'c. King. We lost a jewel of her ; and o\ir esteem Was made much poorer by it : but your son. As mad in folly, lack'd the aenstt to know Her estimation home. Count. 'Tis past, my liege ; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth ; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it, and bums on. King. My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him. And watch'd the tirao to shoot. La/. This I must say, ■ But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady. Offence of mighty note : but to himself The greatest wrong of all ; he lost a wife. Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes ; whose words all ears took captive ; AVhose dear perfection, hearts that scom'd to serve. Humbly call'd mistress. King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither ; We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition : — Let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead. And deeper than oblivion do we bury The incensing relicks of it : let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him. So 'tis our will he should. Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exil Gentleman. King. What says he to your daughter ? have you spoke ? Lq/'. All that he is hath reference to your highness. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 187 King. Then shall we haye a match. I have letters sent me. That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM. -^n/- He looks well on't. King. I am not a day of season, For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail In me at once: But to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth, Tbc time is fair again. Ber. My high-repented blames. Dear sovereign, pardon to me. !iing. All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals, ere we can effect them: You remember The daughter of this lord ? Btr. Admiringly, my liege : at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Rurst make too bold a herald of my tongue : Where the impression of mine eye infixing. Contempt his scornful pfci-spective did lend me. Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n ; Extended or contracted all proportions, To a most hideous object : Thence it came. That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself. Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. hing. Wei! excus'd : That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt : But love, that comes too late. Like a remorseful pardon slowly can'ied. To the great sender turns a sour offence. Crying, That's good that's gone : our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have. Not knowing them, until we know their grave : Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust. Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: Our own love waking cries to see what's done. While shameful liate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : The xBsaa. coqseats are had ; and here we'll stay ■ 138 ALL'S WELL To see our widower's second marriage-day. Count. Which better than the first, O dear hea- ven, bless ! Or, ere tl«y meet, in me, O nature, cease ! Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's nama Must be digested, give a favour from you. To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter. That she may quickly come. — By my old beard. And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead. Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this. The last that e'er I took her leave at court, X saw upon 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 to't. — This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, I bad her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessiiied to help, that by this token I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most ? Bar. My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never her's. Count. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it ; At her life's rate. Znf, I am sure, I saw her wear it. Ber. You are deceiv'd,my lord, she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her, that threw it : noble she was, and^thou^ I stood engag'd : but when I had subscrib'd To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, In heavy satisfaction, and would never Receive the ring again. King. Plutus himself. That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine. Hath not in nature's mystery more science, ^ Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen s, Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself. Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her : she call'd the saints to surety, That she would never put it from her finger. Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, * Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 139 (Where you have never come,) or sent it us Upon her great disaster. Ber. She never saw it. King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour ; And malc'st conjectural fears to come into me. Which I would fain shut out : If it should prove That ihou art so inhuman,— 'twill not prove so ; — And yet I know noX. : — Thou didst hate her deadly. And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close JHer eyes myself, could win me to believe* Mere than to see this ring. — Take him away. — {^Oufirds seize Bertram. My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity. Having vainly fear'd too little. — Away with him ; — We'll sift this matter further, Ber. If you shall prove. This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove, that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. lEa'it Bertram, guarded. Enter a Gentleman. Xing. I am wrapped in dismal thinkings. Gent. Gracious sovereign. Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not ; Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hatli, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Is here attending : her business looks in her With an importing visage ; mJd she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it di<l concern Your highness with herself. King. [Reads.] Upon Ms manp protestations to marry me, when his wife u-as dead, I blush to say it, he won me. AW is the count Housillon a toidower; f.is vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking' no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: Grant it me, 0 king ; in you U best lies ; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPULET. 140 ALL'S WELL Act 5. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll him : for this, I'll none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors : — Go, speedily, and brine again the count. \^Ea'eunt GenUeman, and some Attendanis. I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady. Was foully snatch'd. Count. Now, justice on the doers ! Enttr BERTRAM, guarded. King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship. Yet you desire (o marry, — What woman's thatT Re-enter Gentleman, with ffldow, and Diana. Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capulet ; My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far 1 may be pitied. H'id. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. King. Come hither, count ; Do you know these women ? Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny But that I know them ; Do they charge me further ? Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife \ Her, She's none of mine, my lord, Dia. If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine. You give away heaven's vows, and those are mius; You give away myself, which is known mine ; For I by vow am so embodied yours. That she, which marries you, must marry me. Either both, or none. La/, Your reputation [Tb Bertram 1 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 have laugh'd with : let your highness Xay a more noble thought upon mine honour. Than for to think that I would sink it here. King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 141 Till your deeds gain them ; Fairer prove your ho- nour. Than in my thought it lies ! Good my lord. Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virE^nity. King. What say'st thou to her ? She's impudent, my lord ; And was a common gamester to the camp. i>ia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so. He might have bought me at a common price : Do not believe him : O, behold this ring. Whose high respect, and rich validity. Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that. He gave it to a commoner o' the camp. If I be one. Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been ow'd, and worn. Ihis is his wife: That ring's a thousand proofs. ^^'"i- Methought you s^d, ' Vou saw one here in court could witness it. Dia. I did, my lord, but loth am to produce So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles. Lnf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. King. Find him, and bring him hither. „-^^''- , What of him? He s quoted for a most perfidious slave. With all the spots o'the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens, but to speak the truth : Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing ? A'r«^. She hath that ring of vouk. Ber. I think, she has ; certain it is, I lik'd her. And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for me. Madding my eagerness with her restraint. As ail iinpedimeuts in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine. Her insuit coming with her modern grace. Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ; And t had that, which any interior might At market-price have bought. I must be patient : You that tum'd off a first so noble wife. May justly diet me. I pray you yet. 142 ALL'S WELL Act 5. (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a hubband,) Send foi' your ring, I will return it home, And gi\e me mine again. Ber. I ha'* it JCing. What ring was yours, I prav youT Did, Sir, much IJw The same upon your finger. /Cing. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. , , Dia. And tliis was it I gave him, being a-bed. Kinir. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out o"f a casement. JMa. I have spoVe the truth. Enier PAROLLES. Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers. A'ing. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starti you Is this the man you speak of? Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, I charge you. Not fearing the displeasure of your master, (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) By him, and by this woman here, what know you f Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman ; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. King. Come, come, to the purpose : Did he love this woman ? t. » Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how? King. How, I pray you? Par. He did love her, sir, as a gendeman loves a woman. King. How is that? Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou an a knave, and no knave :— What an equivocal companion is this ? . , I Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty i command. id/. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty I orator. , J)ia. Do you know, he promised me marriage! Par. 'Faith. I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st. Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go b«*j tween them, as I said ; but more than that, M 5<T. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. T43 loved- her,— for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what : yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and thiniis that would derive me ill will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I know. King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married : But thou art too fine in thy e\ndence ; therefore stand aside. — This ring, you say, was youvs ? Zfia. Ay, my good lord. King. Where did you buy it ? or who gave it yon! Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. King. Who lent it you ? Dia. It was not lent me neither. King. Where did you find it then ? JJia. I found it not. King. If it were yours by none of all these ways. How could you gifre it him ? Dia. I never gave it him. Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she goes off and on at pleasure. , King. Tliis ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. Dia. It mifjht be youvs, or hers, for aught I know. King. Take her away, I do not like her now; To- prison with her: and away with him, — Unless thou tell'st me where thouhad'st this ring. Thou diest within this hour. Din, I'll never tell you. .King. Take her away. Dirt. I'll put in bail, my liege. King. I think thee now some common customer. Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. King. Wherefore bast thou accus'd him all this Avhile ? Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty-; H© knows, I am no maid, and he'll swear to't: I'll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. [^Pointing to Lafeu. King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. Dia. (iood mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal sir ; {EaU /Vidow. The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for. 144 ALL'S WELL Acts. And he sliall surety me. But for this lord, "Who hath abusM me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never hamn'd me, here I quit him r He kriows himself, my bed he hath defil'd ; And at that time he got bis wife with child : Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; So there's my riddle. One, that's dead, is quick : Aud now behold the meaning. He-enter mdow, with HELENA. King. Is there no exorcist Bescuifes the tnaer office of mine eyes ? Is't real, that I see ? Uel. No, my good lord ; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see. The name, and not the thing. Ber. Both, both ; O, pardon ! Het. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, .1 found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring. And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says, filieii from my finger you can get this ring, ^nd are by vte with child, S^c. — This is done : Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? Ber. If phe, my liege> can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HeL If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Dea.Hy divorce step between me and you ! — O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? Luf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon : — Good Tom Drum, [7'« Parolles.'] lend me a handkerchief : So, 1 thank thee ; wait on me home, 111 make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone, they aie scurvy ones. Kinff. Let us from point to point this story know. To make the even truth in pleasure flow : — If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [7() Diasa. Chcose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dowsr; For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid. Thou kept'st a wife htraolf, thyself a maid. — Of that, and ail tlie progress, more and less. Resolvedly more leisure shall express : All yet seems well, and if it end so meet, The'biiter past, more welcome is the sweet. Sc. 3. THAT ENDS WELL. 145 Advancing. The king's a beggar, noi-j the play is done All is well ended, if this suit be toon. That you express content; which we will pay, fnth strife to please you, day exceeding day : Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [Exeunt. TAMING OF THE SHREW. PERSONS OP THE DRAMA. A Lord. ^ CHRISTOPHER SLY, a drunken > Persons ii tinker. \ the Induo Hostess, Page,Players,Huntsmen,and i tion. otherServants attending on theLord. J BAPTISTA, a rich gentleman of Padua. VINCENTIO, an old genUeman of Pisa. LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor u Katharina. GREMIO, C ■. * D- HORTENSIO, f *° TRANIO, t . . T BIONDELLO, f se^'^ants to Luc^-ntio. GRUMIO, I . * D . t.- CURTIS f servants to Petrucnio. . PEDANT, an old fellow, set up to personate Vin- centio. KATHARINA.theShrew:! , , . « . BIANCA, her sister. ' j-daughtersto Baptista. Widow. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio. Scent, -sometimes in Padua ; and sometimes m Pi- truchio's house in the country. I TAMING OF THE SHREW. INDUCTION. SCENE I. Be/ore an alehouse on a heaih. Enter Hostess and SLY. Sit/. I'll pheese you, in faith. Host. A pair of stocis, you rogue ! Sly. Y'are a baggage ; the Slies are no rogues : Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris ; let the world slide : Scsfa .' Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst I Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, says Jeronimy ; — Gw to thy cold bed, and wai-m thee. Host. I Jaiow my remedy, T must go fetch the thirdborough. [Ea'it. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an- swer him by law : I'll not budge an inch, boy ; let him cfwne, and Idndly. [Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep. IVind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds.: Brach Merriman, — the poor cur is emhoss'd. And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault? I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 1 Hun. AVhy, Belman is as good as he, my lord ; He cried upon it at the merest loss. 150 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Ind, And twice ta-day pick'd out the dullest scent : Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Lord. Thou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well, aud look unto them all ; To-morrow I intend to hunt a^aiu. 1 Hun. I will, my lord. Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk ? See, doth he breathe ? 2 Hun. He breathes, my lord : Were he not ■warm'd with ale. This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies ! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! Sirs, I will practi9e on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And iirave attendants near him when he wakes. Would not the beggar then forget himself? 1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd . Lord, Even as a flattering dream,or worUiless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — ■ Carry him gently to my fairest chamber. And hang it round with all my wanton pictures : Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters. And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : Procure me musick ready when he wakes. To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; And if he chance to speak, be ready straight. And, with a low submissive reverence. Say, — What is it your honour will command? Let one attend him with a silver bason, Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers ; Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, And say, — Wili't please your lordship cool your hands ? Some one be ready with a costly suit, And ask him what apparel he will wear ; Another tell him of his hounds and horse, And that his lady mourns at his disease : Persuade him, that he hath been lunatick ; Aud, when he says he is — , say, that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs ; Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 15I It will be pastime passing excellent. If it be husbanded with modesty. 1 HuTi. My lord, I wai-rantyou.we'llplay our part. As he shall think, by oiir true diligence. He is no less than what we say he is. Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; And each one to his office, when he wakes. — \_SQme bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : — [Eaic Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman j that means. Travelling some journey, to repose him here. — Re-enter a Servant. How now t who is it ? Serv. An it please your honour. Players, that offer sei-vica to your lordship. Lord. Bid them come near : — Enter Players. Now, fellows, you are welcome. 1 Piny. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night.? 2Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord. With all my heart. — This fe Howl remember. Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son; — Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well : I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perfoi-m'd, 1 Piay. I think,'twas Soto that your honour' means. Lord. 'Tis very true ; — thou didst it excellent. — Well, you are ccme to me in happy time ; The rather for 1 have some sport in hand. Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night; But I am doubtful of your modesties ; Lest over- eying of his odd behaviour, (For yet his honour never heard a play,) You break imo some merry passion. And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, if you should smile, he grows impatient. IPliiy. Fearnot.mylord; we can contain ourselves. Were he the veriest antick in the world. Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery. And give tliem friendly welcome every one : Let them want nothing, that my house affords. — lExeunt Servant and Players. 153 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Inft. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [7ft a Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, And call him — madam, do him obeisance. Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,) He bear himself with honourable action. Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished^ Such duty to the drunkard let him do. With soft low tongue, and lowly couriesy ; And say, — What is't your honour will command. Wherein your lady, and your humble wife. May show her duty, and make known her love ? And then — with kind embracements,tempting kisses. And with declining head into his bosom, — Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed To see her noble lord restored to health. Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar ; And if the boy have not a woman's gift. To rain a shower of commanded tears. An onion will do well for such a shift ; Which in a napkin being close convey'd. Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this despatch 'd with all the haste thou canst; Aaon, I'll give thee more instructions. {^Eait Servant. I know, the boy will well usurp the grace. Voice, gait, Mia action of a gentlewoman : I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband ; And how my men will stay themselves from laughter, When they do homage to this simple peasant. I'll in to counsel them : haply, my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen, Which otherwise would grow into extremes. \^Ea'eitni. SCENE II. ^ ledchamber in the Lord's house. SLY is discovered in a rich night-eown, trith At- tendants'., some with apparel, others with basauy ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed like a Servant. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack ? Sc. 2. TAMINC OF THE SHREW. 153 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of liese conserves ? -3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to- day ? I am Christophero Sly ; call not me — ho- nbui-j nor lordship: I never drank sack in my life ; and if you give me any conserves, give me ' conserves of beef : Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather. Lord. 'Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour I O, that a mighty man, of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem. Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! Sly. What, would you make me mad ? Am not I Christopher Sly, ola Sly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker ? Ask Marian Racket the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught : Here's 1 Seni. O, this it is, that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O ,this it is, that makes your sei"vants droop . Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shun your house, ; As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. ' O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment. And banish hence these abject lowly dreams : Look how thy servants do attend on thee. Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have musick? hark! Apollo plays. And twenty caged nightingales do sing : Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd. Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt I 1 154 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Ind,- Thy bounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth . 1 Serr. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhouudg , ■ are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. flServ. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight j Adonis painted by a running brook; And Cylherea all in sedges hid; Which seem to move and wanton %vith her breath. Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid ; And how she was beguiled and surpris'd. As lively painted as the deed was done. SScrv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood ; Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep. So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : Thou hast a lady far move beautiful Than any woman in this waning age. 1 Serv. And till the tears, that she hath shed for i thee. Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face. She was the fairest creature in the world ; And yet she is inferior to none. Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady ? Or do 1 dream? or have I drean^'d till now I I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things : — Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. — Well, bring our lady hiiher to our sight ; And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands t [Servanls present an ewer, bason, and napkin. O, how we joy to see your wit vestor'd ! O, that once more you knew but what you are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. Siy, These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap. But did I never sp^ak of all that time ? 1 Serv. O, yes, ray lord ; but very idle words :— For though you lay here in this goodly chamber. Yet would you say, ye were beatea out of door; Sc. I. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 155 And rail upon the hostess of the house; And say, you would present her at the leet, Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts: Sometimes you would call out ibr Cicely Racket. Siy. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid ; Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, — As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell ; And twenty more such names and men as these. Which never were, nor no man ever saw. Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! ^11. Amen. Sly. I thank thee; thou shall not lose by it. Enter the Page, as a Lady, with Attendants. Page. How fares my noble lord ? Sty. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enougb. Where is my wife ? Page. Here,noble lord ; What is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me — • husband T My men should call me — lord ; I am your good man. Page. My husband and my lord> my lord and husband ; I am your wife in all obedience. , Sly. I know it well : — What must I call her ? Lord. Madam. Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? Lord. Madam, and nothing else ; so lords call ladies. Sly. Madam wife, they say, that I have dreamed, and slept Above some fifteen year and more. Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me ; Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Sly. 'Tis much ; Servants, leave me and her alone. Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, To pardon me yet for a night or two ; Or, if not so, until the sun be set: For your physicians have expressly charg'd. In peril to incur your fonner malady. That I should yet absent me from your bed : I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. 156 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Actl. Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the fiesh and the blood. Enter a Servant. Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- ment. Are «ome to play a pleasant comedy, For so your doctors hold it very meet; Seeing too much sadness hath congeal 'd your blood. And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, Therefore they thought it good you hear a play. And frame your mind to mirth and merriment. Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. SI}/. Marry, I will ; let them play it : Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling- trick f Pa^e. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stutt. Sly. What, houshold stuff? Page It is a kind of history. Slif. Well, we'll see't : Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne*er be younger. [They sit down,. ACT I. SCENE I. Padua. A public place. Enter LUCENTIO and TRANIO. Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, — I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, The pleasant garden of great Italy ; And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd With his good will, and thy good company. Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all ; Here let us breathe, and happily institute A course of learning, and ingenious studies. Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, Gave me my being, and my father first, A merchant of great traffick through the world, Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. Vincentio his sou, brought up in Florence, It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study. Virtue, and, that part of philosophy Sc. 1. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 157 Will I apply, that treats of happiness^ By virtue 'specially to be acliiev'd. Tell me thy mind : for I have Pisa left. And am to Padua come ; as he, that leaves A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep> And with satiety seeks to tjuench his thirst. Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, I am in all affected as yourself; Glad that you thus continue your resolve. To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. Only, good master, while we do admire This virtue, and this moral discipline, Let's be no stoicks, nor no stocks, I prayj Or so devote to Aristotle's checks. As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : Talk logick with acquaintance, that you have, And practise rhetorick in your common talk : Musick and poesy use to quicken you ; The mathematicks, and the metaphysicks, Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves yon r No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ; — In brief, sir, study what you most affect. Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost tliou advise. If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore. We could at once put us in readiness ; And take a lodging, fit to entertain Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. But^ stay awhile : What company is this ? Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. Enter BAPTISTA, KATHARINA, BIANCA, GREMIO, and HORTENSIO. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand aside. Bap. Gentlemen, imp6rtune me co further. For how I firmly am resolv'd you know ; That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter. Before I have a husband for the elder : If either of you both love Katharina, Because I know you well, and love you well. Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. Gre. To cart her rather : She's too rough for me : There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ? Kath. I pray you, sir, [7V Bap.'] is it your will To make a stale of me amongst these mates ? Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that t no mates, for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould- 158 TAMING OF THE SHEEVV. Act 1. Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to few; I wis, it is not half way to her heart : But, if it were, doubt not her care should be To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool, ■ And paint your face, and use you like a fool. Hot. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver usl Ore. And me too, good Lord ! Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pasume toward ; r , ^ j That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. Luc. But in the other's silence I do see Maids' mild behaviour and sobriety. ^^Tra. WeU said, master ; mum and gaze your fill. Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good What I have said,— Bianoa, get you m : And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. Kath. A pretty peat ! 'tis best Put ftnger in the eye,— an she Knew why. Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. — Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : My books, and instruments, shall be my company! On them to look, and practise by myself. Luc. Hark, I'l-aniof thou may'st hear Minerva speak. , M"?' Hot. Siguier Baptista, mil you be so strange ! Sorry am I, that our good will effects Bianca's grief. Why, will ycu mew her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell. And make her bear the penance of her tongue? Bav. Gentlemen, content ye ; 1 am resolv d :— Go in, Bianca. ^ t-Ef Bumca. And tor I know, she taketh most delight In musick, instruments, and poetry. Schoolmasters will 1 keep wnthin my house, Fit to instruct her ycuth.— If you, Horlensio, Or signior Gremio, you,— know any such. Prefer them hither ; for to cunnmg men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing-up ; And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ; For \ have more to commune with Bianca. Lc-^'*: Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too ; may 1 not r "What, shall I be appointed hours ; as Ihouijh, ue- like. Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 159 I knew not what to take, and what to leave? Ha ! Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your gifts aie so good, here is none will hold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man, to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father. Hor. So will I, signior Gvemio : But a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, ujjon advice, it toucheth us both, — that we may yet again have access oar fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love^ — to labour and effect one thing 'specially. Gre. What's that, I pray ? Jfor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. Ore. A husband! a devil. J/or. I say, a husband. Gre. I say, a devil : Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her fatlier be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell T Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience, and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enouglj. (?re, I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the high-cross every morning. Jior. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law- makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca! — Happy man be his dole! lie that runs fastest, gels the ring. How say you, signior Gre- mio ? Gre. I am agreed : qnd 'would I had given him the best horse in Fadua to begin his wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the house of her. Come on. [Eaeunt Gremio and Hortensio. Tra. {Admncing^ I pray, air, tell me,— Is iS possible 56 160 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 1. That love should of a sudden take such hold? Luc. O Traiiio, till I found it to be true, I never thought it possible, or likely ; But see! while idly I stood looking on, I found the effect of love in idleness : ' And now in plainness do confess to thee, — That art to me as secret, and as dear, As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was, — Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest girl : Counsel me, Tranio, for 1 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 love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — Redime te captum quam quens minimo. Luc, Gramercies, lad ; go forward : this contents j The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid. Perhaps you mavk'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face. Such as the daughter of Agenor had. That made great Jove to humble him to her hand. When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not, how her sister Began to scold ; and raise up such a storm. That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, And with her breath she did perfume the air; Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. Tra. Nay,then,*tis time to stir him from his trance. I pray, awake, sir ; If you love the maid, Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands :— Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd. That, till the father rid his hands of her, Master, your love must live a maid at home ; And therefore has he closely mew'd her up. Because .she shall not be annoy'd with suitors. Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he ! But art thou not advis'd, he took some care To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? Tra. Ay, marry, am 1, sir ; and now 'tis plotted. Luc. I have it, Tranio. Tra. Master, for my hand, Both our iuveutions meet and jump in one. Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Luc. Tell me thine first. Tra. You will be schoolmaster. And undertake the teaching of the maid : That's your device. jtac. . It is : May it be done ? Tra. Not possible ; For who shall bear your part. And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ? Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ; Visit his countrymen, and banqviet them? Luc. Basta; content thee; for I have it full. We have not yet been seen in any house ; Nor can we be distinguished by our faces. For man, or master : then it follows tluis ;— Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead. Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should: 1 will some other be; some Florentine, .Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so : — Ti-anio, at once Uncase thee ; take my coloui 'd hat and cloak : When Bioudello comes, he waits on thee ; But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. Tra. So had you need. \_They CAchatige habits. In brief, then, sir, sith it your pleasure is. And I am tied to be obedient; {For so your father charg'd me at our parting ; Bf serviceable to my son, quoth he. Although, I think, 'twas in another sense,) I am content to be Lucentio, Because so well I love Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, be so, because LuCentio loves : And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid. Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. Enter BIONDELLO. Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you been i Bion. Where have I been? Nay, how now, where are you ? Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes ? Or you stol'n his ? or both ? pray, what's the news? Luc. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to iest. And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life. Puts my apparel and my countenance on. And I for my escape have put on his ; For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, I Idll'd a man, and fear I was descried : 162 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 1. Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, ■While I make way from hence to save my life : You understand me ? Sion. I, sir? ne'er a whit. Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth : Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. Bion. The belter for him ; 'Would I were so too ! 7'ra. So would I, 'faith, boy, to have the next wish after,— That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirvali,— not for my sake, but your master s,— 1 advise 1, , ■ J f You use your manners discreetly m ail kind o: companies : When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; But in all places else, your master Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, let's go: — One thing more rests, that thyself execute To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me why, Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 1 Serv My lord,ymnod\ you do not mind the play- Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good rmfCer, surely ; Comes there any more of it f Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam ladyi 'IFould't were done! SCENE IL The same. Be/ore Hortensio's house. Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO. Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all. My best beloved and approved friend, Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house : — Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, 1 say. Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock? is there any man has rebused your worship ! Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir I Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate. And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. Sc. 2. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 16S Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : I should knock you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst. Pet. Will it not be 1 'Faith, sirrah, and you'll not knock, I'll wring it; I'll try how you can sol, fn, and sing it. \_He wrings Grumio by the ears, Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. Pet. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah ! villain ! Enter HORTENSIO. Hor. How now? what's the matter? — My old friend Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! — How do you all at Verona ? Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray ? Con tutto U core bene trovato, may I say. Hor. .-^lla nostra casa bene venuto. Motto honorato signor into Petruchio. Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. Gru,. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service, — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, and rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so ; being, perhaps, (for aught I see,) two and thirty, — a pip out? Whom, 'would to God, I had wellknock'd at first. Then had not Grumio come by the worst. Pet. A senseless villain ! — Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal knock upon your gate. And could not get him for my heart to do it. Gru. Knock at the gate ? O heavens ! Spake you not these words plain, — Sirrah, knock me here. Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly f And come you now with — knocking at the gate ? Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. Hor. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's pledge : Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ; Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona? Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the world, To seek their fortunes further than at home. Where small experience grows. But, in a feiv, Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me ; — Antonio, my father, is deceas'd ; 164 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Actl. And I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may : Cro\viis in ray purse I have, and goods at home. And so am come abroad to see the world. Hor. Petriichio, shall I then come roundly to thee, And wish thee to a shrew'd ill-favour'd wife ? Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel : And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, And very rich : — but thou'rt too much my friend. And I'll not wish thee to her. Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we. Few words suffice : and therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, (As wealth is burthen of my wooing dauce,) Be she as foul as was Florentius' love. As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse. She moves me not, or not removes, at least. Affection's edge in me; were she as rough As are the swelling Adriatick seas : I come to wive it wevtlthily in Padua; If wealthily, then happily in Padua. Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is : Why, give him gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, or an aglet-bahy ; or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses : why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. Hot. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far in, I will continue that, I broach'd in jest. I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous; Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman : Her only fault (and that is faults enough,) Is, — that she is intolerably curst. And shrewd, and froward ; so beyond all measure. That were my state far worser than it is, I would not wed her for a mine of gold. Pet. Hortensio, peace ; thou know'st not gold's effect: — Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough ; For I will board her, though she chide as loud As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous gentleman : Her name is Kalhanna Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. Sc. 2. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 165 Pet. I know her father, though I know not her; And he knew my deceased father well : — 1 will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; And therefore let me be thus bold with you. To give you over at this first encounter. Unless you will accompany me thither. Grti. I pray you, sir, let him go while the hu- mour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves, or so : why, that's nothing ; an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll teU you what, sir, — an she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat : You know him not, sir. Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ; For in Baptisfa's keep my treasure is : He hath the iewel of my life in hold, His youngest daughter, beautiful Biaoca; And her withholds from me, and other more Suitors to her, and rivals in my love : Supposing it a thing impossible, (For those defects I have before reheara'd,) That ever Katharina will be woo'd. Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ; — ■ That none shall have access unto Biauca, Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. Gru. Katharine the curst ! A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. Hot, Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace; And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes. To old Baptista as a schoolmaster Well seen in musick, to instruct Bianca : That so I may by this device, at least. Have leave and leisure to make love to her. And, unsuspected, court her by herself. Enter GREMIO ; with Mm LUCENTIO disguised, with books under his arm. Gru. Here's no knavery ! See ; to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads to- gether! Master, master, look about you: Who goes there '? ha ! Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : — Petruchio, staud by a while. 166 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act I, Oru, A proper stripling, and an amorous ! \_They retire. Gre. O, very well; I have perus'd the note. Havk you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound: All books of love, see that at any hiind ; And see you read no other lectures to her : You understand me : — Over and beside Sif^nior Baptista's liberality, I'll mend it with a largess : — Take your papers too, And let me have them very well perfumed ; For she is sweeter than perfume itself, To whom they go. What will you read to her? Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) As firmly as yourself were still in place : Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. Ore. O this learning ! what a thing it is ! Om. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! Pel. Peace, sirrah. Hor. Grumio, mum! — God save you, signior Gremio ! Gre- And you're well met, signior Hortensio. Trow you. Whither I am going ?— To Baptista Minola, I promis'd to inquire carefully About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca : And, by good fortune, I have lighted well On this young man ; for learning, and behaviour. Fit for her tuni ; well read in poetry. And other books, — good ones, I warrant you. Hor. 'Tis well : and I have met a gentleman. Hath promis'd me to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress; So shall I no whit be behind in duty To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds shall prove. Gtu. And that his bags shall prove. [^siek. Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love: Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking. Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. Ore. So said, so done, is well : — Sc. 2. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 167 Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? Pet. I know, she is an irksome brawling scold ; Jf that be all, masters, 1 hear no hai-m. Gre. No, say'st me so, friend t What countryman? Pet. Boin in Verona, old Antonio's son: My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; And I do hope good days, and long, to see- Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange: ,^ ■,, But, If you have a stomach, to t o dod s name ; You shall have me assisting you in all. But will you woo this wild cat? pg(_ Will I live? Gru. Will he tvoo her ? ay, or I'll hang her. \_Aside.- Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, Rat,'e like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang ? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; That gives not half so great a blow to the ear. As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire ? Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs. Gru. For fears none. Gre. Hortensio, hark ! This gentleman is happil)| aiTiv*d, My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours. Hor. I promis'd, we would be contributors. And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. Gre. And so we will ; provided that he win her. Gru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. Enter TRANIO, hravcltj apparell'd; and BIONDELLO. Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I maybe bold. Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of signior Baptista Minola? Gre. He that has the two fair daughters :—is't Inside to 7'ranio.'] he you mean ? Tra. Even he. BiondeUo ! 16S TAMING OP THE SHREW. Act I. Gre. Hark you, sir ; You mean not her to Tru. Perhaps, him and her, sir ; What have you to do ? Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. Tra. I love no chiders, sir : — Biondello, let's away, Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside. Hot. Sir, a word ere you go; — Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no f Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence? Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will gel you hence. Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets 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'll know, That she's the choice love of signior Gremio. Hor, That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. Tra. -Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen. Do me this right, — hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, To whom my father is not all unknown ; And, were his daughter fairer than she is. She may more suitors have, and me for one. Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one move may fair Bianca have : And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one. Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us all. Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he'll prove a jade. Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you. Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter ? Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath twoj The one as famous for a scolding tongue. As is the other for beauteous modesty. Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me ; let her go by, Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; And let it be more than Alcides* twelve. Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, insooth;— The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all access of suitors; And will not promise her to any man. Until the elder sister first be wed : ITie younger then is free, and not before. Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all, and me among the rest \ Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 169 And if you break the ice, and do .this feat,— Achieve the eldei-, set the younger free For our access,— whose hap shall be to have her. Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. //or. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive ; And since you do profess to be a suitor. You must, as we do, gratify this geutleman. To whom we all rest generally beholden. Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof. Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And qualf carouses to our mistress' health ; And do as adversaries do in law, — Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. Grit. Bio/i. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's begone. Nor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so ; — Petruchio, I shall be your den veniito. \_EAeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. The same. A room in Bapitsia's house. Enter KATHARINA and BIANCA. Jiian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself. To make a bondmaid and a slave of me ; That I disdain : but for these other gawds. Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat ; Or, what \ou will command me, will I do. So well I tnow my duty to my elders. Kitth. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not. Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive, I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. Kath. Minion, thou liest; Is't not Hortensio ? Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear, _ I'll plead for you myself, but you shall h?.ve him. luith. O then, belike, you fancy riches more ; Y'ou will have Gremio to keep you fair. Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ? _ Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive. You have but jested with me all this while : I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. {Strikes her. 170 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 2. Enter BAPTISTA. Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows thii insolence ? Bianca, stand aside ; — poor girl ! she weeps : — ■ Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee! When did she cross thee with a bitter word? Kath. Iler silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. {Flies after Bianca. Bap. . What, in my sight ?— Bianca, get thee in. \_E.vit Bianm. Kuth. Will you not suffer me ? Nay, now I see, She is your ti'casure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day. And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep. Till I can find occasion of revenge. [^F..vit Kathanm. Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I? But who cornea here? Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in tkehubitif amean ma?i ; PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a Musician ;andTRAmO,iffithBl01^'DELU bearing a lute and books. Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : God save you, gentlemen Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not» daughter Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous? Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio ; give UK leave. — I am a gentleman of Verona, sir. That, — hearing of her beauty, and her wit. Her aftability, and bashful modesty, Her wonderous qualities, and mild behaviour,— Am hold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witnesi Of that report, which I so oft have hesird. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine, [Presenting Horterm. Cunning in musick, and the mathematicks. Sc.l. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 171 To instruct her fully in those sciences. Whereof, I "know, she is not ignoiant : Accept of himj or else you do me wrong ; His name is Licio, born in Mantua. Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for your good sake : But for my daughter Katharina, — this I Vnow, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. Pet. I see, you do not mean to part with her ; Or else you like not of my company. Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir T what may I call your name ? Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy. Jiap. I know him well : you are welcome for his sake. Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too : Baccare ! you are marvellous forward. Pet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio ; I would £ajn be doing. Ore. 1 doubt it not, air ; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness myself, that have been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely give unto you this young scholar, [Pre- senting Lucentio.] Uiat hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the o^er in musick and mathema- ticks : his name is Cambio ; pray, accept his service. Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- come, good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [To 7Vonio.] metbinks, you walk like a stranger ; May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming ! 7'ra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own; That, being a stranger in this city here. Do make myself a suitor to your daughter. Unto Biauca, fair, and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me. In the preferment of the eldest sister ; This liberty is all, that I request, — That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 1 may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo. And free access and favour as the rest. And, toward the education of your daughters, 1 here bestow a simple instrumeat. 172 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 3. And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then their worth is great. Bap. T-iicentio is youv name? of whence, 1 prayl 7Vci. Of Pisa, sir; son to Viiicentio. Bap. A mighty man of Pisa; by report I know him well : you are very welcome, sir. — Take you [7'o Hor.] the lute, and you [7'o Luc] the set of hooks. You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within ! Enter a Servant. Sirrah, lead These gentlemen to my daughters ; and tell them both. These are their tutors; hid them use them well. {Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio, and Biondello. We will go walk a little in the orchard. And then to dinner ; Von are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well ; and in him, me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods. Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd : Then tell me, — if I get your daughter's love. What dowry shall I have with her to wife ? Bnp. After my death, the one hall of my lands ! And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of Her ividowhood, — be it that she survive me, — In all my lands and leases whatsoever : Let specialties be therefore drawn between us. That covenants may be kept on either hand. Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, This is, — her love ; for that is all in all. Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; And where two raging fires meet together. They do consume the thing, that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind. Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : So I to her, and so she yields to me ; For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed .' Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 173 I But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. I Pel. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, li That shake not, though they blow perpetually. Re-enter HOHTENSIO, with Iiis head broken. Bap- How now, my friend T why dost thou look so pale ? Jfor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician T Jfor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. JJap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute T Nor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her, she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, frets, call you these y quoth she : I'll fume with them : And, with' that word, she struck me on the head, j And through the instrument my pate made way ; And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, loolnng through the lute : While she did call me, — rascal fiddler, And — twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms. As she had studied to misuse me so. Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did : O, how I long to have some chat with her ! Bap. Well, go with me, and be notso discomfited : Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ; She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.— Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? Pet. I pray you do; 1 will attend her here,— [_Ea.'ev.nt Baptista, Gremio, Trtmio, and Hortensio. And t^oo her with some spirit, when she comes. Say, that she rail ; Why, then I'll tell her plain. She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear As morning roses newly wasK'd with dew : Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ; ' Then I'll commend her volubility, I And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : I If she doth bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, I As though she bid me stay by her a week ; 174 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 3. If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When 1 shall ask the baims,aiid when he married:— Bat here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. Enter KATHARINA. Good-morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. Kuth. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing ; They call me Katharine, that do talk of me. Pet. You lie, in faith; foryou are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-Hall, my supper-dainty Kate, For dainties are all cates : and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; — Hearing thy mildjiess prais'd in every town. Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) Myself am mov'd to wno thee for my wife. Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him, that mov'd you hither, Remove you hence ; I knew you at the first. You were a moveable. Pet . Why, what's a moveable ? Knih. A joint-stool. Ptt. Thou hasti hit it : come, sit on rm. Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you meau, Pet, Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee : For, knowing thee to be but young and light, — KfUh. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. Pet. Should be? should buz. Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buziard. Pet, 0, slow-wiiig'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take thee f Katk. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard. Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i'faith, you are too angry. Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out. Kath, Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth w«ar his sting? In hi,s tail. Kath. In his tongue. Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 175 Pet. Whose tongue ? Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell. Ptt. What, wUn ray tongue in your tail ? nay, come again. Good Kate; I aju a gentleman. Kath. That I'll try. \Striking him. Pet. X swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Kath. So may you lose your arms : If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. Pet. A herald, Kate ? O, put me in thy books. Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? Pet, A eombless cock, so Kate will be my hen. Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven. Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not look so sour. Knih. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. Pet. Why, here's no cvab ; and therefore look not sour. Kath. There is, tbere is. Pet. Then show it me. Kath. Had I a glass, I would. Pet. What, you mean niy face ? Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. Kath. Yet you are wither'd. Pet. 'Tis with cares. Kath. I care not. Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scapa not ao. Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go. Pet. No, not a whit; I find you pasi-ing gentle. 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen. And now 1 find report a very liar ; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous; But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : Thou canst not fro^sn, thou canst not look askance. Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ; But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers. With gentle conference, soft and atfiible. Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp ? O slanderous world! Kate, like the hazle-twig, Is straight and slender ; and as brown in hue As hazel nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 57 176 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 2. O, let me see thee -walk : thou dost not halt. Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove, Ab Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful ! Kttth. Where did you study all this goodly speech? Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. Kaih. A witty mother i witless else her son. Pet. Am I not wise ? J{ath. Yes; keep you warm. Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed: And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain tenns : — Your father hath consented, That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on; And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, <Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,) Thou must be married to no man but me : For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate; And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate Confoi-mable, as other household Kates. Here comes your father; never make denial, I must and will have Katharine to ray wife. Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO. Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio : How speed you with My daughter? Pet. How but well, sir? how but well; It were impossible I should speed amiss. Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your dumps ? Kath. Call you me daughter? now I promise you. You have show'd a tender fatherly regard. To wish me wed to one half lunatick ; A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, That think-s with oaths to face the matter out. Pet. Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world. That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ; If she be curst, it is for policy ; For she's not froward, but modest as the dove ; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; Sc. 1. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 177 ' And to conclude, — we have 'gieed so well together^ That upon Sunday is the wedding day. Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. Gre. Hark, Petnicliio ! she says, she'll see thee hang'd first. 2'ra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part ! [ Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for f myself ; I If she and I he pleas'd, what's that to you? *Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone. That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How mucli she loves me : O, the kindest Kate ! — She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss I She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath. That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see. How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew,— Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day: — Proviae the feast, father, and bid the guests ; I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine. Bap. I know not what to say : but give me your hands ; God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace :— ; — We will have »"ings, and things, and fine array. And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Suuday. \^Eaeunt Petruchio ana Katharine, reveraUy. Ore. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part. And venture madly on a desperate mart. 7'ra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you : 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in the match. Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ; — Now is the day we long have looked for ; I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. Gre. Youngling ! thou canst uotlove so dear as I, irS TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 3. Tra. Grey-lieard 1 thy love doth freeze. (j„ But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand haek; 'tis age, that nourisheth. 2% But youth, in ladies' eyes that flounsheth. Baf. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound this 'Tis deeds, must win the prize ; and he. of both. That can assure my daughter greatest dower, Shan have Bianca's love.— Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her? bre. First, as you know, my house wuhin the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ; My hangings all of Tyiian tapestry : In ivory coffers I have stufPd my crowns ; In cypress chests, my arras, couutei-pomts. Costly apparel, tents, and canopies. Fine linen, Turky cushions boss'd with pearl. Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, Piwter and brass, and all things that belong To house, or house-keeping ; then, at my farm, I have a hundred mUch-kine to the pail, Sitscore fat oxen standing in my stalls. And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers. If, whilst I live, she will be only mine. Tra. That, only, came well in Sir, list to me, I am my father's heir, and only son : If I may have your daughter to my wife, I'll leave her houses three or four -s good. Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old signior Gremio has in Padua ; Besides two thousand ducats by the year. Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.- What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio? Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land 1 My land amounts not to so much in all ; That she shall have ; besides an argosy. That now is lying in Marseilles' road ; - What, have I cholt'd you with an argosy ? Tra Gremio, 'tis known, my lather hath no less Than three great argosies ; besides two galliasses. And twelve tight gallies : these I will assure her. And twice as much, whate'er thou oifer st ne.xt. Gtt. Nay, I have oiTer'd all, I have no more ; And she can have no more than all I have Se.l. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 179 If you like me, she shall have me and mine, Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied. Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best ; And, let your father make her the assurance. She is your own ; else, you must pardon me : If you should die before him, where's her dower? TVrt. Thai's but a cavil; he is old, I young. Ore. And may not young men die, as well as old? Bap. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv'd ■- — On Sunday next you know. My daughter Katharine is to be married : Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; If not, to signior Gremio : And so I take my leave, and thank you both. \Extt. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. — Now I fear thee not; Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and, in his waning age. Set foot under thy table : Tut ! a toy ! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. \Exit. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide-i Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. *Tis in my head to do my master good : — I see no reason, but supposed Lucentio Must get a father, calrd— suppos'd Vincentio; And that's a wonder : fathers, commonly, J>o get their children ; but, in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. [Eait. ACT III. SCENE I. room in Baptista's house. j?/i/erLUCENTIO,HORTENSIO, and BIANCA. Luc. Fiddlei', forbear ; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharine welcom'd you ivithal? Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony : Then give me leave to liave prerogative ; And when in musick we have spent an hour. Your lecture shall have leisure tor as much. Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far To know the cause why musick was ord^n'd \ Was it aot, to refresh the mind of man. 180 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 3. After his studies, or his usual pain ? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. Bian . Why, gentlemen, you do me double -wrong. To strive for that, which resteth in my choice : I am no breeching scholar in the schools ; I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times. But learn my lessons as I please myself. Aud, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd. Hor, You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune ? [71) Bianca. — Hortensio retires. Luc. That will be never ; — tune your instrument- Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Here, madam : Hac ibut Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus; Hie steterat Friami regiu celsa sents. Biajt. Construe them. Luc. Ilac ibat, as I told you htiove,— 'Simois, I am Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, —Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love ; — ffic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, —Priami, is my man Tranio, — regin, heaving my port, — celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. {^Returning. Bian. Let's hearj — [Hortensio plays. O fie ! the treble jars. Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac ibat Simois, I know you not; hie est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not ; — Hie steterat Priami, take heed he hear us not; — regia, presume not ; — celsa senis, de- spair not. Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Luc. All but the base. Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave, that .jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : Pedaicule, I'll watch you better yet. Biun. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, jEacides Was Ajax,— call'd so from his graudfather. Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 181 Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promisa you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt : But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you : — Good masters, take it not unkindly-, pray, That I have been thus pleasant with you both. //or. You may go walk, [7'o Luceniio.'] and give . me l?ave awhile ; My lessf>ns make no musick in three parts. Luc. Are you so formal, sir 1 well, I must wait. And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd. Our fine musician groweth amorous, \^^sids. Hot. Madam, before you touch the instrument. To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art ; To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. More pleasant, pithy, aud effectual. Than hath been taught by any of ray trade : And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. liian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. Hot, Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. Bian. [/iearfs.] Gamut / am, the ground of all accord, A re, to plead Horiensio's passion ; B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, C faut, that loves with all uff^ection : D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I ; E la mi, show pity, or I die. Call you this — gamut? tut! I like it not: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice. To change true rules for odd inventions. Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books. And help to dress your sister's chamber up; You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be gone. [Eaeunt Bianca and Servant. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to ffor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant ; Methinks he looks as though he were in love ; Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble. To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale. Seize tliee, that list : If once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. {^EaU. Enter a Servant. stay. 182 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 3. SCENE II. The same. Before Bapttsta's house. Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KA- THARINA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and At- iendunts. Bap. Signior Lucentio, [7b Tranio.'] this is the 'pointed day, That Katharine and Petruchio should be married. And yet we hear not of our son-in-law : What will be said ? what mockery will it be, To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ? What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ? Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be forc'd To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, Unto a raad-brain'd rudesby, full of spleen ; Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantick fool. Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour : And, to be noted for a men-y man. He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage. Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to Aved, where he hath woo'd. Now must the world point at poor Katharine, And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please Mm come and marry her. Tra. Patience, good Katharine, ani Baptista too ; Upon my life, Petruchio means but well. Whatever fortune stays him from his word : Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though \ \_E.viC, weeping, followed by Bianco, and others. Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ; For such an injury would vex a saint. Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter BIONDELLO. Bion. Master, master! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of ! Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming t Sc. 2. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 183 Bap. Is lie come ? Sion. Why, no, sir. JBap. "What then ? Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here? Bion. When he stands, where I am, and sees you there. Tra. But, say, what : — To thine old news. Bion. Why, Petmchio is coming, in a new hat, and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned; a pair of boots, that have been candle- cases, one buckled, another laced ; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless ; with two broken points : His horse hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stir- rups of no kindred : besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine ; tr»ubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begna^vn with the bots ; swayed in the back, and shouldei-shotten ; ne'er legged be- fore, and •n'Hh a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather ; which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots : one girt six times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capa- risoned like the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat, and The hu- mour of forty fancies pricked in*t for a feather : a monster, a very monster in apparel ; and not like a christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey, Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion ; — Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes? Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. Bion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him on his back. 184 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 3. Bap. Why, that's all one. Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many. Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO. Pet. Come, where be these gallants ? who is at home ? Bap. You are welcome, sir. Pet, And yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you halt not. Tra. Not so well apparell'd As I wish you were. Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? — How does my father! — Gentler, methinks you frown; And wherefore gaze this goodly company ; As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet, or unusual prodigy? 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 unprovided. Fie ! doff this habit, shame to your estate. An eye-sore to our solemn festival. 3V«. And tell us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife. And sent you hither so unlike yourself? Pel. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word. Though in some part enforced to digress ; Which at more leisure, I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But, where is Kate? I stay too long from her; The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. Tret. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; Go to niy chamber, put on clothes of mine. Pet. Not I, believe me ; thus I'll visit her. Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore have done with words ; 1*0 me she's married, not unto my clothes : Could I repair what she will wear in me. As I can change these poor accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. But what a fool am I, to chat with you. When I should bid good morrow to my bride, Sc. 2. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 185 And seal the title with a lovely kiss ? [Eaeunt Petruchio, Griunio, and BiondeUo, Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire : We will persuade him, be it possible. To put on better, ere he go to church. Jinp. I'll after him, and see the event of tWa. Tra. But, sir, to her love concernetb us to add Her father's liking : AVhich to bring to pass. As I before imparted to your worship, , I am to g«t a man, — whate'er he be. It skills not much ; we'll fit him to our turn,— And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; I And make assurance, here in Padua, , 0£ greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent. Luc. Were it not tbat my fellow schoolmaster , I Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, I 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; I Which once perform'd, let all the world say — no, ril keep mine own, despite of all the world. Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into. And watch our vantage in this business: We'll over-reach the grey-beard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Mlnola; The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — Re-enter GREMIO. Signior Gremio ! came you from the church 7 Ore. As willingly as e'er I came from school. TVs. And is the bride and bridegroom coming I home 1 Ore. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom, indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. I ^ra. Curster than she ? why, 'tis impossible. I Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend, Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. Gre. Tut ! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. I'll tell you, sir Lucentio ; When the priest Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife. Ay, hy gogs-wouns, quoth he ; and swore so loud. That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book : And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, 1 Tlie mad-bvain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff, Thftt do^vu fell priest and book, and book and priest ; 186 TAMINC OP THE SHREW. Act 3, Now take them up, quoth he, if any list. Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again ! Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd, and swore. As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if He had been aboard, carousing to his mates After a storm : — Quaff'd off the muscadel. And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; Having no other reason, — But that his beard erew thin and hungerly. And seem'd to ask him sops, as he was drinking. This done,' he took the bride about the neck ; And kiss'd her Hps with such a clamorous smack. That, at the parting, all the church did echo. I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; And, after me, I know, the rout is coming; Such a mad marriage never was before; Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. {Musick. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, BfANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, GRUMIO, and Train. Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains : I know, you think to dine \v\l\\ me to-day. And have prepar'd great store of wedding-cheer ; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence. And therefore here I mean to take my leave. Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night? Pet. 1 must away to-day, before night come Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all. That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; For I must hence, and farewell to you all. 7'ra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. Pet. It may not be. Ore. Let me entreat you. Pet. It cannot be. Kath. Let me entreat you. Pet. I am content. Kath. Are you content to stayt Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay; So. 2. TAMING OP THE SHREW, 187 But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. Katk. Now, if you love me, stay. Pet. Grumio, my horses. Gru. Ay, sir, tliey be ready ; the oats have eatea the horses, A'nik. Nay, then. Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; ' \o, nor to-morrow, nov till I please myself. The door is open, sir, there lies your way, I You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green ; For rae, I'll not be gone, till I please myself : — 'Tia like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom, 'ITiat take it on you at the first so roundly. Pei. O, Kate, contentthee ; pr'ythee, be not angry. A'aih. I will be angry ; What hast thou to do ?— Father, be quiet ; he shall stiiy my leisure. Gre. Ay, marry, sir; now it begins to work. Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner : — ■ I see, a woman raa^ be made a fool. If she had not a spirit to resist, i Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com- mand :— — Obey the bride, you that attend on her : Go to the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measures to her maidenhead. Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves ; I But for my bonny Rate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret ; I will be master of what is mine own : She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house. My housh old- stuff, my field, my bam. My liorse, my ox, my' ass, my any thing ; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; I'll brin^ my action on the proudest he. That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate; I'll buckler thee against a million. [Ea-eunt Pe.truckio, Katharine, and Grumio. Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? Bian. That, being mad hf rselfjshe's madly mated. 183 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 4^ Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated, Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table. You know, there wants no junkets at the feast; — Lucentio, yon shall supply the bridegroom's place; And let Bianca take her sister's room. Trfi. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen, let's go. {^Es-'cuntt ACT IV. SCENE I. A hall in Petruchio's country house. Enter GRUMIO. Gru. Fie, fie, on all tired jades! on all mad masters ! and all foul ways ! Was ever man so beaten? was ever mau so rayed ? was ever man so weary ? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to wann them. Now, were not I a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should fiome by a fire to thaw me ; — But, 1, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself ; for, considering the weather, a taller man than 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 may'st slide from my shoulder fo my heel, with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio t Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water. Curt. Is she so hot a shrew, as she's reported 1 Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and beast ; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot ; and so long am I, at the least. Bui wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand (she being now at hand,) thou Sc. 1. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 189 sTialt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office. I Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me. How I goes the world ? Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but . thine ; and, therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have j thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. Curt. There's fire ready ; And therefore, good Grumio, the news ? Gru. Why, Jack hoy! ho hoy! and as much news as thou wilt. Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching :— Gru. Why therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the serving men in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the jacks fair within, and the jills fair without, tlie carpets laid, and every thing in order? CuTt. AU ready; And therefore, I pray thee, news? Gtu. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master and mistress fallen out. Curt. How? Gtu. Out of their saddles into tlie dirt ? And thereby hangs a tale. Curt. Let's ha't. good Grumio. Gru. Lend thine ear. Curt. Here. Gtu. There. \Strmiig Um. Ctirt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. Gru, And therefore 'tis called, a sensible tale: and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and be- seech listening. Now I begin : Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress : — Curt. Both on one horse? Gru. What's that to thee? Curt. Wliy, a horse. Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell, and she under her horse ; thou shouldst have heard, in how miry a place: how lihe was bemoiled ; how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he beat me, because her horse stumbled ; i how she waded through the dirt, to pluck him off ' me; how he swore; how she prayed— that never [ 190 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 4. prayed tefore j how I cried ; how the horses ran ' away ; how her bridle was burst ; how I lost my crupper ; with many things of worthy memory ; which now shall die in oblivion, aud thou return unexperienced to thy grave. Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than she. Gru. Ay ; and that, thou and the proudest of you all shall lind, when he comes home. But what talk I of this?— call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Ni- cholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest ; let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, and their garters of an indifferent knit : let them curtsey with their left legs ; aud not pre- sume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready : Curt. They are. Gru. Call them forth. Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master, to countenance my mistress. Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. Curt. Who knows not that ? Gru. Thou, it seems; that callest for company to countenance her. Curt. I call them forth to credit her. Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. Enter several Servants. Nath. Welcome home, Grumio. Pkil. How now, Grumio ? Jos. What, Grumio! Nich. Fellow Grumio ! Nath. How now, old lad t Gru. Welcome, you; — how now, you; what, you; — fellow, you; — and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat ? Nath. All thinns is ready: How near is our master! Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- fore be not,— —Cock's passion, silence !— — I hear my master. Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA. Pet. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door, To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse I Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 191 All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sii- ! here, sir!— You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ?— Where is the foolish knave t sent before T (rru. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt- horse drudge ! Did I not bid thee meet me in the park. And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made. And Gabriel's pumps were all tmpink'd i' the heel; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was notcome from sheathing : There were none fine,but A dam, Ralph, and Gregory ; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; Yet, as they are, here are they coroe to meet you. Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in, — \E.i'eunt some of the S'ervants. Where is the life that late I led— [Sings. Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, solid, soud ! Re-enteT Servants, with supper. WHy, when, I say? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogues, you Tillaina ; WTien ? It was the friar of orders grey, [Sings. As he forth walked on his way : — Out, out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry ; Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.— [Strikes him. Be merry, Kato : — Some water, here; what, ho — Where's my spaniel Troilus I — Sirrah, get you hence. And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither : — \^Es.it Servant. One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with. — Where are my slippers ! — Shall I have some water? [A bason is presented to him. Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : — [Servant lets the ewer /alt. You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? [Strikes him* . Katk. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling. fa. A whoreson, beetleheaded, ilap-ear'd kuiVTS f 5S 192 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 4. Come, Kate, sit do%vn ; I know you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I ? What is this? mutton? ] Serv. Ay. Pet. Who brought it? 1 Serv. 1- Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat : What dogs are these ? — Where is the rascal cook ? How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, And serve it thus to me, that love it not f 'Inhere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : [Throws Che meat, ^T. about the stage. You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves! What, do you grumble ? I'll be with you straight. Kath. I pray you, husband, be hot so disquiet ; The meat was well, if you were so contented. Pet. Itellthee, K.atej'twasburntanddriedaway; And I expressly am forbid to touch it, For it engenders choler, planteth anger ; And better 'twere, that both of us did fast, — Since, of ourselves, ourselves are cholerick, — • Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient ; to-morrow it shall be mended. And, for this night, we'll fast for company : — Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. [Kjeunt Petriichio, Kntharina, and Curtis. Nath. {Advancing.'] Peter, didst ever see the like f Peter. He kills her in her own humour. Re-enter CURTIS. Oru. Where is he? Curt. In her chamber. Making a sermon of continency to her : And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul. Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; And sits as one new-risen from a dream. Away, away ! for he is coming hither. [Exeuni. Re-enter PETRUCHIO. Pet. Thus have I polilickly begun my reign. And 'tis my hope to end successfully : My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty; And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged. For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard. To make her come, and know her keeper's call. That is, — to watch her, as we watch these kites. Sc. 2. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 193 That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; As with the meat, some undeser\-ed fault I'll find about the making of the bed ; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster. This way th^ coverlet, another way the sheets : — Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend. That all is done in reverend care of her ; And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night : And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail, and brawl. And with the clamour Veep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness ; And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong hu- mour : — He, that knows better how to tame a shrew. Now let him speak ; 'lis charity to show. [^Eait. SCENE II. Padun. Before Baptista's house. Enter TRANIO and HORTENSIO. Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? X tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. Hot. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said. Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. stand aside-. Enter BIANCA and LUCENTIO. Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read ? 5ian.What,master,read you? first resolve me that. Luc. I read that I profess, the art of love. Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your art ! Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. {.Thei; retire. Hor. Quick proceeders,marry! Now,tellme,lpray, You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. Tra. O despiteful love! unconstant woman- kind!— » I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; But one that scorn to live in this disguise. For such a one as leaves a gentleman. And makes a god of such a cullion : Know, sir, that I am call'd— Hortensia. 194 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 4. Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca ; And since mine eyes are -witness of her lightness, I will with you, — if yon be so contented,— Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. Hor. See, how they kiss and court !—— Signior Lueentio, Here is my hand, and here I fimnly vow — Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her. As one unworthy all the former favours. That I have fondly flattered her withal. Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,— Ne'er to marry with her, though she would entreat: Fie on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him. Hot. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite forsworn ! For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealthy widow, Ere three days pass ; which hath as long lov'd noe> As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard : And so farewell, signior Lueentio. — Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks. Shall mn my love : — and so I take my leave. In resolution as I swore before. Hortensio. ^Lueentio and Bianca advance. Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love ; And have forsworn you with Hortensio. Bian. Tranio, you jest; But have you both for- sworn me X Tra. Mistress, we have. Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 7'ra. I'faith, he'll have a lusty widow now. That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. Bian. God give him joy ! Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her. Bian. He says so, Tranio- 7'ra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming- school. Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a place ? Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master; Tliat teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, — To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. Enter BIONDELLO, running. Bion. O master, master, 1 have watch 'd so long Sc. 2. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 195 That I'm (log-weary ; but at last I spied An ancient angel coming down the hill. Will serve the turn. Tra. What is he, Biondello? Eton. Master, a mercatantfe, or a pedant, I Icnow not what ; ljut formal in apparel, In gait and countenance surely like a father. Z-ttC. And what of him, Tranio? Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, ni make him glad to seem Vincentio ; And give assurance to Baptista Minola, As if he were the right Vincentio. Take in your love, and then let me alone, {^Exeunt Luceniio and Bianca. Enter a Pedant. Ped. God save you, sir! T'ra. And you, sir ! you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest? Ped. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two : But then up further ; and as far as Rome ; And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. Tra. What countryman, I pray? Ped. Of Mantua. Tra. Of Mantua, sir?— marry, God forbid ! And come to Padua, careless of your life ? Ped. M life, sir ? how, I pray ? for that goes hard. Trs. 'lis death for any one in Alantua To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause ? Your ships are staid at Venice ; and the duke (For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,) Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 'TIS marvel ; but that you're hut newly come. You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so; For I have bills for money by exchange From Florence, and must here deliver them. . Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy. This will I do, and this will I advise you First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been ; Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio ? Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him ; A merchant of incomparable wealth. Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say, Iii countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 196 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 4. Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. Inside. Tra. To save your life in this extremity, This favour will I do you for his sake ; And think it not the worst of all your fortunes. That you are liVe to sir Vincentio. His name and credit shall you undertake. And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd } — Look, that you take upon you as you should ; You understand me, sir ; — so shall you stay Till you have done your business in the city : If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. Ped. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever The patron of my life and liberty. 7'ra. Then go witli me, to make the matter good. This, by the way, I let you understand ; — My father is here look'd for every day, To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : In all these circumstances I'll instruct you : Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. [Ed'eunt. SCENE III. ^ room in PetrucMo's house. Eiittr KATHARINA and GRUMIO. Gru. No, no ; forsooth ; I dare not, for my life. Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears : What, did he marry me to famish me ? Beggars, that come unto my father's door. Upon entreaty, have a present alms ; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : But I, — who never knew how to entreat. Nor never needed that I should entreat, — Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ; With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : And that, which spites me more than all these wants. He does it under name of perfect love ; As who should say,— if I should sleep, or eat, ' Twere deadly sickness, or else present death,— I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ; I care not what, so it be wholesome food, Gru. What say you to a neat's foot? K<ah. 'Tis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me have it. Qtu. I fear, it is too eholerick a meat: — How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd f Sc. 8. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 197 Kaih. I like it well ; good Grumio, fetch it me. ■ -Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear, 'lis cholerick. What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard ? Kath. A dish, that I do love to feed upon. Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. Kath. Why, then the beef.and let the mustard rest. Gru. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio. Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. Gru. Why, then the mustard ^rithout the beef. Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, \^Btats him. That feed'st me with the very name of meat : Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you. That triumph thus upon my misery ! Go, get thee gone, I say. Knter PETRUCHIO with a dish of meat; and •HORTENSIO. Pet. How fares my Kate J What, sweeting, all amort ? Hor. Mistress, what cheer? Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am. To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee : [5ciJ the dish on a table. I am Bure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word X Nay then, thou lov'st it notj And all my pains is sorted to no proof: — Here, take away this dish. Kath. 'Fray you, let it stand. Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. Kftth. I thank you, sir. Hor. Siguier Petruchio, fie ! you are to blame ! Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. Pet. Eat it up ail, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me.— Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!' Kate, eat apace : — And now, my hooey love. Will we return unto thy father's house ; And revel it as bravely as the best, With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings. With rutl's, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things ; With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, 198 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 4. "With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knaverj-. What, hast thou dtn'd ? The tailor stays thy leisure, To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. Enter Tailor. Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; F.nter Haberdasher. Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir? Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. Pet. Why, this was moulded on a poninger ; A velvet dish ; — fie, fie ! 'tis lewd and filthy : Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time. And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. Pet. When you are gentle, yon shall have one too, And not till then. Hor. That will not be in haste. {Aside. Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak ; And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe : Your betters have endur'd me say my mind ; And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart ; Or else my heart, concealing it, will break : And, rather than it shall, I will be free Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap, A custard- ooftin, a bauble, a silken pie : I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap ; And it I will have, or I will have none. Pet. Thy gown 1 why, ay :— Come, tailor, let us see't. 0 mercy, God ! what masking stuff is here ? What's this ? a sleeve I 'tis like a demi-cannon : What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart ? Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and sUsh, and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop : Why, what o'devil's name, tailor, call 'st thou this ? Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor gown. [Aside. Ttti. You bid me make it orderly and well. According to the fashion, and the time. Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remember'd, 1 did not bid you mar it to the time. Cq hop me over every kennel home, Sc. 3. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 199 For you shall hop without my custom, sir: ]'h none of it; hence, make your best of it. Kath. I never saw a better- fashion 'd gown. More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable : Uelilte, you mean to make a puppet of me, Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet of Tai. She says, your worship means to make a puppet of her. Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou liest, thou thread. Thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail. Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou ; — I Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread ! Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant} Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, ! As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou Hv'st ! ! I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown, Tai. Your worship is deceiv'd ; the gown is made Just as my master had direction : Grumio gave order how it should be done. Gru. \ gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. Tai. But how did you desire it should be made! Gru. Man-y, sir, with needle and thread. Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? Gru. Thou hast faced many things. Tai. I have. Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many men ; brave not me; \ will neither be faced nor braved. 1 say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou liest. Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. 1 Pet. Read it. Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say I saidso. Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread : I said, a gown. Ptt. Proceed. Tai. iVith a small compassed cape ; Gru. I confess the cape. Tai, fVitk a trunk sleeve ; Gru. I confess two sleeves. Tai. The sleeves curiously cut. Pet. Ay, there's the villany. thee. Tai. Imprimis, a loose-bodied m TAMING OP THE SHREW. Act t Gru. Error i'the bill, sir; error i'lhe bill. 1 commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up again ; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. Tai. This is true, that I say ; an I had thee in place where, thou shouldst know it. Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds. Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for mc. Gru. You are i'lhe right, sir ; *tis for my mistress. ■ Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. Gru. Villain, not for thy life : Take up my mis- tress' gown for thy master's use ! Pei. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? Gru. 0,sif,the conceit is deeper than you think for: Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use! Oj fie, fie, fie ! Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid : — Inside. Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more. Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow. Take no unkindness of his hasty words : Away, I say ; commend me to tliy master. [Exit Tailor. Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's. Even in these honest mean habiliments ; Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor: For 'tis the mind, that makes the body rich ; And as the sun breaks through the darkest ciouda^ So honour peereth in the meanest habit. "What, is the jay more precious than the lark. Because his feathers are more beautiful? Or is the adder better than the eel, Because his painted skin contents the eye ? O, no, good Kate ; neither art ihou the worse For this poor furniture, and mean array. If thou account's! it shame, lay it on me : And therefore, frolicli ; we will hence forthwith. To feast and sport us at thy father's house, — Go) call my men, and let us straight to him ; And bring our horses unto Long-lane end, There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — Let's see ; I think, 'tis now some seven o'clock. And well we may come there by dimier time. Sc. 4. TAMING OF THK SHREW. 201 Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two ; And 'twill be supper time, ere you come there. Pet. Il shall be seven, ere I go to horse : Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, You are slill crossing it. — Sirs, left alone i I will not go to-day ; and ere t do. It shall b« what o'clock I say it is. Hor. Why, so ! this gallant will command the sun. {Eaeunt, SCENE IV. Padua. Before BnpCista's house. Enter TRANIO, and the Pedant dressed like VINCENTIO. Tra. Sir, this is the house ; Please it you, that 1 call? Ped. Ay, what else ? and, but I be deceived, Si^or Baptista may remember me. Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where We were lodgers at the Pegasus. Tra. 'Tis well ; And hold your own, in any case, with such Austerity as 'longeth to a father. Enter BIONDELLO. Ped. I warrant you; But, sir, here comes your boy ; 'Twere good, he were school'd. Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, Now do your duty throughly, I advise you ; Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. Bion. Tut ! fear not me. Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista; Bion. I told him, that your fatlier was at Venice; And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. Tm. Thou 'rt a tall fellow ; hold thee that to drink. Here comes Baptista : — set your countenance, sir.— Enter BAPTISTA and LUCENTIO. Signior Baptista, you are happily met : — Sir, {to the Pedant.'} This is the gentleman 1 told you of; I pray you, stand good father to me now. Give me Biauca for my patrimony. Ped. Soft, son! — Sir, by your leave ; having come to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 202 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act I. Made me acquainted with a weighty cause Of love between your daughter and himself : And,— for the good report I hear of you ; And for the love he beareth to your daughter, And she to him, — to stay him not too long, I am content, in a ^ood father's care. To have him match'd : and,— if you please to like No worse than I, sir, — upon some agreement. Me shall you find most ready and most willing With one consent to have her so bestow'd - For curious I cannot be with you, ' Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say ;— Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well. Right true it is, your son Lucentio here Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Or both dissemble deeply their affections : And, therefore, if you say no more than this. That like a father you will deal with him. And pass my daughter a sufficient dower. The match is fully made, and all is done : Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 7'ra. I thank you, sir.— Where then do you knoT^- best. We be aftied ; and such assurance ta'en, As shall with either part's agreement stand ? Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for, you know. Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants : Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still; And, happily, we might be interrupted. 7'ra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir : There doth my father lie ; and there, this night. We'll pass the business privately and well : Send for your daughter by your servant here. My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. The worst is this, — that, at so slender warning, You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. Bap. It likes me well : — Cambio, hie you home> And bid Bianca make her ready straitjht': And, if you will, tell what nath happened ;— . liubentio's father is amv'd in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart ! Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? Welcome! one mess is lik-e to be your cheer: Come, sir ; we'll better it in Pisa. Sc. 5. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 20S ^^9- _ I follow you. [Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptisia. Bion. Cambio, — Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello? Bion. You saw my master wink and lauL'h upon you ? ^ Luc. Biondello, what of that? I Bion. 'Faith nothing; but he has left me here I behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful sou. Luc. And what of him ? Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. Luc. And then ? — Bion. The old priest at St. Luke's church is at your command at all hours. Luc. And what of all this ? Bion. I cannot tell ; except they are ljusied about a counterfeit assurance : Take you assurance of her, cum priviiegio ad imprimendum S9lum : to the church; —take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses. If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say. But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. \Goine Ltic. Hear'st thou, Biondello ? Bion. I cannot tarry : I kne^v a wench manied in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to St. Luke's, to bid the priest be ready 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, I'll roundly go about her; It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. SCENE V. ^ public road. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and HORTENSIO. Pet. Come on, o' God's name ; once more towards our father's. fiGood Lord, how bright and goodly shines ihf mooaJ 204 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act i. Kath . The moon ! the sun ; it is not moonlight now. Pet. I say it is the moon, that shines so bright. Kath. I know, it is the sun, that shines so bright. Fet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list. Or ere I journey to your father's house : — Go on, and fetch our horses back again. — Evermore cross'd, and cross'd ; nothing but cross'd! Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or suu, or what you please ; And if you please to call it a rush candle. Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. Pet. I say, it is the moon, Kath. I know it is. Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun. Kath. Then God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun.— But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; And the moon changes, even as your mind. What you will have it nam'd, even that it is ; And so it shall be so, for Katharine. Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. Pet. Well, forward, forward ; thus the bo\vl should run, And not unluckily against the bias.— But soft; what company is coming here? Enter VINCENTIO, t« a travelling dress. Good-morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ? — ' \_To f'incenCio. Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too. Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty. As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? — Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee*: — ■ Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. Ifor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, .un'. sweet, WhUher away ; or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child ; Happier the man, whom favourable stars Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! 1 hope thou art no mad : J So. 5. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 305 ; This is a man, old, wrinlded, faded, wither'd; And not a maiden, as thou say'sl he is. [I Kath. Pardon, old father, niy mistaking eyes fj ITiat have been so bedazzled with the sun, ' That every thing I look on seemeth green: Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father ; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. Pet. Do, good old grandsire : and, withal, make kuown Which way thou traveilest : if along with us. We shall be joyful of thy company. AVn. Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress. Thai -with your strange encounter much amaz'd me; My name is call'd — Vincentio ; my dwelling Pisa : And bound I am to Padua; there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen. Pet. AVhat is his name ? Lucentio, gentle sir. Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son. And now liv law, as well as reverend age, J may entitle thee — my loving father ; The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman. Thy son by this hath married : Wonder not. Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem. Her dowi-y wealthy, and of worthy bii'th ; BeKide, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio : And wander we to see thy honest son. Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. T ^""^ '^""^ • '^^ '^^ ^^^^ y^""^ pleasure^ Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest Upon the company you overtake ? Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 1 li *^'"^^> f>'o along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. , {E.reunt Petruchio, Kath(iTina,and'nnceniio. i Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart. Have to my widow, and if she be froward, iThen hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. [Eait. ACT V. SCENE I. 1 Padua. Be/ore Lucentio's home. \Bnteron one s?rf«BTONDELLO, LUCENTIO, cnrf I BIANCA ; GREMIO walking on the other side. £iB7i. Softly and swiftlyi sirj for the priest is ready. 206 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chancu to need thee at home, therefove leave us. Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back ; and then come back to my master as sooa as I can. \_Exeunt Luctntio, Bianca, ana Bionaeilo. Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, VIN- CENTIO, and Attendants. Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's hou^e, My father's bears more toward the market-placf ; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. ^in. You shall not choose but drink before you jjo ; I think, I shall command youv welcome here, And.by all likelihood, some cheer is to^vard. \_Knockx, Ore. They've busy within, you had best knock louder. Snter Pedant above, at a loindow. Ped. What's he, that knocks as if he would beat down the gate ? F'in. Is signior Lucentio within, sir! Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. rin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to make merry withal ? Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none, so long as 1 live. Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in Padua.— Do you hear, sir?— to leave frivolous cir- cumstances,— I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, tin; his father is come from Pisa, and is here at door to speak with him. Ped. Thou lieat; his father is come from Pisa, and here looking out at the window. yin. Art thou his father? Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may be- lieve her. Pet. Why, how now, gentleman! \_To f-tncen.- why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another man's name. Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I believe, 'a meani to cozen somebody in this city under my countenaucu. Re-enter BIONDELLO. Bion. 1 have seen them in the church togeth^ir; God sead 'em good shipping!— But wbo is bemtl Sc. 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 207 mine old master, Vincentio ? now we are undone and brought to nothing. * f^in. Come hither, crack-hemp. „. r . , , [Seeing Biondella, Jston. I nope 1 may choose, sir. rift. Come hither, you rogue; What, Iiave you lorpot me t ^ Bion. Forgot you ? no, sir : I could not foreet you, for I never saw you before in all my life. f'in. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? Jiion. What, my old. worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window. ria. Is't so, indeed? [Beats Biondei/o. Bwn. Help, help, help ! here's a madman will murder me. [Ea'tf Ped, Help, son ! help, signior Baptista ! „ ^ „ , , „ [B.rii, from the window. Fr ythee, Kate, let's stand asido, and see the end of this controversy, [They retire. Re-enter Pedant below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO and Servnnis. * Tra. Sir, what are you, that ofiFer to beat my /^m. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir?— O immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doublet ! a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat I — U, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. 'Pra. How now! what's the matter? Bap. WhaX, is the man lunatick f Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a mad- man : Why, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and gold ? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. _ P'in. Thy father? O, villain! he is a sail-maker 111 Bergamo. Bap, You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir : Pray, Wha^ do you think is his name ? yin. His name ? as if I knew not his name : I 1^^^ ^™"g^>t hini up ever since he was three years twa, and his name is — Tranio. Ptd. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Li»* 5S> 203 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 5. centio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, signiov Vincentio. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master ! — Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke*s name: — O, my son, my son! — tell me, thou vil- lain, where is my son Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer: {Enter one toitk an Officer.'] carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. yin. Carry me to the gaol ! Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio ; I say, he shall go to prison. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you he coney-catched in this business; I dare swear, this jti the right Vincentio. Ped. Swear, if thou dai-est. Gre. Nayi I dare not swear it. 7Vn. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Jjucentio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with him. f'ln. Thus strangers may he haled and abused : — O monstrous villain ! Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTJO, and BIANCA. Bion. O, we are spoiled, and— Yonder he is ; deny him, fors%vear him, or else we are all undone. Lac. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. fi^ia. Lives my sweetest son r [BiondeUo, Tranh, and Pedant run out. Bian. Pardon, dear father. [KneeHng. Bap. How hast thouo*tended f— Where is Lucentio ? l,uc. Here's Lucentio, Right son unto the right Vincentio ; That have by marriage made thy daughter mm«. While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. Gre. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceiva yin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ? Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my CambioT Bian. Camhio is chang'd into Lucentio. Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca s love Made me exphange my state with Trauio, Sc. 2. TAMfNG OP THE SHREW. 20» While lie did bear my countenance in the town • And happily I have arriv'd at last * Unto the H-ished haven of my bliss ; What Tranio did, myself eiiforc'd him to ; P"^"" lita. sweet father, for my sake. I- in. I 11 slit the villain's nose, that would ham sent me to the gaol. Bap. But do you hear, sir ! {To Lucenth.'] Have you mained my daughter without asking my good- fin. Fear not. Baptists; we wnll content you, co to : But I wUl m, to be revenged for this yillany. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavetj^i inc. Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father wiU not r vt""', . J , I"'"'"'' Luc. and Bian. &re. My cake .s dough ; flat 111 in among the rest ; Out of hope of all,— butmy share of the feast. [Emt. PETRUCHIO and k'aTHARINA advance. i'lKJ. Husband, let's foUow, to see the end of this ado. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. hnth. What, in the midst of the street* Pel. What, art thou ashamed of me ? n .'*4,?f°' ' '^"^ but ashamed to kiss. Pa.V>hy, then let's home again ;— Come, sirrah, let s away. Kalh. Nay, I mil give thee a kiss : now prar thee, love, stay. Pel. Is not this well'— Come, my sweet Kate; Better once than never, for never too late. {^Exeunt. SCENE II. A room in Lucentio's house. A banquet set out. Enter BAPTISTA, VIN- SFJtTP' GREMIO, the Pedant, LUCENTIO, •¥S.x?5.?,i'''^™"''«'0'KArHARINA,H0R: rT. y ■ TRANIO, BIONDEL- 1>0, GRUMIO, and others, attending. Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And tune It IS, when raging war is done, lo smile at 'scapes and perils overblown.— Bianca, bid my father welcome, W hUe I ivith self-same kindness welcome thine :— 310 TAMING OP THE SHREW. Act f. Brother Petruchio,— sister Katharlna,— And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,— Feast with the best, and welcome to my house ; My banquet is to close onr stomachs up. After our great good cheer : Pray you, sit down ; Tor now we sit to chat, as well as eat. [ They sit at table. Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! Jbap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. Jior. For both our sakes, 1 would that %vord were true. Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. f^'id. Then never trust me, if I be afeard. Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my sense ; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. fVid. He, that is giddy, thinks the world tiun3 round. Pet. Roundly replied. Xath. Mistress, how mean you that? fVid. Thus I conceive by him. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio that I Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended : Kiss him for that, good widow. Katk. He, that is giddy, thinks the world turns round :— — I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. ff'id. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew. Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : And now you know my meaning. Katk. A very mean meaning. Right, I mean you. Katk. And 1 am mean, indeed, respecting you. Pet. To her, Kate! Hor. To her, widow! Pet. A hundred marks,myKate does put her down. Hor. That's ray office. Pet. Spoke like an officer:— Ha* to thee, lad. \_Drink-s to Hortensio, Hap. How likes Greniic these quick-witted folks 1 Ore. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. Biitn. Head and butt? an hasty-witted body Would say, your head and butt were head and hmn . rin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd youf Hifin. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore I'U sleep again. Sc. 2. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 211 Pet. Najjthat you shall not ; since you have begun. Have at you for a hitter jest or two, Jiiart. Am I your bird 7 I mean to shift my bush. And then pursue me as you draw your bow :— You are welcome all. [Raeunt Btfinca, Katharina, and fVidow. Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, slgoior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not ; Therefore, a health to all, that shot and miss'd. Tra. O, sir, Luceutio slipp'd me like }us grey- hound> Which runs himself, and catches for his master. Pet-. A good swift simile, but something currish. Tra. *Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you uow. Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. Hot. Confess, confess, liath he not hit you here? Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. Pet. Well, I say — no: and therefore, for assurance, Let's each one send unto his wife ; And he, wliose wife is most obedient To come at first, when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager, which we will propose. Hor. Content : what is the wager 7 Lttc. Twenty crowns. Pet. Twenty crowns ! I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound. But twenty times so much upon my wife. Luc. A hundred, then. Hot. Content. Pet. A match; 'tis done. Hor. Who shall begin? Luc. That will I. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. Bion. I go. {Exit. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself. Re-enter BIONDELLO. How now ! what news ? Mion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 213 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 5. That she is busy, and she cannot come. Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come! Is that an answer ? Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. Pet. I hope, better. Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. \K.tit Biondello. Pet. O, bo ! entveat her ! Nay» then she must needs come. Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Now, where's my wife ? ^ Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come ; she bids you come to her. Pet. Woi'se and worse ; she will not come ! O vile. Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! Sirrah, Grnmio, go to your mistress ; Say, 1 command her come to me. \_Exit Grumio., Hor. I know her answer. Pet. What? Hor. She will not come,' ■ Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end^ Bap. Now, by my holidame,here comes Katharina! Kaik. What is your will, sir, that you send" for me ? Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife ? Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Pet. Go, fetch them hither ; if they deny to come. Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands t Away, I say, and bring them hitlier straight. Lue. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is ; I wonder what it bodes. Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life. An awful rule, and right supremacy ; And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! The wager thou hast won, and I will add Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ; Another dowry to another daughter, For she is chang'd, as she had never been. Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet ; I am afraid, sir. Re-enter BIONDELLO. Enter KATHARINA. {Ei'it Katharina. Sc. 3. TAMING OP THE SHREW. 213 And show more sign of her obedience. Her new-built virtue and obedience. i?i;-«/crKATHARINA, wii/i BIANCA and Tfldow, See, where she comes ; and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Kftlharine, that cap of yours becomes you not; Oft with that bauble, throw it under foot. {Katharinu pulls ojf her cap, and throws it down . rr ff?; ™e never have a cause to sigh, Jjil 1 be brought to such a silly pass ! -Sfflrt. Fie ! what a foolish duty call you this! iHc. I would your duty were as foolish too : Ihe wisdom of your duty, fail- Bianca, Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper time. ^ia«. 'I'he more fool you, for laying on my duty. Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- strong women ^IJ?,^ duty they do owe their lords and husbands. ft id. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. fi id. She shall not. Pe(. I say, she shall and first be^in with her. A'atk. Fie, fie! unknit that threai'ning unkind brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes. To wound ihy lord, thy king, thy governor : It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled. Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper. Thy head, thy sovereign ; one, that cares for the« And for thy maintenance : commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land ; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold. While thou liest warm at home, securii and saftj And craves no other tribute at thy hands. But love, fair looks, and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt. Such dut^ as the subject owes the prince, 2H TAMING OF THE SHREW. Act 5. Even such, a woman oweth to her husband : * And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour. And not obedient to his honest will, What is she, but a foul contending rebel. And graceless traitor to her loving lord? — I am asham'd that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace ; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth. Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ; But that otir soft conditions, and our hearts. Should well agree with our external parts * Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more, To bandy word for word, and frown for frown : But now, I see, our lances are but straws ; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,— That seeming to be most, which we least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot ; And place your hands below your husband's foet: In token of which duty, if he please. My hand is ready, may it do him ease. Pet. Why, there's a wench !— Come on, and kias me, Kate. Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou shalt ha't. fin. 'Ti% a good hearing, when children are to- ward. Luc. But a harsh bearing, when women are fro- ward . Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to-bed : We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit? the white; [Tb Lucentio. And, being a winner, God give you good night! [^Eaeunt Petruchio and Kath. ffor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will b« tam'd so. {Eaeuaft WINTER'S TALE. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. LEONTES, kinfr of SicUia ; MAMILLIUS, his son, CAMTLLO, ANTIGONUS, f „. ... , , CLEOMENES, ( Sicilian lords. DION, J Another Sicilian lord. ROGERO, a Sicilian gentleman. An attendant on the young prince Mamillius, Officers of a court of judicature POLIXEXES, king'of Bohemia : PLORIZEL, his son. ARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian lord. A mariner. Gaoler. An old shepherd, reputed father of Perditar Clo\vTi, his sou. Servant to the old shepherd. AUTOLYCUS, a rogue. Time, as Chorus. HERMIONE, queen to Leontes. PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. PAULINA, wife to Antiaonus. EMILIA, a lady, ( Two other ladies, f a»«'^'i"ig tl>e queen. MOPSA, 1 , , ^ DORCAS r s^^P^firdesses. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Satyrs for a dance; Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c. Scene,— sometimes in Siciiia, sometimes in Bohemia. WINTER'S TALE. ACT I, SCENE I. Stcili/t. An antechamber in Leontcs' palace. Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAHUS. Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- hemia on the like occasion, whereon my servicea are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia. Cam. I thinlc, this coming summer, the king of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. Arch. Wlierein our entertainment shall shame us, we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, — Cnm. 'Beseech you, Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my k-nowled^e : we cannot ■with such ma^iificence — in so rare — I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks ; that your senses, unintelli- Reut of our insufficience, may, though they cannct praise us, as little accuse us. Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding in- structs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their child- hoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such ail affection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities, and royal neces- sities, made separation of their society, their en- counters, though not personal, have been royally at- tomied, with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies ; that they have seemed to be together, though absent ; shook hands, as over a vast ; and 818 WINTER'S TALE. Act 1. emuraced, as it were, from the entU of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves ! Arch. I think, there is not in the world either malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un- speakable comfort of your yourfg prince Mamilliua ; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever came into my note. Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him : It is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, phy- sicks the subject, makes old hearts fresh : they, tliat went on crutches ere he was born, 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 live. ^rch. If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches, till he had one. [BaeunC. SCENE II. The satne. A room of stale in (he palace. Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and Attendants. Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne Without a burden : time as long ai^ain Would be fiU'd up, my brother, with our thanlts ; And yet we should, for pei-petuity. Go hence in debt : And therefore, like a cipher. Yet standing in rich place, I multiply. With one we-thank-you, many thousands more. That go before it. Leon. Stay your thanks awhile ; And pay them, wjieu you part. Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance. Or breed upon our absence : That may blow No sneapiug winds at home, to make us say, is put forth too truly ! Besides, I have stay'4 To tire your royalty. Leon. We are tougher, brother, Tlian you can put us to't. Pol. No longer stay. Leon. One seven-night longer. Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. Leon. We'll part the time betweeii's then : aii4 Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 219 I'll no gain-sayiog. Pol. Press me not, *bpseech you so; There is no tongue> that moves, none, none i* the world, , So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now, i "Were there necessity in your request, although I 'Tivere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay I To you a charge and trouble : to save both. Farewell, our brother. Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. y/cr. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay, j You, sir, I Charge him too coldly : Tell him, you are sure, I AW. in Bohemia's well : this satisfaction I The by-gone day proclaimed ; say this to him, I He's beat from his best ward, I Leon. Well s^d, Hermione. I Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong: I But let him say so then, and let him go ; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay. We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. — I Yet of your royal presence [7b Poliaenes.'] I'll ad-- ! venture The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia I You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, : To let him there a month, behind the gest Prefix'd for his parting : yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o the clock behind W)iat lady she her lord, — You'll stay T Pol. No, madam. Her. Nay, but you will ? Pol. I may not, verily. Her. Verily ! You put me off with Hmber vows : But I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars witli oaths, Should yet say. Sir, no going. Verily, You shall not go ; a lady's verily is As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner. Not like a guest ; so you shall pay your fees, When you depart, and save your "thanks. How fisy you T WINTER'S TALE. Act 1. My prisoner ? or my guest ? by your dread verily. One of them you shall be. PoL Your guest then, madam : To be your prisoner, should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit. Than you to punish. Of my lord*s tricks, and youi's, when you were boys ; You were pretty lordlings then. PoL We were, fair queen. Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, Sut such a day to-raorrow as to-day. And to be boy eternal. Her. ^Vas not my lord the verier wag o* the two f Pol. We were as twinned lambs., that did frisk i'the sun. And bleat the one at the other : what we chang'd, W^as innocence for innocence ; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dreamed That any did: Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly, Not guilty s the imposition clear'd. Hereditary ours. Her. By this we gather. You have tripped since. Pot. O my most sacred lady. Temptations have since then been bom to us : for In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow. Her. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say. Your queen and I are devils : Yet, go on ; The offences we have made you do, we'll answer ; If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. Leon. Is he won yet? Her. He'll stay, my lord. Leon . At my request, he would not. flermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st •To better purpose. Her. Never! JLeoa. Nfiver, but once. Her, But your kind hostess. Not your gaoler then, iS. Come, I'll question you Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 221 Her. What ? have I twice said well ! when was't before ? I pr'ythee tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us As fat as tame things: One good deed, dyine- tongue-less. Slaughter* a tliousand, waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages : You may ride us With one soft kitis, a thousand furlongs, ere With spur we heat an acre. Bm to the goal ; — My last good deed was, to eatreat his stay ; What ivas my first ? it has an elder sister. Or I mistake you ; O, would her name were Grace E But once before \ spoke to the purpose : Wlien ' Nay, let me have't; I long. leon. "Why, that was, when Ihree crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death. Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, Aud clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter, J am yours for ever. It is Grace, indeed. — Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice ; ^ The one for ever earn'd a ro.yal husband ; The other, for some while a friend. [Givmg her hand to PoU.venes. -r . • , ^ . , , "^'"o inside. lo mmgle friendship far, is mingling bloods. J have tremor cordis on me :— my heart dances ; But not for joy,— not joy.— This entertainment Hay a free face put on; derive a liberty Prom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent : it may, I grant: But to the paddling palms, and pinching fingers^ As now they are; and making praetis'd smiles. As ill a looking-glass and then to sigh, as 'twere^ I he mort o' the deer ; O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows.— Mamillius, |Art thou my boy ? Mam. Ay, my good lord, icon. I'fecks ? Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose ? — They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain. We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain : Ind yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf* 333 WINTER'S TALE. Act 1. Are all call'd, neat.— Still virginalling [(jbserving Polixenes and Hermione. Upon his palm? — How now, you wanton calf? Art thou my calf? Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots, that r have, To be full like me : — yet, they say, we are Almost as like as eegs ; women say so, That will say any thing : But were they false As o*er-died blacks, as wind, as waters; false As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true To say this boy were like me.— Come, sir pas;e, Look on me with your welkin eye : Sweet villaui. Most deai-'st ! my collop !— Can thy dam?— may'tbe! Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre : Thou dost make possible, things not so held, Communtcat'st with dreams ;— { How can this be?}— ■With what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing : Then, 'tis very credent. Thou may'st co-join with something ; and thou dost; (And that beyond commission; and I find it,) And that to the infection of my brains. Her. He something seems unsettled. pgl^ H o w, ray lord I What cheer? how is't with you, best brother ? Her. "^'o" As if you held a brow of much distraction : Are you mov'd, my lord ? l,eim. No, in good eai-nest.— How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms ! [Wsrrfe.l Looking on the Imes Of my boy's face, methoughts, 1 did recoil Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreech d, In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled. Lest it should bite its master, and so prove. As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel. This quash, this gentleman Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money? Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. ^. , , , Lton. You will ? why, happy man be lus dole !- My brother. And hardening of my brows. Poi. What means Sicilia? Sc. 2. ■WINTER'S TALE. 773 Are you so fond of your young prince, as we Do seen to be of ours ? Pol. • If at home, sir. He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : Jiow my swoni friend, and then mine enemy ; My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all ; I He makss a July's day short as December; I And, with his varying childnesK, cures in me I Thoughts, that would thick my blood. Leon. So stands this squir* Offic'd with me : We two will walk, my lord. And leave you to your graver steps. — ■Hermione, How thou luv'st us, show in our brother's welcome ; Lnt what is dear in Sicily, be cheap: Next to thyself, and my young rovev, he's Apparent to my heart. ner. If you would seelc us, j We are yours i'the garden : Shall's attend you there? Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky : — I am angling now. Though you perceive me not how I give Hue. Go to, go to ! Inside. Observing PolLvenes and Hermtone. How she holds up the neb, the bill to him ! Aud arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband ! Gone already ; luch-thick, knee-deep; o'er head aud ears a fork'd one. \_Exeunt Poly enes, Hermione, and Attendants. Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, and I Play too , but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave ; contempt and clamour Will be my knell. — Go, play, boy, play; — Thers have been, Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere nov/ ; And many a man there is, even at this present. Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, That little thinks she lias been sluic'd in his absence. And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour : nay, there's comfort in't, AVhiles otlier men have gates; and those Rates open'd, As mine, against their will : Should all despair, That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physick for't there is none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predpminant ; and 'tis powerful, think it, 224 WINTER'S TALE. Actl. From east, west, north, and south : Be it concluded. No barricado for a belly; know it; It ivill let in and out the enemy, With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us Have the disease, and feel't not. — How now, boy t Mam, I am like you, they say. Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — What ! Camillo there ? Cam. Ay, my good lord. Leon. Go play, MamilUus ; thou'rt an honest man. — \_E.vit Alamil litis. Camillo, this gjeat sir will yet stay longer. Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold : When you cast out, it still came home. Leon. Didst note it? Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; made His business more material. Leon. Didst perceive it?— They're here with me already ; whispering,rounding, Sicilia is a so-forth : ' Tis far gone. When I shall gust it last. — How came't, Camillo, That he did stay ? Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. Leon. At the queen's, be't: good, should be per- tinent ; But so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine ? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks : — Not noted, is't, But of the finer natures? by some severals. Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes. Perchance, are to this business purblind : say. Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most understand Bohemia stays here longer. Leon. Ha? Cam. Stays here longer. Leon. Ay, but why? Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. Leon. Satisfy The entreaties of your mistress? satisfy?— Let that suffice. 1 have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils : wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd : but we have beea Peeeiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 225 In that, which seems so. Ci""- Be it forbid, my lord ! Leon . To hide upo'n't ; — Thou art not honest : or. If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward ; Which boxes honesty hehiiid, restraining From course requii'd : Or else thou must be counted A servant, grafted in my herious trust. And therein negligent ; ov else a fool. That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn. And tak'st it all for jest. Cnm. My gracious lord, ■I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful j In every one of these no man is free. But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Amongst the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth : In your affairs, my lord. If ever I were wilful-negligent. It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence. Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful To d.0 a thing, where I the issue doubled. Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non- performance, 'twas a fear Which oft affects the wisest : these, my lord. Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace. Be ijlaiuer with me ; let me know my trespass By its own visage : if I tlien deny it, 'Tis none of mine. ^eon. Have not you seen, Camillo, (But that's past doubt : you have ; or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn:) or heard, (For, to a vision so apparent, rumour Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, (Or else be impudently negative. To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say. My wife's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to Before her troth-plight : say it, and justify it. Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken : 'Shrew my hearty You never spoke what did become you less Than this ; which to reiterate, wera sin As deep as that, though true. 126 WINTER'S TALE. Actl. Leon. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meetin;; noses i Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note inialUble Of breaking honesty :) horsing foot on foot ? Skulking in cornel's ? wishing clocks more swift ? HourSj minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blind With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only, That woald unseen bd wielded? Is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that's in't is nothing ; The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings. If this be nothing. Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; For 'tis most dangerous. Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true. Cam. No, no, my lord. Leoa. It is; you lie, you lie: I say, thou Heat. Camillo, and I hate thee ; Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave ; Or else a hovering temporizer, tliat Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil. Inclining to them both; Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. Cam. Who does infect her? Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia: Who — if I Had servants true about me : that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as their profits, Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that. Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou. His cup-bearer, — whom I from meaner form Have bench'd and rear'd to worship ; who may'st see Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven. How I am galled, — might'st bespice a cup. To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; Which draught to me were cordial. Cam. Sir, my lord, I could do this ; and that with no rash potion. But with a lini;'ring dram, that should not work Maliciously like poison : But I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress. So sovereignly being honourable, I have lov'd thee,— Sc. 3. WrfCV^U'S TALE. 227 Lton- Make't thy question, and go rot! Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation? sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to' nreserve, is sleep ; which being spotted. Is goads, tlioriis, nettles, tails of wasps T Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, AVho I do think is mine, and love as mine ; Without ripe moving; to't? Would I do this? Could man so blench ? Cam. I must believe you, sir ; I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't : Provided, that, when he's removed, your highness. Will take again your queen, as yours at first ; Even for your sou's sake ; and, thereby, for sealing The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. Leon. Thou dost advise me. Even so as T mine own course have set down : I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. Cam. My lord. Go then ; and \vith a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, And with your queen : I am his cupbearer ; If from me he have wholesome beverage. Account me not your servant. Leon. This is all : I)o't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ; Do'tnot, thou split 'st thine own. Cam. I'll do't, my lord. Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. [ffxif. Cam. O miserable lady! — But, for me. What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner Of nood Polixenes : and niy ground to do't Is the obedience to a master ; one. Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All, that are his, so too. — To do this deed> Promotion follows : If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings. And flouvisli'd after, I'd not do't: but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not. one. Let villany itself forswear't, I must Forsake the court : to do't, or no» is certiun To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now ! Here comes Bohemia. •238 WINTER'S TALE. Act I. Enter POLIXENES. Pol. This is strange ! methinks. My favour here begins to ^varp. Not speak? Good-day, Camillo. Cam. Hail, most royal sir! Pol. What is the news i'the court ? Cam. None rare, my lord. Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance. As he had lost some province, and a region, Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him With customary compliment : when he, "Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and So leaves me, to consider what is breeding. That changes thus his manners. Cum. I dare not know, my lord. Pot. How! dare not.' do not. Do you l£UOW> and dare not Be intelligent to me ? 'Tis thereabouts ; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must ; And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror. Which shows me mine chang'd too : for 1 must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with it. Cam. There is a sickness. Which puts some of us in distemper ; but T 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 basilisk : I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but kjU'd none so. Camillo, — — As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adoJTis Our gentry, than our parents* noble names. In whose success we are senile, 1 beseech you^ If you know aught, which does behove my knowledge' Thereof to be informed, imprison it not In ignorant concealment. C^im. I may not answer, Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear, Camillo ? I c6niure thee by all the parts ofrman. Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 229 Is creeping towatd me ; how far off, how near ; ■\Vhich way to be prevented, if to be ; If not, how best to bear it. Cam. Sir, I'll tell you ; Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him, That I think honourable : Therefore,niark my counsel; M'hich must be even as swiftly foUow'd, as I mean to utter it ; or both yourself and me Cry, lost, ajid so good-night. Pol. On, good Camillo. Cam. I am appointed Him to murder you. Pot. By whom, Camillo ? Cfim. He til ii)ks,nay, with all confidence he swears^ j As he had seen't, or been an instrument To vice you to't, — that you have touch'd his queen I Forbiddenly. I Pot. O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly ; and my name I Jle yok'd witJi his, that did betray the best •■ I Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd. Nay, hated too, worse than the ^eat'st infection. That e'er was heard, or i-ead ! j Cam. .Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven, and I By all their influences, you may as well j Forbid the sea for to obey the moon. As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake. The fabrick of his folly ; whose foundation Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 'ITie standing of his body. Po/. How should this grow T Cam. I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to Avoid what's gro^vn,»than question how 'tis born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — ' That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night. Your followers I will whisper to the business ; And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns,. Clear them o' the city : For myself, I'll put ! My fortunes to your service, which are here i By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ; For, by the honour of my parents, I Have uttex'd truth : whiflh. i£ you. seek to. ^ro^e^ Cam. Pol. By the king. For what P 230 WINTER'S TALE. Act I. I dare not stand by ; nor stall you be safer Than one condemii'd by the king's own mouth, thereon His execution sworn, Pol. I do believe thee : I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand ; Be pilot to me, and thy places shall Still neighliouv mine ; My ships are ready, and J My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago. — Thisjealousy ' Is for a precious creature : as she's rare, Must it be great ; and, as his person's mighty. Must it be violent; and as he does conceive He is dishonour'd by a man, which ^ver Profess'd to liim, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ei'shades me : Good expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Camillo ; I will respect thee as a father, if Thou bear'st my life oif hence : Let us avoid. Cam. It is mine authority, to command The keys of all the posterns : Please'your highness To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away. ISxeunt. ACT IL SCENE 1. same. Enter HERMIONE, M.\MILLIUS, and Ladies. Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, *Tis past enduring, 1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord. Shall 1 be your play-fellow ? Mam. No, I'll none of you. 1 Lady. ^Vhy, my sweet lord ? Mam, You'll kiss me hard ; and speak to me as if I were a baby still. — I love you better. 2 Lady. And why so, my good lord ? Mam. Not for because Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say. Become some women best ; so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle. Or half-moon made with a pen. 2 Lady. Who taught you this ? Mam.l learn'd it outof women's faces.— Pray now What colour ai'e your eye-brows ? Sc. 1. WINTER'S TALE. 231 1 Lflrfj/. Blue, my lord. Afam. Nayfthat's amoclt: I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 2 Lndf/. Hark ye ; The queen, your mother, rounds apace ; we shall Present our services to a fine new prince. One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us, Jf we would have you. 1 Lady. She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk: Good time encounter her! Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you 7 Come, sir, now I am for you acain : Pray you, sit by us, And tell 's a tale. Mam. Merry, or sad, shall*t be? Htr. As merry as you will. Mam. A sad tale's best for winter: I have one of sprites aud goblins. Her. Let's have that, sir. Come on, sit down : — Come on, and do your best To frightme with your sprites : you're powerful at it. Mam. There was a man, Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard; — I will tell it softly ; Yon crickets shall not hear it. Her. Come on then, And give't me in mine ear. i^H/CT- LEONTES,ANTIGONUS,£or(feanrf oi^cr?. Leon. Was he met there? his ti-ain? CamiUo with him ? 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ; never Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them Even to their ships. Leon. How l)less'd am I In my just censura? in my true opinion? — Alack, for lesser knowledge ! — How aecurs'd. In being so blest! — There may be in the cup A spider steep'd, and one may drink ; depart. And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge Is not iuiected : but if one present The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides. With violent hefts : — I have drank, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pandar : — 232 WINTER'S TALE. Act 2. There is a plot against my life, my crown ; All's true, that is mistrusted : — that false villain. Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him : He has discover'd my desi^u, and I Remain a pinch*d thing ; yea, a very trick For them to play at will : — How came the posterns So easily open ? 1 Lord. By his great authority ; Which often hath no less prevailed than so. On your command. Leon. I know't too well. Give me the boy ; I am glad you did not nurse him r Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him //er. WTiat is this? sport? Leon, Bear the boy hence, he shall not coma about her ; Away with him : — and let her sport herself With that, she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. Jier. But I'd say, he had not. And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to the nayward. Leon. You, my lords, liOok on her, mark her well; be but about To say, she is a goodly lady, and The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable: Praise her but for this her without-door form, (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and straight The shrug, the hum, or ha ; these petty brands. That calumny doth use : — O, I am out, That mercy does ; for calumny will fear Virtue itself : — these shrugs, these hums, and ha's. When you have said, slie's goodly, come between. Ere you can say, she's honest: But be it known From him, that has most cause to grieve it should be. She's an adultress. Her. Should a villain say so. The most replenish'd villain in the world. He were as much more villain : you, my lord, Po but mistake. Leo7i. You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leonies : O thou thing. Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,. Last basbarisoi) making me the precedenti. 1 . WINTER'S TALE. Should a like language use to all degrees, And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the pvince and beggar!— I have said. She's an adultress ; I have said with whom : More, she's a traitor ; and Camillo is A fcderary with her ; and one, that knows AVhat she should shame to know herself. But with her most vile principal, that she's A liL'd-swewer, even as bad as those, That vulgare cfive bold titles ; ay, and privy To this their late escape, Her. No, by my life. Privy to none of this : How will this f-rieve yon. When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord. You scarce can right me thoroughly then, 40 gajr You did mistake. J.ton. No, no; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, 'I'he centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison ! Hh, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty^ But that he speaks. ^cr. There's some ill planet reigns : I must be patient, till the heavens look With an asptct more favourable. — Good my lords^ I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew. Perchance, shall dry your pities ; but I liave That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns orse thau tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my lords. With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so The king's will be perform'd ! Leon. Shall I be heard? [To the Guards. Jier. Who is't, that goes with me?— 'Beseech your highness. My women ma^ be with me ; for, you see, My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; There is no cause : when you shcill know your mistress Has deserv'd a prison, then abound in tears,. As I come out : this action, I now go on. Is for my better grace.— Adieu, my lord : 1 never wish'd to see you sorry ; now, I trust, I shall.— —My women,come; you have leave* 234 WINTER'S TALE. Act ^. Leon. Go> do our bidding; hence, [Eaeunt Queen and Ladies. 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen again. Ant. Be certain what you do, sir; lest your Justice Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son.' 1 Lord. For her, my lord,— I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir. Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless I'the eyes of heaven, and to you ; I mean. In this, which you accuse her. Ant. If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables, where I 3c^^ff^^y wife i I'll go in couples with her ; ThjjflMBjfc I feel, and see her, no further trust her ; For^HK^inch of woman in the world, Ay, e?CTy dram of woman's flesh, is false. If she he. Leon. Hold your peaces. I Lord. Good my lord, — Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves : You :ire abus'd, and by some putter-on. That will be damn'dfor't; 'would I knew the villaiii, I would land-damn him : Be she honour-flaw'd, — I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ! The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; If this prove true, they'll pay for't : by mine honour, I'll geld them all ; fourteen they shall not see, To bring false generations : tliey are co-heirs ; And I had rather glib myself, than they Should not produce fair issue. Leon. Cease ; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As is a dead man's nose : I see't, and feel't. As you feel doing thus ; and see withal The instruments, that feel. Ant. If it be so. We need no grave to bury honesty ; There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. Leon. What ! lack I credit ? 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, nn- lord. Upon this ground : and more it would content nm To have her honour true, than your suspicion; Be blam'd for't how you might. Sc. 1. AVINTER'S TALE. 235 Leon. Why, what need we Commune with you of this ? but rather follow Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels-: but our natural goodnest lii pavts this ; which, — if you (or stupified, (h seeming so in skiU,) cannot, or will not, Jteii^li as truth, like us; inform yourselves, We need no more of your advice : the matter, 'I'he loss, the gain, the ordering on% is all Properly ours. And I wish, my liege. You had only in your silent judgment tried it, "Without more overture. Leon. How could that be? Either thou art most igtiorant by age, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight. Added to their familiarity, (Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture. That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation. But only seeing, all other circumstances Made up to the (Ued,) doth push on this proceeding : Yet, for a greater confirmation, (For, in an act of this importance, 'twtre Most piteous to be wild,) 1 have despatch'd in post, To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomeiies and Dion, whom you know Of stutPd sufficiency ; Now, from the oracle They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had. Shall stop, or spur me. Have 1 done well? 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more Thau what I know, yet shall tlie oracle Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he, Wliose ignor<:nt credulity will not Come up to the truth ; So have we thought it good. From our free person she should be confin'd ; Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence. Be left hat to perform. Come, follow us ; We are to speak in publick : for this business Will raise us all. .^nt. fWiirfe.] To laughter, as I take it. If ilie good iiuth were known. [E.veunt. 236 WINTER'S TALE. Act : SCENE H. The same. The outer room 0/ a prison. Enter PAULINA and Attendants. Paul. TTie keepei- of the prison, — call to him ; \_Es:it an Attendant. Let him have Icnowledge who L am. — Good lady! No court ia Europe is too good for thee, What dost thou tneu in prison ? — Now, good sir. Re-enter Attendant, tpith eke Keeper. You know me, do you not? ^'eep. For a worthy lady> And one, whom much I honour. Paul. Pray you then. Conduct me to the queen. Keep, I may not, madam ; to the contrary I have express commandment. PauL Here's ado. To lock up honesty and honour from The access of geuue visitors ! Is it lawful. Pray you, to see her women ? any of them ? Emilia ? fCecp. So please you, madam, to put Apart these your attendsuits, I shall bring Emilia forth. Paul. I pray you now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. [E^teuni Attend. Keep. And, madam, I must be present at your conference. Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. \_Eait Keeper. Hera's such ado to make no stain a stain. As passes colouring. He-enter Keeper, with EMILIA. Dear gentlewoman, how faaes our gracious lady? Emit. As well as one so gi'eat, and so forlorn. May hold together: On her frights, and griefs, (Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) She is, something before her time, delivered. Paul. A boy ? Emit. A daughter ; and a goodly babe. Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives Much comfort in't ; says, AIj/ poor prisoner, I am innocent as you. Paul. I dare be sworn : — - Sc. S. WINTER'S TALE. 237 These dangerous unsafe luiies o'the liina ! beshrew them 1 He must be told on'f, and he shall : the office Becomes a woman best ; I'll take't upon me : If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister; And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more :— Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the queen ; If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll shon-'t the kina, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loudest : We do not know How he may soften at the sight o'the child ; The silence often of pure innocence Persuades, when speaking fails. Most worthy madam. Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident. That your free undertaking cannot miss A thl■i^•ing issue ; there is no lady living, So meet for this great errand : Please your lady- ship ' To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer ; Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design; But durst not tempt a minister of honour. Lest she should be denied. Tell her, Emilia, 1 11 use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it. As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted I shall do good. Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 1*11 to the queen: Please you, come something nearer, A'op. Madam, ift please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur, to pass it. Having no warrant, Pati^- You need not fear it, sir: The child was prisoner to the womb ; and is. By law and process of great nature, thence Free'd and enfranchis'd : not a party to The anger of the king ; nor guilty of. If any be, the trespass of the queen. Keep. I do believe it. f'iul- Do not you fear : upon Mine honour, I will stand 'twist you and danger. 138 WINTER'S TALE. Act SCENE III. The same. A room in the palace. Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and other Attendants. Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but weakness To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness, if The cause were not in 'leing ; — part o'the cause, She, the adiiltress; — for the harlot Idng Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof : but she I can hook to me : Ssy, that she were gone. Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again.— —Who's there? 1 Atten. My lord ? \_Advandng. Leon. How does the boy? 1 Atten. He took good rest to-night ; 'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd. Leon. To see His nobleness ! Conceiving the dishonour of his mothar, He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply ; Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on*t in himself j Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep. And, downright languish'd.— I-eave me solely :— go, See how he fares". [^Exit Attend. l—^ie, fi« ! no thought of him ; — The vei-y thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty; And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be, Until a time may serve : for present vengeacti', Take it on her. Camillo and Polixeiies Laugh at me : make their pastime at my sorrow : Tliey should not laugh, if I could reach them ; noi* Shall ahe, within my power. Enter PAULINA, with a Child. 1 Lord. You must not enl"r. Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to nit;: Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul j More free, than he is jealous. j4nt. That's enough. \ Allen. Madam, he hath ziot slept to-uight; commanded Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 23» None should come at him. T 1 ■ , . , ^^"^ S° SOoi SITL 1 come to bring Inm sleep. 'Tis such as vou,-~ That crf-ep like shadoV.-s by him, and do sigh A t each his needless heavings,— such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking : I T)n come with words as med'cinal as true ; Iloiicst, fts either; to purge him of that humour. I hat presses liim from sleep. 4^""*/ What noise there, ho r /'fltt/. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference^ ■ About some gossips for your highness. M^""--, , , How? . Away with that audacious lady! Anjigonus, Icharg'd thee, that she should not come about me r I knew she would. I told her so, my lord, Uii your displeasure's peril, and on mine. She should not visit you. _ What, canst not rule her ?• jytii- l-vom all dishonesty, he can : in this, (Unless he take the course that you liave done. Commit me, for committing honour,,) trust it. He shall not rule me. , .,, Lo you now; you hear! ^ hen she will take the rein, I let her run : But she'll not stumble. ^att/ Good' my liege, I come,— And, I beseech you^ hear me, who profess Myself your loyal servant, your physician. Your most obedient counsellor ; yet that dare Less appear so. in comforting your evils. Than such as most seem yours I say, I come from your good queen, Leon . Good queen ! Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say, good queen ; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you. , Force her hence. Patil- Let hmi, that makes but trifles of his eyes,. First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll off; But, first, I'll do my errand.— The good queen. For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter ;. Here 'tis ; commeuds it to your blessing. ■ t^'aying down the Child*. Mon. ° O^t 6Z 240 WINTER'S TALE. Act 2 A mankind witch ! Hence with her, out o' door : A most intelligencing bawd ! Paul. Not so : I am as it,'norant in that, as you 111 so entitling me : and no less honest Than yon are mad ; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. Lton. Traitors ! Will you not push her out ? Give her the bastard ITiou, dotard, [7o ^ntigonus.'] thou, art womau- tir'd, unroosted By thy dame Fartlet here,— take up the bastard ; Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. faul. For ever Unveuerable be thy hands, if Jiou TaV'st up the princess by that forced baseness, Which he has put upon't! Leon. He dreads his wife. Paul. So, I would, you did ; then, 'twere past all doubtf You'd call your children yours. Leon. A nest of traitors ! Ant. I am none, by tbls good light. Paul. Nov I ; nor any. Rut one, that's here ; and that's himselt^: for he The sacred honour of himself, his queen's. His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander. Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten. As ever oak, or stone, was sound. Leon. A callat. Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her hus- band. And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; It is the issue of Polixenes : Hence with it ; and, together with the dam. Commit them to the fire. Paul. It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge. So like you, 'tis the worse.— Behold, my lords. Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father : eye, nose. Hp, The trick of his frouni, his forehead ; nay, the valley. The pretty dimples of his chin, aad cheek; his smiles; Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 211 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger ■ And. thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him, that jgot it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours No yellow in't ; lest she suspect, as he does. Her children not her husband's ! ^■^f"- , , A gross hag!— And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd. That wilt not stay her tongue. rj^"'- ^ , Hang all the husbands, I hat cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. ^»n. Once more, take her hence. Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. I'll have thee bum'd. , . . I care not: It IS an heretick- that makes the fii-e. Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant • But this most cruel usage of your queen * (Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something sa- vours Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you. Yea, scandalous to the world. ^^^i- On your allegiance, Uut 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, do not push me ; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; *tis yours: Jove send her A better guiding spirit ! — What need these hands ? You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies. Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so : — Farewell ; we are gone. lEHi. Leun. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.— My child ? away with't ! — even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, And see it instantly consum'd with fire ; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight : Within this hour bring nie word *tis done, (And by good testimony.) or I'll seize thy life. With what thou else call'st thine : If thou refuse And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to ^e fire ; 243 WINTER'S TALE. Act 2. For thou sett'st on thy wife. ^nt. I (lid not, sir : These lords, my noble fellows, if they please. Can clear me iu't. He is not guilty of her coming hither. iLeon. You are liars all. 1 Lord. ''Beseech your highness,, give us better credit : We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech So to esteem us : And on our knees we heg, (As recompense of our dear services, Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose ; Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue : we all kneel. Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows :— Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel And call me father? Better burn it now, Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live : It shall not neither.— You, sir, come you hither ; You, that have been so tenderly officious With lady Margery, your midwife, there, To save this bastard'.s life : — for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's grey,— what will you ad- venture To save this brat's life ? ^nt. Any thing, my lord. That my ability may undergo, And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ; I'll pawn the little blood, which I have left. To save the innocent: any thing possible. Leon. It shall be possible: Swear by this sword. Thou wilt perform my bidding. j^nt. 1 will, my lord. Leon. Mark, and perform it; (see'st thou?) fur the fail Of any point in'^t shall not only be Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife ; Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin tltee. As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it To some remote and desert place, quite out Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it, Without more mercy, to its own protection, And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us,, I do injustice cbavge thee,— 1 Lord. We jyal liege. {To Antigonus. Sc.l. WINTER'S TALE. 343 On tliy soul's peril, aiid thy body's torture,— That thou commend it strangely to some place. Where chance may purse or end it : Take it up. y^nt. I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful. — Come ou, poor babe : Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, I To be thy nurses ! Wolves, and bears, they say, I Casting theiv savageness aside, have done Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing. Against this cruelty, fight on thy side, Poor thing, condemn'd to loss ! lExit with the Child. Ltm. No, I'll not rear Aoother's issue. I Atttn. Please your highness, posts. From those you sent to the oracle, are come An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed. Hasting to the court. 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. Leon. Twenty-three days They have be-n absent : ' Tis good speed ; foretels. The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady : for, as she liath Been publickly accus'd, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives, My heart ivill be a burden to me. Leave me ; And think upon my bidding. \_Eaeant. ACT III. SCENE I. The same. A street in some town. Enter CLEOMENES and DION. Cleo. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet ; Fertile the isle : the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. Dion. I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits, (Methinks, I so should term them), and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the saci'ifice ! How ceremonious, solemn, and miearthly It was, i'the offering I Ck^. But, of all, the burst 244 WINTER'S TALE. Act 3. And the ear-deafening voice o'the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense. That I was nothing, Dion. If the event o'the journey Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be't so \ — As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy. The time is worth the use on't. Cleo. Great Apollo, Turn all to the best ■' These proclamations. So forcing faults upon Hermione, 1 little like. Dion. The violent carriage of it Will clear, or end, the business ; When the oracle, (Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) Shall the contents discover, something rare, Even then will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh horses ; — And gracious be the issue ! \_Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A court of justice. LEONTES, Lords, and Officers, appear property seated. Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- nounce,) Even pushes 'gainst our heart : The party tried. The daughter of a king ; our wife ; and one Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice ; which shall have due course. Even to the guilt, or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. 0^. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! HERMIONE is brought in guarded; PAULINA and Ladies, attending. Leon. Read the indictment. Ofli. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leonies, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polia enes, king of Bohemia ; and conspiring with Camilh to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, con- trary io the faith and allegiance of a true subject, Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 245 didst counsel and aid them, far their better safety, to fty may hy night. Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that, "Which contradicts m.y accusation ; and The testimony on my part, no other But what comes from myself ; it shall scarce boot me To say, I^'ot fiuilty : mine integrity Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine Behold our human actions, (as they do.) I doubt not then, but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience — You, my lord, best know, (Who least will seem to do so,) my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true. As I am now unhappy ; which is more Than history can pattern, though deyis'd. And play'd, to take spectators : For behold me, — A fellow of the royal bed, which owe A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince,— here standing, To prate and talk for life, and honour, *fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which 1 would spare : for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine. And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace. How merited to be so ; since he cnme, "With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd, to appear thus : if one jot beyond The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will. That way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry, Fie upon my grave ! Leon. I ne'er heard yet. That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to cainsay what they did. Than to perform it first. }jgr. That's true enough; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. Leon. You will not own it. ffgf^ More than mistress of. Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, (With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, I luv'ti him, as in honour he requir'd ; 246 "WINTER'S TALE. Act 3. With such a I^ind of love, as might become A lady like me ; with a love, even such, So, and no other, as yourself commanded : Which not to have done, I think, had been in me Both disobedience and inffratitude To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely. That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd For me to try how : all I know of it. Is, that Camillo was an honest man; And, why he left your court, the yods themselves. Wotting no more than [, are ignorant. Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have undertaken to do in his absence. Her. Sir, You speak a language, that I understand not : My life stands in the level of your dreams. Which I'll lay down. Leon. Your actions are my dreams ^ You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dreamed it . — As you were past all shame, (Those of your fact are so,) so past ^1 truth : Which to deny, concerns more than avails : For as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself. No father owning it, (which is, indeed. More criminal in thee than it) so thou Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage, Look for no less than death. Her. Sir, spare your threats; The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life be no commodity : The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost : for I do feel it gone. But know not how it went : My second joy, And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious : My third comfort, Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast. The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth. Haled out to murder ; Myself on every post Proclaim'd a strumpet; With immodest hatred. The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion ; — lastly, hurried Here to this place, i'the open air, before J iave got strength of limit. Nowj my liege. ■Sc. 9. WINTER'S TALE. tW7 Tell me what blessings I have here alive. That 1 should fear to die? Therefore, proceed. But yet hear this ; mistake me not ; No ! life, 1 prize it not a straw ? — but for mine honour, (Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd [Tpon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else. Hut what your jealousies awake ; I tell you, ' Tis rigour, iind not law. — Your hoDOUrs all, I do refer me to the oracle ; Apollo be my judge. I Lord- This your request Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth. And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [E.reunt certain Oflicers, Her. The emperor of Russia was my father : O, that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial ! that he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge ! Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES rind DION. O^. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos ; and from thence have brought This seaVd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then. You have not dar'd to break the holy seal, Nor read the secrets in't. Cieo. Dion. All this we swear. Leon. Break up the seals, and read. Ojf.. [Reads.] Hermtone is chaste, Polixenes blameless, Cumillo a true subject-, Leontes a jealous tj/rant, his innocent babe truly begotten ; and the king shall live without an heir, if that, which is lost^ be not found. Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! Jfer. Praised ! Leon. Hast thou read truth ? 0^. Ay, my lord j even so As It is here set down. Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle : The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. Enter a Servant, hastily. Serv. My lord the king, the king ! Leon. What is the business? 24S WINTER'S TALE. Act 3. Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it : The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the queen's speed, is gone. Leon. How ! gone ? SerfJ. Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry ; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice, [ffermione /aims .] How now there ? Paul. This news is mortal to the queen: — Look down. And see what death is doing. Leon. Take her hence : Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover.— I have too much believ'd mine own suypicion : 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon {Ea'eunt Paulina and Ladies with fferm. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle !— I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ; New woo my queen ; recall the good Camillo ; Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy : For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister, to poison My friend Polixenes : which had been done. But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death, and with Reward, did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it, and being done : he, must humane, And fiU'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here. Which you knew great ; and to the certain haaard Of all incertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour: — How he -glisters Thorough my rust ! and how his piety Does my deeds make the blacker ! Re-enter PAULINA. Pnul. Woe the while! O, cut my lace : lest my heart, cracking it. Break too ! 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady ? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant,hast for me ? What wheels 1 racks 7 fires ? What flaying ? boiling. In leads, or oils? what old, or newer torture Must I receive ; whose every word deserves To taste of thy moat worst ? Thy tyranny Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. Together worlcing with thy jealousies,— Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine ! — O, think, what they have done. And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all ITiy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing ; I'hat did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant. And damnable ungrateful : nor was't much. Thou would'st have poison 'd good Camillo's honour. To have him kill a king ; poor trespasser. More monstrous standing hy : whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 'J'o be or none, or little ; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't: Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince ; whose honourable thoughts (Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no. Laid to thy answer: But the last,— O, lords. When I have said, cry, woe ! — the queen, the queen. The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead ; and ven- geance for't Not dropp'd down yet. Paul. I say, she's dead ; I'll swear't : if word, nor oath. Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring Tincture or lustre, in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. — But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting. Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. Leon. Go on, go on; Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserved All tongues to talk their bitterest. 1 Lord. Say no more ; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I'lhe boldness of your speech. Paul. I am sorry for't ; All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, I do repent : Alas, I have show'd too much The higher powers forbid ! 250 WINTER'S TALK. Act 3. The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd f-eavt.— What's gone, and what's past Should be past grief : Do not receive affliction At my petition, I beseech yon ; rather Let me be punish'd, tliat have minded yon Of what you should forset. Now, good my liege, »ir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman ; f,!'," ' queen,— lo, fool again !— 1 II speak of her no more, nor of your children - ; " ™' remember you of my own lord, ' ; J ""' ■ patience to you. And I'll say nothing. ' Thou didst speal< but well, "hen most the truth ; which I receive much better lhan to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me lo the dead bodies of my queen, and son ; One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall Ihe causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual : Once a day I'll visit The chapel, where they lie ; and tears, shed there, shall be my recreation : So long as Nature will bear up with this exercise. So long I daily vow to use it. Come, And lead me to these sorrows. [F.-reuni, SCENE IIL Bohemia. A desert country near the sea. Enter ANTIGONUS,»iV* the Child; anda Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia ? ,J*'"'- , . , '^7. =>y lord ; and fear VV e have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly. And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, Ihe heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown wpon us. Ant. Their sacred wills be done .'—Go, get aboard • Look to thy bark ; I'll not bo long, before I call upon thee. il/ffr. Make your best haste ; and go not Too far i'the land: 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey, that keep upon't. T,i'i^?V. ^0 thoi away: 1 11 follow instantly. Se. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 251 Mar. I am glad at heart To be so rid o'the business. [Exit. Ant. Come, poor babe : I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead Itfay walk again : if such thing be, ihy mother Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow. So fill'd, and so beeomin« : in pure white robes. Like very sanctity, she did approach IHy cabin, where 1 lay : thrice bow'd before me And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon Did this break from her : Good Antigonus, Sin re fate, of^ainst th^ better disposition , Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, — Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There Keep, and leave it crying ; and, for the babt- Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 1 pr'ytkee, call't: for this ungentle business. Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er skalt see 7'hy wife Paulina more: — and, so, with shrieks. She melted into air. .Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself; and thought This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this. I do believe, Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid. Either for life, or death, upon the earth Of its right father, — Blossom, speed thee well ! \_f-nying down the child: There He ; and there thy character : there these ; {^Laying down a bundle. Which may,,if fortune please,both breed thee,pretty„ And still rest thine. The storm begins : — Poor wretch. That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot,. But ray heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I, To be by oath enjoiuM to this. — Farewell! The day frowns more and more ; thou art like to havC' A lullaby too rough : I never saw The heaveus so dun by day. A savage clamour!— »s 252 WINTER'S TALE. Act 3. Well may I get aboard ! This is the chase ; I am gone for ever. {^E^ii, pursued by a bear. Enter an old Shepherd. Shep. I would, there were no aga between ten and three and twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the rest : for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the an- cientry, stealing, fighting. — Hark you now I Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and two-and-tweuty, hunt this weather ? They have scared away two of iny best sheep ; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the master : if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will ! what have we here? {^Taking up the child.l Mercy on's, a barne; a vei-y pretty barne ! A boy, or a child, I wonder ? A pretty one ; a very pretty one : Sure, some scape : though I am not bookish, yet [ can read waiting- geiitleworoan in the scape. This has been some Btair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door- work : they were warmer, that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity : yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho hoa ! Enter Clown, Clo. Hilloa, loa ! Shep, What, art so near? If thou*lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailest thou, man ? Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by land ; — hut I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now the sky ; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. Shep. Why, boy, how is it 7 Ch. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not to the point : O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls ! sometimes to see *em, and not to see 'em : now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast j and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And .then for the land service, — To see liow the bear tore out his shoulder-bone ; how he cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman : — But to make an end of the ship : — to see how the sea flap-dragou'd it but, firsts how the poor souls Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 253 roared, and the sea mocVed them ; — and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roarin({ louder than the sea, or weather. Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy? do. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it now. Sf'Cp. Would I had been by, to have helped the old man ! Ch. I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her : there your charity would have lacked footing. {^Aside. Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee ; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's cliild ! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy ; open't. So, let's see ; It was told me, 1 should he rich by the fairies : this is some changeling :— open't: What's within, boy ? Clo. You're a made old man ; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold ! all gold ! Skep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so : up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still, re- ijuires nothin-j but secrecy. — Let my sheep go: — i Come, pood boy, the next way home. ■ Clo. Go you the next way with your findings ; I'll go see if the hear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst, but when they are hungry : if there be any of him left, I'll bury it. Shep. That's a good deed : If thou may'st dis- cern by that, which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to the sight of him. Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him i'the ground. Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy ; and we'll do good deeds on't. \_Exeunt. ACT IV. Enter Time, as Chorus. Time. I, — that please some, try all ; both joy, and terror. Of good aud bad ; that make, aad unfold error,— 254 WINTER'S TALE, Act 4-. Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime, To me, or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'evwhelm custom : Let me pass The same I am, ere aucient'st order was. Or what is now received : I witness lo 'i'iie times, that brought them in : so shall I do To the freshest things now reigning ; and make stale- The glistering of this present, as my tale JJow seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass ; and give my scene such growings As you had slept between. Leontes leaving The efl'ects of his fond Jealousies ; so grieving,. That he shuts up himself; imagine me. Gentle spectators, that I now may be III fair Bohemia ; and remember well, 1 mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florlzel' I now name to yiiu ; and with speed so pace Tu speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wond'ring : What of her ensues, J list not prophesy ; but let Time's news Be known, when 'tis brought forth : — a shepherd'^- daughter. And what to her adheres, which follows after. Is the argument of time : of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now j If never yet, that Time himself doth say. He wishes earnestly, you never may. [EiVit: SCENE I. Tfte same. A' room in the palace of PolLrenes, Enter POUXENES ami CAMILLO. Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- portunate : 'tii a sickness, denying thee any thing ; a death, to grant this. Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country : though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- tent king, my master, hath sent foi" me : to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erweeu to think so ; which is another spur to my departure. Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out tW> iftat o£ thy services,, by leaving, me uow : the- Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 265 need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made ; better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee : thou, having made me businesses, which none with- out thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hact done : which if 1 have not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thankful to thee, shall be my study ; and my profit therein, the heaping friendships. Of that fat^ country Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more : whose vei^y naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother ; whose loss of his most precious queen, and children, are even now to be afresh lanjented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the prince Florizel my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than'they are in losing them, when they have approved their virtues. Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince: What his happier affairs may be, are to me un- known : bvt I have, missingly, noted, he is of late much retired from court; and is less frequent to his princely exercises, than fonuerly he hath ap- peared. Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo ; and •with some care^ so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness : from whom I have this intelligence ; That he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd ; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond th« imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an un- fipeaJcable estate. Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note : the report of her is extended more, than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But, I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou sh^t accompany us to the place : where we will, not appearing what we are, have some questiob with the shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. Cftm. I willingly obey your command. Pol. My best Camillo !— We must disguise our- oelrec. [ExeanU 63 256 WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. SCENE II. The same. ^ road near the Shepherd's cottage. Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing, When daffodils begin tp peer,— . With, heigh ! the doxy over the dale,— r Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,— With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!-* Ppth set my pugging tooth nn edge ; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, — With, hey ! with, hey ! the thrush and the jay:^ Are summer songs for me and my aunts. While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have served prince Florizel, and, in ray time, wore three-pile ; but now I am out of service : But shall t go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night : And when I wander here and there I th,en do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live. And bear the sow-skin budget ; Then my account I well may give. And in the stocks avouch it. My traffick is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to lesser lipen. My father named me, Autolycus ; who, Taeing, as I am, littered under Mercury, was like- wise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles : With die, and drab, I purchased this caparison ; and my revenue is the silly chpat ; Gallows, and knock, are too powerful on the highway : beating, and hanging, are terroi-s to me ; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it.— -A prize ! a prize ! Enter down. Clo. Let me see:— Every 'levep wether — tods; every tod yields— pound and odd shilling : fifteen hundred shorn, — What comes the »yofll to ? ^Ht. if the springe hold, the cock's mine. [^^sidf. Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 257 Clo. I cannot do't without counters. — Let me flee ; what am 1 to buy for our sheep-shearing feast ? 2'hixe pound of sugar, five pound of currants: rice What will this sister of mine do with rice ? But my father Hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and- twenty nosecays for the shearers : three-mau song- men all, and very good ones ; but they are most of them means and bases: but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have safron, to colour the warden pies ; mace, dates, — none ; that's out of my note : nutmeg's, seven; a race, or two, of ginger ; but that I may beg ;~fbur pound of prunes, and as many 9f raisins oHhe sun, Aut. O, that ever I was born ! {Grovelling on the ground. Clo. I'the name of me, Aut. 0, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death ! Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more •lags -to lay on thee, rather than have these off. Aut. .0, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received ; which are mighty ones, and millions. Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestabla things put upon me. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. Go. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by thg garments he hath left with thee ; if this be a horse- man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee : come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up, Aut. O! good sir, tenderly, oliT Clo. Alas, poor soul. Ant. O, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out. Clo. How now ? canst stand ? Aut. Softly, dear sir ; \_Picks fiis pocket.} good sir, softly : you have done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money ; I have a little money for thee. Aut. No, good sweet sir ; no, I beseech you, sir ; I have a kiusmaa not past three quarters of % mile 25S WINTER*S TALE. Act 4. hence, unfo whom I was going ; I shall there have money, or any thing I want. Offer me no money, I pray you ; that kills my heart. Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you ? .t4ut. A fellow, sir, that 1 have loiown to go about with trol-my-dames : I knew him once a servant of the prince ; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out «f the court. Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue whipped out of the court : they cherish it, te make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. j4ut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man "well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies ; and, having flown over many knavisii professions, he settled only in rogue : some call him Autolycus. Clo. Out upon him ! Prig, for my life, prig : he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he ; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but looked big,and spit at him,he'd have run. Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way ; and that he k-new, I warrant him. Clo. How do you now ? Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I can stand, and walk : T will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? ■Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir, Clo. Then fare thee well ; I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. Aut, Prosper you, sweet sir!— [^^.r^^ CloKn,'\ Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. 1*11 be with you at your sheep-shearing too: If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the •hearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my aame put into the book of virtue ! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way. And merrily hent the stile-a : A merry heart goes all the day. Your sad tires in a mile-a. Sc. 3, WIXTER'S TALE. 3«9 SCENE nr. The same. A Shepherd's cottage. Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA. Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Bo give a life : no shepherdess ; but Flora, Peering in April's front. This your sheep- shearinff Is as a meeting of the petty gods. And you the queen on't. Sir, my gracious lord. To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me ; 0, pardon tKat I name them : your high self. The gracious mark o'the land, you have obscur'd With a swain's weai-ing ; and me, poor lowly maid. Most goddess-like prank'd up : But that our feaste In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired : sworn, X think. To show myself a glass. flo. I bless the time, When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. Now Jove afford you cause ! To me, the difference forges dread ; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident. Should pass this way, as you did : O, the fates ! How would he loek, to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these ray borrow'd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence 7 Flo. A pprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves. Humbling their deities to love, hare taken The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter Became a bull, and bellow'd, the gi-een Neptune A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-rob'd god. Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now ; Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer ; Nor in a way so chaste : since my desires Run not before mine honour ; nor my lusts Burn hotter tlian my faith. , O but, dear sir. Your rasolution cannot hold, when 'tis OppM'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king : 260 WINTER'S TALE. Aet 4. One of these two must be necessities. Which then will speak ; that you must change this purpose. Or I my life. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not The mirth o'the feast : Or 1*11 be thine, my fair. Or not my father's : for I cannot be Mine own, 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 comingi Lift up your countenance ; as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have sworn shall come. P^r- O lady fortune,. Stand you auspicious ! Enter SkepherdywithVO-'LnL'E^'ESnndCMAll.l.O^ disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DOKCAS, andolhers. Flo. See, your guests approach ; Address yourself to entertain them sprightly. And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fie, daughter ! when my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler,, cook ; Both dame and servant: welcomed all; serv'dall: Would sing her song, and dance her turn : now here. At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle ; Ou his shoulder, and his; her face o*fire With labour ; and the thing she took to. quench it^ She would to each one sip : You are retirM, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid These unknown friends to us welcome : for it i& A way to make us }>etler friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes ; and present yourself That, which you are, mistress o'the feast : Come on. And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing. As your good flock shall prosper. Per. Welcome, sir! {^I'o Pot. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o*the day : — You're welcome, sir *. [_To Camilla. Give me those fiowers there, Doreas. — Reverend sirs> For you there's rosemary, and rue: these keep Seeming, and savour, all the winter long: i Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 261 Grace and remembrance, be to you both. And welcome to our shearing ! Pol. Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages SVilh flowers of winter. Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o'lhe season Are our carnations, and streak'd RiUyilowers, Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not To get slips of them. Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden» Do you neglect them ? Per. For I have heard it said. There is an art, which, in their piedness, shai'es With great creating nature. Pol. Say, there be ; Yet nature is made better by no mean. But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art. Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art. That natrre makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race ; This is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather : but The art itself is nature. Per. So it is. Pol. Then make yonr garden rich in gillyflowers. And do not call them bastards. Per. I *11 not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them : No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say,'twere wen;and only therefore Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun. And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To men of middle age : You are very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock. And only live by gazing. Per. Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. — Now, my fairest friend, I would I had soma flowers o'the spring, that might 262 WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours j That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheaas growing : — O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis'S waggon! daffodils. That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim. But sweeter than the lids of Juno''s eyes. Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strdngth, a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxiips, and The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds. The flower-de-luce being one 1 O, these I lack. To make you garlands of; and, ray sweet friend. To strew him o'er aiKl o'er. ^0. What? like a corse T Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ; Not like a corse : or if, — not to be buried. But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers : Methinks, 1 play as I have seen them do In Whitsun' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. Flo. What you do. Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweety I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; and, for the orderint; your affairs. To sing them too : When you do dance, 1 wish you A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and owu No other function : Each your doing, So singular in each particular. Crowns what you are dcw-ng in the present deeds. That all your acts are queens. Per. O, Doricles, Your praises are too large : but that your youth^ And the tn'e blood, which fairly peeps through it» Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd ; With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. Flo. \ think you have As little skill to fear, as I hare purpose To put you to't,: — But, come ; our dance, I ■D»ay,: Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair^ I'hatnffvsr meau to pavt. iSc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 363 Ptr. Ill swear for 'em. Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Rail on the green-sward ? nothing she does, or seems. But smacks of something greater than herself ; Too noble for this place. Cam. He tells her somethinc;, That makes her blood look out : Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Ch. Come on, strike up. Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlicK, 'To mend her kissing with. — Mop. Now, in good time ! Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our manners. — j Come, strike up. {^Musick. Here a dance of Sfiepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doriclcs ; and he boasts himself To have a worthy feedin-g : but I have it Upon his own report, ani I believe it ; He lookslike sooth : He says, he loves my daughter; I think so too ; for never gax'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read. As 'twere, my daughiei-'s eyes : and, to be plain, I think ihere is not half a kiss to choose. Who loves another best. />()/. She dances featly. Shep- So she does any tiling ; though I report it. That should be silent : if young Doricles Po Hfiht upon her, she shall bring him that. Which he not dreams of. Enter a Servant. Scrv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move you : he sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money ; he lUters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CVo. He could never come better: he shall come in : I love a ballad but even too well ; if it be doleful matter, merrily set do^\^l, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably. Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all S« WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves : he has the pretUest love-songs for maids • so without bawdry, which is strange; with sucli delicate burdens of diUos and fmlings: jump her mH thump her; and where some strelch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to an- swer, H hoop, rfo me no harm, good man ; nuts him olT slights him, with fVhoop, do me no harm, good vian Pol, This IS a brave fellow. Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable- conceited fellow. Has he any uubraided wares » ierii. He hath ribands of all the colours i' the rainbow ; points, more than all the lawyers in Bo- hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns : why, he sings them over, 'as they were gods or goddesses ; you would think, a smock were 11 she-angel ; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't. Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him ap- proach singing. Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilom words in his tunes. Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have more m em than you'd think, sister. Per . Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Bnter AUTOLYCUS, singing. Lawn, as white as driven snow ; ■ Cyprus, black as e'er was crow ; Gloves, as sweet as damask roses j Masks for faces, and for noses j Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber. Perfume for a lady's chamber ; Golden quoifs, and stomachers. For my lads to give their dears ; Pins and poking-sticks of steel. What maids lack from head to heel : Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : Come, buy, he. I ^^ere not in love with Mopsa, thou should St take no money of me ; but being enthral'd as I am, it will also bo the bondage of certaia ribands and gloves. Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 2«& Mop. I was promised them against the faast ; but they come not too late now. Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or- there be liars. Mop. He hath paid you all h« promised you : may be, he has paid you more ; which will sl)am» you to t^ive him again. Clo~ Is there no manners left among maids ? will they wear their plackets, where tbey should bear their faces? Is there not milkiiig-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets ; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests ! 'Tis well they are whispering : Clamour your tongues, and not a word more. Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozMied by the way, and lost ail my money ? j4ut. And, indeed, sir, there ar& cozeners abroad; therefore it belioves men to be wary. 6Vo.Fearnotthou,man,thoushaltlose nothic^here. Aut. I hope so, sir ; for I have about me. many parcels of chfirge. Clo. What hast here ? ballads? Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad ia print, a-life ; for then we are sure they are true. AJtt. Hei'e*s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat ad- ders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. Mop. Is it true, think you ? j^ut. Very true ; and but a month old. Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! j4ut. Here's the midwife's name to*t, one mis- tress Taleporter ; and five or six honest wives* that were present ; AVhy should I carry lies abroad? Afop. 'Pray you now, buy it. Clo. Come on, lay it by : And let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things ajion. Aut. Here's another ballad. Of a fish, that ap- peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids : it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fi«h, for she would not exchange flesh with one that lored her : The ballad is very pitifal^ and as true. 26ff WINTER'S TALK. Act 4. Dor. Is it true too, think you ? Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more than my pack will hold. Clo. Lay it by too : Another, ^iit . This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one. Mop. Let's have some merry ones. ^ut. Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune of. Two maids wooing a man: there's scarce a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in request, I can tell you. Mnp. We can both sin^ it ; if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. Bar. We had the tune on't a month ago. ■^ut. I can bear my part ; you must know, 'tis ray occupation : have at it with you. SONG. -4. Get you hence, for I must go ; Where, it fits not you lo know. £>. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither? M. It becomes thy oath full well, TIiou to me thy secrets tell : B. Me too, let me go thither. M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill : B. If to either, thou dost ill. Neither. B. What, neither? ^. Neither. B. Thou hast sworn my love to be ; M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : Then, whither go'st? say, whither? Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and. we'll not trouble them: Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you botli : — Pedlar, let's have the first choice. —Follow me, girls. ^ul. And you shall pay well for 'em. ^Aside. Will you buy any tape. Or lace for your cape. My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread. Any toys for your head. Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a medler. That doth utter all men's ware-a. {Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopta. Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 267 Enter a Servant. Serv. Master, tKere is .three carters, three shep- herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair ; they call themselves saltiers : and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, be- cause they are not in't ; but they themselves are o* the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that Icnow little but bowling,) it will please plentifully. Sfiep. Away! we'll none on't ; here has been too much humble foolery already:—! know, sir, we weary you. Pol. You weary those, that refresh us : Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. Serv. One three ef them, by their own report, sir. Lath danced before the kingj and not the worst of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire. Shep. Leave your prating ; since these good men we pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now. Serv. Why, tbey stay at door, sir. {EaU. Re-enter Servant, mth twelve Rusticls habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then eacunt. Pol. 0,father, you'll know more of that hereafter. — Is it not too far gone ? — 'Tia time to jjart them. — He's simple, and tells much, [^^if&.j— Ho%v now, fair shephei-d ? Your heart is full of something, that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was yoimg, And handed love, as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks : I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silkew treasury, and have pour'd it To her acceptance ; you have let him go, And nothing marted with him : If your lass Interpretation should abuse ; and call this. Your lack of love, or boimty ; you were straited For a reply, at least, if you make a care Of happy holding her. ^lo. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are : The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart ; which I have given already, But not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath KomeUme loVd : I take thy hand ; this band. S«8 WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. As soft as dove's down, and as white as it ; Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow. That's belted by the northern blasts twice o'er. Pol. What follows this ?— How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand, was fair before I — I have put you out : — But, to your protestation ; let me hear "What you profess. Plo. Do, and be witness to't. PoL And this my neighbour too 1 Flo. And he, and more Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all ; That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch. Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve; had force, and know- ledge. More than was ever man's, — Iwouddnotprizethenj^, Without her love ; for her, employ them ^1 ; Commend them, and condemn them, to her service. Or to their own perdition. PoL Fairly offer'd. Cam. This shows a sound affection. Shep. But, my daughter* Say you the like to him ? Per. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better : By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. Shep. Take hands, a bargain ; • And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't : I give my daughter to him, and \vill make Her portion equal his. Flo. O, that must be I"* the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; Enoug'h then for your wonder : But, come on. Contract us 'fore these witnesses. Shep. Come, your hand — - And, daughter, yours. Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech youj Have you a father ? Flo. I have : But what of him ? Pot. Knows he of this I Flo. He neither does, nor shall. Pol. Methinks, a father Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest That best becomes the table. Fray you, once mort ; Sc. 3. WINTER^S TALE. 269 Is not youi- father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid With age, and altering rheums t Can he speak? hear? Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing, But what he did being childish ? ti^?' r V. , No> SOoH sir; .He hath his health, and ampler strength, indeed. Than most have of his age. V ^^^'^ . . , By my white beard, lou otter him, if this be so, a wrono- Something unfilial : Reason, my son" Should choose himself a wife ; but as good raason. The father, (all whose joy is nothing elso But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel In such a business. ^lo- I yield all this ; But, for some oiher reasons, my grave sir. Which 'tis not fit you know, 1 not acquaint My father of this business. ■C'f'- „ . Let him know't. Ho. He shall not. Pol. Fr'ythee, let him. ^J^- No, he must not. £>hep. Lethim, my son ; he shall not need to grieve At knojving of thy choice. Come, come, he must not : — Mark our contrfict. ■Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, „ [Discovering himself. Whom son I dare not call: tliou art too base To be acknowledg'd : Thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affect'st a sheep-liook I—Thou old traitOF, I ;im sorry, that by hanging thee, I can but Sliorten thy life one week — And thou, fresli piece Of excellent witchcraft; vho, of force, must kijOTy The royal fool thou cop's^with ; I'ol . 1 11 have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made IMnre homely than thy state.— For thee, fond boy,— llf 1 may ever know, thou dost but sigh, That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never II mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from successioijj rJot hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, [Par tlian Deucalion off:— Mai-k thou aiy words : poUow u8 tb^ pourf .— ITiou churl, for this tjmfi. 370 WINTER'S TALE. Though fall of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. — And you, enchantment,— Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too. That makes himself, hut for our honour therein. Unworthy thee, if ever, henceforth, thou These rural latches to his entrance open. Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 2 will devise a death as cruel for thee, As thou art tender to't. [EMt. Per. Even here undone ! I was not much afeard : for once, or ti,vice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly. The self-same sun, that shines upon his coui't. Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.— Will't please you, sir, be gone ? [To Fhrizd. I told you, what would come of this : 'JJeseech you. Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, — Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further. But milk my ewes, and weep. Cam. Why, how now, father? Speak, ere thou diest. Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, JJor dare to know that, which I know. — O, sir, [7'o Florizel. You have undone a man of fourscore three. That thought to fill his grave in quiet ; yea. To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones : but now Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay m< Where no priestshovels-indust. — O cursed wretch ! I'J'o Perdita. That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure To mingle faith with him. — Undone ! undone ! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die, when I desire. [^#3. Flo. Why look you so upon me ! I am but sorry, not afear'd ; de.lay'd. But nothing altered ; What I was, 1 am : More straining on, for plucking back ; not followiJ^ My leash unwillingly. Cam. Gracious my lord. You know your father's temper : at this time He will allow no speech, — which, I do guess. You do not purpose to him ; — and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALK. t7| Then, UU the fury of his highness settle. Come not before him. J BOt purpose it. I think, Camillo. Cem. Even he, my lord. Per. How often have I told you, 'twoilld he thus f How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known t It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith ; And then Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together. And mar the seeds within ! — Lift up thy looks ' From my succession wipe me, father ! 1 Am heir to my affeetiou. Cam. Be advis*d. Flo. I am ; and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason : If not, my senses, better plaas'd with madness, 00 bid it welcome, Cam. This is desperate, sir. Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow ; 1 needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Kot for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Bb thereat gleau'd; for all tlie sun sees, or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath T» this my fair belov'd : Therefore, I pray you, As you have e'er been my father's lionourVl friend. When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,) cast your good counsels Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know. And so deliver, — I am put to sea With her, whom here I caunot hold on shore ; Aud, most opportuue to our need, I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold. Shall nothing bene£t your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. Cam. O, my lord, I Would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. Fh. ■ Hark, Perdita. -YTakes fter (istde. I'll hear you by and by. [7b Camilla. Cam. He's irremoveable, Resolv'd fiar flight : Now were I happy, if His going I could &ame to serve my xuxn-i £1 272 WINTER'S TALE. Aet4. Save him from danger, do him love and honour; Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, And that unhappy Mng, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. Flo. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with carious business, that I leave out ceremony. \^Goin^. Cam. Sir, I think. You have heard of my poor services, i'thg love. That I have borne your father? Flo. Very nobly Have you deserv'd : it is my father's musicb. To speak your deeds ; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. Cam. Well, my lord. If you may please to think I love the king ; And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, (If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration,) on mine honour I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness ; where you may Enjoy your mistress ; (from the whom, I see. There's no disjunction to be made, but by. As heavens forefend ! your ruin :) marry her ; And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,) Your discontenting father strive to qualify. And bring him up to liking. Flo. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done 1 That I may call thee something more than man. And, after that, trust to thee. Cam. Have you thought on A place, whereto you'll go ? Flo. Not any yet : But as the unthought-on accideut is guilty To what we wildly do ; so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows. Cam. Then list to me : This follows, — if you will not change your purpose. But undergo this flight; — Make for Sicilia ; And there present yourself, and your fair princess, (For so, [ see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes ; She shall be habited, as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see t/epotes, openi.ng his free arms, and weepinj; Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 27S H4s welcomes forth : asks thee, the son, foi^iveness. As 'twere i'the father's person ; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess': o'er and o'er divides him 'T%vixt his uiikindness and his kindness ; the one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow. Faster than thought, or time. , Worthy CamiUo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him ? Cam. Sent by the king your father To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you, as from your father, shall deliver. Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point vou forth at eveiy sitting. What you must say; that he shall not perceive. But that you have your fatJier's bosom there. And speak his very heart. ^^f^- I am bound to you: There is Eome sap in tliis. Cam. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpaih'd waters, undream'd shores ; most certain. To miseriss enough : iio hope to help you ; But, as you shake off one, to take another: Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who Po their best office, if they can but stay yon, Where you'll he loath to be : Besides, you know. Prosperity is the very bond of love ; Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. Per. One of these is true : I think, affliction may subdue the cheek. But not take in the mind. ^ Cam. Yea, say you so ? There shall not, at your father's house, tliese seven years, Be born another such. Flo. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her l)reeding, as I'the rear of birth. Cum. I cannot say, 'tis pity. She lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress To most, that teach. Your pardon, sii-, for this ; I'll blush you thanks. Flo. My prettiest Perdita. 274 WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. But, O, the thorns we atand upon ! — Camillo,— Preserver of my father, now of me ; The medicine 3t our house ! — how shall we do ? We are not furnish'd like Bohemift's son ; Kor shall appear in Sicily Cam. My lord. Fear none of this : I think, you k-now, my fortunes Do all lie there : it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed, as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir. That you may know you shall not want, — one word. talk aside. Enier AUTOLYCUS. Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust, hia sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! I have sold all my trumpery ; not a countsrfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn- ring, to keep my pack from fasting; they throng ■who should buy first ; as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer : by which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture ; and, what T saw, to my good use, I re- membered. My clo\TO (who wants but something; to be a reasonable man,) grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, till he had both tune aJid words ; which so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears : you might have pinched a placket, it ■was senseless ; 'twas nothing, to geld a codpiece of a purse ; I would have filed keys off, that hung in chains : no hearing, no feeling, but 'my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their festival purses: and had not the 'old man ceme in with a whoobub against his daughter and the king's son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. \_Camillo, Florizel, and Perdiia, come forward. Cam. Nay, but ray letters by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. Fio. And those, that you'll procure from king Leontes,— Cam. Shall satisfy your father.' Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 275 Per. Happy be you ! All, that you speak, shows fair. , Cam. ' Who have we here?— [Seeing ^ulolycus. We'll make an instrument of this ; omit Nothing, may give us aid. ^ut. If th.dy have overheard me now,— —why hanging. {yiside. Cam. How now, good fellow ? Why shakest thoa BO? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. ^ut. I am a poor fellow, sir. Cam. Why, be so still ; here's nobody will steal that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty^ we must make an exchange : therefore, disease thee instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,V and change garments with this gentleman: Though the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. ^ut. I am a poor fellow, sir :— I ksow ye well enough. [^SiVff. Cam, Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : the gentleman ia half flayed alreaay. yiut. Are you in earnest, sir?— I smell the trick of it.— \_Aside. Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. j^ut. Indeed, I have had earnest ; but I cannot with conscience take it. Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. — ■ \_Flo- and Aatol. exchange garments. Fortunate mistress, — ^let my prophecy Come home to you ! — you must retire yourself Into some covert : take your s\veetheart's hat. And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face; Dismantle you ; and as you can, dislikeu The truth of your own seeming ; that you may, {For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard Get undescried. Per. I see, the play so lies. That I must bear a part. Cam. No remedy.— Have you done there? Flo. Should I now meet my father. He would not call me son. Cam. Nay, you shall have No hat : — Come, lady,corae.— Farewell, myfricBdv ^ut. Adieu, sir. 276 WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. ■ Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? Pray you, a woi-(i. [^'-^fy converse apart. Cam. What I do next, shall he, to tell the king \_Aside. Of this escape, and whither they are bound ; Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail. To force him after : in whose company I shall review Sicilia ; for whose sight I have a woman's longing. Flo. Fortune speed us! — Thus we set on, CamUlo, to the sea-side. Cum. The swifter speed, the better. {^Ea.-eunt Florizel, Perdita, and CamUlo. Ant. I understand the business, I hear it : To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-piuse ; a good nose is requi- site also, to sraell out work for the other senses- I see, this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchaage had this been, without boot t what a boot is here, with this exchange ? Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we m?-y do any thinj; ed'lempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity ; stealing away from his father, with his clog at his heels : If I thought it were not a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it : and therein am I constant to my profession. Enter Clown and Shepherd. Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain j every lane's end, every shop, church, sesaion, hang- ing, yields a careful man work. Clo. See, see ; what a man you are naw ! there is no other way, but to tell the kini; she's a change-- linp, and none of your flesh and blood. Shep. Nay, but hear mo. Clo. Nay, but hear me. Sliep. Go to then. Clo. She beintj none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king ; and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about hev ; those secret things, all but what she has with her ; This being done, let the law go whistle ; I wai-rant you. Shep. I will tell the king all, every word^ yea. Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 277 and his son's prauks too ; who, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. I CIq, Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off you could have been to him ; and then your blood had been the dearer, by I know how much aa ounce. yiut. Very wisely ; puppies ! \_Aside, Shep. Well ; let us to the ki«g ; there is that in, I this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. I ^ut. I know not what impediment this complaint i may be to the flight of my master. Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. ' Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so lometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my ped- ler's excrement. — {Takes ojf kis /else benrdJ] How now, rusticks ? whither are you bound? ' Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. I yfut. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be knovn, discover. do. We are but plain fellows, sir. j^ut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy : Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the He : but we pay them for ii with stamped ooin, not stabbing steel ; therefore th.ey do not give us the lie. Clo. Your worship had like to have given us . one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. 1 Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir 1 Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. See*st thou not the air of the court, in these enfold- ings ? hath not my gait in it, the measure of the Cfturt? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy baseness court contempt ? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate or toze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? 1 am courtier, cap-a-p^ ; and one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business there : where- upon I command thee to open thy affair, i Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. Aut. What advocate hast thou to him X I Shep. I know not, an't like you. Clo. Advocate's the court-word foi' a pheaBant j say, you have none. 378 WINTER'S TALE. Act 4. SAep, None, air ; I have no pheasant, cock, not ben. ^ut. Howbless'd are we, that are not simple mea! Yet nature might have made me as these are. Therefore I'll not disdain. Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. S^ep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. C/o. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical ; a great man, I'll waiTant; I know, b* the picking on's teeth. ^ui. The fardel there ? what's i'the fardel ? Wherefore that box? S^ep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel,, and box, which none must know but the king ; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him. ^fct. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Shep. Why, sir? Aiet. The kinjf is not at the palace ; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself : For, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know, the king is full of grief. SAep. So 'tis said, sir ; about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. .^ut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. do. Think you so, sir? ^ut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy, and vengeance hitter ; but those, that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman ; which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep- whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace ! Some say, he shall be stoned ; but that death is too soft for him, say I : Draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are too few, the sharjiest too easy. Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you liear, an't like you, sir ? ^ut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive ; then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the bead of a wasp's nest ; then stand, till he be three quarters and a dram dead ; then recovered again with aqua- Vitee> oi- soeq« other hot infusion : then, raw as he' Sc. 3. WINTER'S TALE. 273 is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun look- ing ivith a southward eye upon him ; where he is to behold him with flies blenvn to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) what you have to the king: being something gently eonsidered, 111 bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs ; and, if it be in man, besides the king, to effect your suita, here is man shall do it. CIo. He seems to be of great authority : close with hiai, give him gold; and though authority- be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold : show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado : Remember stoned and flayed alive. Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the bu- siness for us, here is that gold I have : I'll make it as much more ; and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. ^ul. After I have done what I promised? Shep. Ay, sir. ^ui. Well, give me the moiety ; — Are you 3 party in this business ? Ceo. In some sort, sir : but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. j j^ue. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son : i — Hang him, hell be made an example. Clo. Comfort, good comfort : we must to the I king, and show our strange sights : he must know, 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister ; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; I and remain, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. j4ut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side ; go on the right hand ; I ■will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. do. We are blessed in tliis man, as I may say, even blessed. Shep. Let's before, as he bids us : he was pro- vided to io us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. \ Aui. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, for- r tune would not suffer me ; she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion 280 WINTER'S TALE. Act 5. gold, and a means to do the prince my master good; whicli, who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? J will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him : if he think it fit to Bhtire them again, and that the complaint they ha.ve to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue, for beini* so far officious ; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't : To him ivill I present tliem, there may be Sicilia. ^ room in the palace of Leontes. Enter h^ONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and others. Cleo. Sir, you have done eiiough, and have per- form'd A saint-like sorrow ; no fault could you make, Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid down JWore penitence than done trespass : At the last. Do, as the heavens have done ! forget your evil ; With them^ forgive yourself. Leon. Whilst I rememher per, and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them; and so still think of The wron^; I did myself: which was so mucli, That heirless it hath made my kingdom ; and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that t:*er man Bred his hopes out of. Paul. True, too true, my lord ; If, one by one, you weeded all the world, Or from the allj that are, took something good. To make a perfect woman ; she, you kill'd. Would be unparallel'd. Leon. I think so. Kill'd J She I kill'd ? I did so : but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter llpon thy tongue, as in my thought : Now, good now, Say so but seldom. Cleo. Not at all, good lady : You might have spoken a thousand things,that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. Paul. You are one of those, y/'ould have hiin wed again. platter in it. [Eait. ACT V, SCENE I. If j'ou would not 30, Sc. 1. WINTER'S TALE. 381 You pity not the state, nor the remembraned Of his most sovereign name ; consider little, What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue> May drop upon his kingdom, and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy. Than to rejoice, the former queen is well ? What holier, than, — for royalty's repair, For present comfort and for future good, — ■ To bless the bed of majesty again \V ith a sweet fellow to't ? Paul, There is Ojone worthy^ Respecting her, that's gone. Besides, the god,s Will have fulfiU'd theic secret purposes : For has not tho divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle That king Leoutes shall not have an heir, ' Till his lost child be found J which, that it shall. Is all as monstrous to our human reason, As ray Antigonus to break his grave. And come ajrain to me ; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel. My lord should to the heavens be contrary. Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue ; [Tb Leonte&^ Tlie crown will find an heir : Great Alexander Left his to the worthiest ; so his successov Was like to bo the best. Leoa. Good Paulina^-rf Who hast the memory of Hermione, I knowj in honour, — O, that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! — then, even now^ I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes ; Have taken treasure from her lips, I fauL And left them I More rich, for what they yielded. i Leon. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one woi'se^ And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corps ; and on this stage, (Where we otfenders now appear,) soul-vex'd, Begui, ^nd why to me ? ' Pail!. Had she such power. She had just cause. I Leon. She had ; and would incense me I To murder her, I married. Pau?. I should so : Were I the ghost, that walk'dj I'd, Ud you majii \VINTER'S TALE. Acts. Her eyB ; and fell me, for what dull part in't You chose her : then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should lift to heartne ; and the words, thatfollow'd. Should be, Rsmember mine. Leon. Stars, very stars. And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, I'll have no wife, Paulina. Paul. Will you swear Never to many, but by my free leave ? Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be bless'd my spirit! Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. Cleo. You tempt him over-much. Paul. Unless another. As like Hermione as is her picture, Afirout his eye. Cleo. Good madam, — Paul. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry, — If you will, sir. No remedy, but you will : give me the offica To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young As was your former ; but she shall be such, As, walk'dyour first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your aims. Leon. My true Paulina, We shall not marry, till diou bidd'st us. Paul. That Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath ; Never till then. Gent. One, that gives out himself prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his prineess, (she The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access To your high presence. Leon. What with him? he comes not Like to his father's greatness : his approach. So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need, and accident. What train ? And those but mean. Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? Gent. Ay ; the most peerless piece of earth, I think. That e'er the sun shone bright on. Paul. O Hermione, As every jnesent time doth boast itself Enter a Gentleman. Gent. But few. So.l. WINTER'S TALE. m AboTe a better, gone ; so muat thy grave Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now Is colder than that theme,) She had not been Kor was not to be equalVd; — thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd. To say, you have seen a better, j Gent. Pardon, madam t The one I have almost forgot ; (your pardon,) ] The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, ■\Vill have your tongue too : This is such a creature, : Would she begm a sect, might quench the zeal , Of all professors else ; make proselytes I Of who she but bid follow. Pattl. How ? not women ? Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman More worth than any man ; men, that she is The rarest of all women. Leon. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honest friends. Bring them to our embracemeilt. — Still 'tis strange, {^Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentlemen. He thus should steal upon us. P(iul. Had our prince, (Jewel of childi-en,) seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord ; there was not full a month Between their births. Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou know's^ He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure. When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will briag me to consider that, which may Unfuruish me of reason.— They are come. ■ .. ■< Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PER- DiTA, and Attendants. Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; For she did print your royal father off. Conceiving you : Were I but twenty-one. Your father's image is so hit in you. His very air, that I should call you brother. As 1 did }um ; and speak of something, wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome I ' And your fair princess, goddess !— O, alas ! 1 lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus h ave stood, begetting wonder, as You, gracious couple, do ! and then I loat CAU mine owu folly), the society. WINTER'S TALE. Act ■ Amity too, of your brave father ; whom. Though bearmg misery, I desire my life Onoe more to look upon. Flo. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia : and from him Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend. Can send his brother : and, but infirmity (Which waits upon worn times,) hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you ; whom he loves (He bade me say so,) more than all the sceptres. And those, that bear them, living. Leon. O. my brother, (Oood gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee, stir Afresh within me ^ and these thy offices, So rarely k-ind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness ! — Welcome hither. As is the spring to the earth, And<hath he too Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage (At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man, not worth her pains ; much less The adventure of her person? Flo. Good my lord. She came from Libya. Leon. Where the waa'like Smalus, That noble honoured lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ? Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him whose daughter His tears proclaimed liis, parting with her : then© (A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have crossed To execute the charge my father gave me. For visiting your highness : My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Wlio for JBohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir. But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety Here, where we are. Leon. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air, whilst you Do climate here I You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman ; against whose person. So sacred as it is, I have done sin : For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless ; and your father's blessM^ ^Av Ii» from heaven merits it,) with you. fcJSc. 1. WINTER'S TALE. 285 Worthy his goodness. What might I have heen. Might r a son and daughter now nave look'd oh, ! Such goodly things as you i ■ Enter a Lord. 'm^*''''* sir. That, which I shall report, -will bear no credit, "E ^^''^ proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself, by me : Desires you to attach his son ; who has ^ (His dignity and duty both cast off,) Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. Leon. ^ Where's Bohemia? speak, , Lord. Here in the city ; I now come from him : ^i, I speak amazedly ; and it becomes Mv marvel, and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning, "(in the chase, it seems. Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady, and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. i ..l^"- Camillo has betray'd me; liV hose honour, and whose honesty, till now, Endur"d all weathers. _ Lord. Lay't so, to his charge ; He's with the king your father. ^eo?i. Who? Camillo? Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him ; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I e. V, retches so quake ; they kneel, they k-iss the earth ; ^ Forswear themselves as often as thev speak : Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. O, my poor father I—* The heavens set spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. Leon. You are married? Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: — The odds for high and low's alike. Leon. My lord. Is this the daughter of a king ? Flo. She is. When once she is my wife. Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's speadj ijWiJl soms on very slowly. I am sprry, S8« WINTER'S TALE. Act ? Most sorry, you have broken from his liking. Where you were tied in duty : and as soiTy, Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty. That you might well enjoy her. Flo. Dear, look up : Though fortune, visible an enemy. Should chase us with my father ; power no jnt Hath she to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir. Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now : with thoughts of such Affections, Step forth mine advocate ; at your request, My father will graiit precious things, as trifles. Leon^ Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress. Which he counts but a trifle. Paul. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a month 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth suoh gazes Than what you look on now. Leon. I thought of her. Even in these looks I made.— But your petition [7'o Fbrizel. Is yet unanswer'd : I will to your father ; . Your honour not o'erthromi by your desires, I am a friend to. them, and you : upon which errand I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me, Aad mark what way I make : Come, good my lord. {EacwU. SCENE II. The same. Before ike palace. Enter AUTOLYCUS (otd a Gantteman. Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at tlu8 relation 1 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardelj heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how 1m found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, w were all commanded out of the chamber ; onlj this, methouEjht I lieard the shepherd say, hi found the child. Aut. I would mest gladly know the issue of it. 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business — But the changes I perceived in the king, and Ca; millo, were very notes of admiration : they seeme( almost, with staring on one another, to tear thi cases of tlieir eyes ; there was speech in ttieir dumb Sc. 2. WINTER'S TALE. 297 ■ ness, language in their very gesture ; they looked, I as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one de- I stroyed : A notable passion of wonder appeared in them : but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance were [ joy, or sorrow : but iu tixe extremity of the oiie, it ! must needs be. Enter another Gentleman. Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more : The news, Rogero ? 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires : the oracle is ful- filled ; the king's daughter is found ; such b deal of wonder is broken out within this hour, that ballad- niakei-3 cannot be able to express it. I Enter a third Gentleman. Here comes the lady Paulina^s steward ; he can deliver you more. — How goes it now, sir? this news, which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion : Has th« king found his heir? 3 Gent. Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance : that, which you hear, -you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of queen Hermione: — her jewel about the neck of it .- — the letter of Antigonus," found ^vitfi it, which they know to be his character : — the ma- jesty of the creature, in resemblance of the mother ; — the affection of nobleness, which nature shows above her breeding, — and many other evidences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings ? 'iGent. No. 3 Gent, Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another ; so, and in such manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of them ; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands ; with countenance of such distraction, that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter ; as if that joy were now become a loss, dies, £>, thy mother, thy mother.'- then asks Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in- ViH- ; tbon sgaiu womes he his daughter,. witU ,1 388 WINTER'S TALE. Act 5. clipping her ; now he thax^ks the old shepherd, ■which stands by, like a weather-bitt«n conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, whicli lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it. 2 Gmt. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child \ 3 Gent. Like an old tale still ; which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be aslwp, and not an ear op6n : He was torn to pieces with a bear : thi^ avouches the shepherd's son ; who has not only his innocence (which seems much,) to justify him, but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina: Vnows. lOeni. What became of hisbark,and his followers? 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their mas- ter's death ; and in the view of the shepherd : so tlxat all the iastmments, which aided to expose the child, were even then lost, when it v'-as found. But, O, the noble combat, that, twixt joy and sor- row, was fought in Paulina! She had one eye de- clined for the loss of her husband ; another elevated, that the oracle was fulfilled : She lifted the princess from the earth ; and so locks her in embracing, as ! if she would pin her to her heart, that she might j no laoi-e be in danger of losing. I Oe/it. The ditrnity of this act was worth the au- dience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that, which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of tlie queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, (bravely confessed and lamented by the king,) how attentiveness wouuded his daughter : till, trom one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an aUts t I would fain say, bleed <